SUBCONSCIOUS

The inner mind has its own set of rules,

Physically you are the one in charge.

There’s a whole new game playing inside your brain,

Another part of your world that’s in control.

Your thoughts may be what you believe to be,

It tells you how to feel, it controls the wheel.

Our subconscious makes up the fantasy dreams,

What is thought while we are awake is so real.

It tells us lies at times, it makes us believe,

Impending doom, the fear that’s not real.

The subconscious mind holds secrets that we’ll

Not understand nor ever uncover,

We may find the solution but the cause remains hidden in time.

Keith Garrett

STORIES ARE TOLD

Traditions of storytelling from thousands of years,

Around campfires and in homes in times of old.

Thought up from Imaginations or a small tale that grows,

Fables told by a Grandfather to a child in countries of old.

A bedtime adventure from a book to send you off to dream,

Around the world, many have listened, stories across the sea.

Stories are told that touch one’s soul,” listen child” they never grow too old,

Generation to Generation, within cultures of different beliefs, a tale that speaks.

Keith Garrett

SHE LIVED IN THE WOODS

Hidden from sunlight, beneath the tall aging trees,

Deep in the woods, alone lived she.

A different kind of world, quiet except for the creatures that be,

A woman so aged, seems that she’d been here for eternity.

So far below that which grows, the falling rain can barely touch,

In a rickety old cabin, she had not much.

Only sounds of the woods kept her company,

In a dark, lost, existence, she lived to be so old,

Not of loneliness.

Many things did she to occupy her moments of a life meant to be,

Never a face shown to her, only memories of childhood dreams.

She lived in the woods, somewhere you see,

An old, old, woman gone and not missed but who was she?

Keith Garrett

SIX GUN SAM

Travels the land, on his own he stands,

Gun for hire, if the price is right, he’ll kill any man.

A lonely road for a heartless soul,

You get what you get when sin is your gold.

He passes through most any town,

He’s six gun Sam, someday a stranger will shoot him down,

Lay him in the ground.

A sad life indeed, he’s got no family,

Not a friend to his name, when he dies, no man will stand at his side.

Who will remember six gun Sam,

The man who died with a gun in his hand.

Keith Garrett

BETWEEN WHAT IS AND WHAT IS NOT

The universe exists all around us but do aliens really exist,

We can see the sun resting in the sky, no pot of gold over a rainbow.

Mountains formed, standing above so tall, not a bigfoot between the trees,

The moon is for us a reality, no face or a man lives up there alone.

Ireland and green grass are for real, across the sea they do appear,

leprechaun’s I have never seen, four leaf clovers bring luck in a dream.

Castles of old stand on many lands, stories of them for centuries are told,

Magical spells and fire breathing dragons, were they ever seen or felt.

Between what is and what is not are fables and tall tales handed down,

Fantasies and all that is real live in our minds or before us we see.

Keith Garrett

MYSTICAL DREAMS OF SHORES UNSEEN

About a land so far across the sea, stories of knights from days lost,

Castles of stone standing through centuries of tales told, those who know.

Kings and Queens ever since this Island was discovered back in a dream,

Magical wizards are fables of men said to them as a child long ago.

Those dressed in armor, a King by the name of Arthur and a sword,

A legendary table of round sat Knights so long ago on shores unseen.

Princes and Princesses dancing at parties of royalty in a far off land,

Common men and women lived together and begged for food, a hand.

Woods of old England, warriors, and Knights with bows and swords,

Mystical dreams of times, of shores unseen, a book of tales.

Along the river, lakes of swans gliding across the mirrored glass,

Over the hills where the whispering winds watch the grass dance.

In the English night sky, through the known expected fog of the land,

A rising moon shines its glowing light upon the trees, upon these shores.

Seasons of many centuries witnessed by a people with voices of sound,

Sir Lancelot dressed for battle riding high upon a dark horse into forever.

Dragons of fantasy flying through the sky, wings spread, soaring,

Breath of fire it is told they possess, demons brought to life in a dream.

Legends of many moons long since past, ghosts of heroes wander in mist,

Mystical dreams of shores unseen, songs sung in green meadows,

A beautiful sound from voices such a long time ago.

Keith Garrett

MY FIGHT MARCH, 1998

I sit at night, and realize the fight,

for which I have in my sight.

To have my children at my side,

I will have to sacrifice each day and night.

If I am to win my fight,

I will have to make things right.

Why is it that I sit at night,

To think about the fight in sight?

I wish that I could sleep at night,

Instead of thinking about my fight.

When I think about my children tonight,

Then I know my fight is right.

When my children are at my side,

Then it’s time to end my fight.

For my children;

Sean Christopher Garrett 7yrs.

Scott Ryan Garrett 4 yrs.

Sarah Renee Garrett 2 yrs.

I love you,

Dad

HE CAME FROM NOWHERE

Not a clue of who he really was, his name not sure,

It is said he came from nowhere, a tall man of strength.

He spoke always in a manner of calm and peace,

You could not enrage him, a confident look upon his face.

Softly spoken words but a lethal weapon, you can be sure,

There is no record of him, a mystery from where he came,

He was very fast, he was there and then he was not.

He came from nowhere, a powerful man who did want peace,

In the end, he stood tall, a trail of death he left, not evil was he.

Keith Garrett

A FACE THAT LIES

The devil’s eyes have a face that lies,

It smiles at you with promises so false.

Giving you gifts of sinful things,

Changing your appearance, a picture of greed and evil.

It taunts you into believing that bad is good,

Material belongings are most precious, love not kind.

Stand and be recognized, a face that lies,

Don’t stare in the eyes of what does not cry.

Accept not a wish, not a gift from a demon spirit,

Give not of yourself, in an instance, he’ll own your soul.

A face that lies has many by his side,

They walk as you walk, do not be fooled, this is no heavenly stroll to the sky.

Keith Garrett

A MAN WITH AN AX

Wood needs to be chopped, it sits waiting, many types and sizes,

Fall is in the air, chillier the air turns, work must be done.

A job it is to chop enough wood to warm a home for the Winter,

Must be done, perhaps no fun as it is an accomplishment to be proud.

Stack it in a pile, carry it piece by piece, chopped and split wood for a fire,

A smell, can you take it in, smell the aroma as it’s cut, stronger it grows.

A man with an ax gets this job done, he sweats from morning till the setting sun,

Swinging an ax, working as the cold moves closer,

The wood pile will rise higher.

A man with an ax is strong and determined,

He will succeed because he knows of its need,

When it’s done, a Winter of warmth,

When the setting sun, he knows the job is done.

Keith Garrett