HUMMINGBIRD
Wings fluttering so fast in sight,
Yet hovering in one place, a color so bright.
Small as they are yet fast they disappear,
Where do they go when darkness is in the air.
Searching for nectar in flowers of a tubular shape,
From here to there, they move swiftly to anyplace.
Mysterious they appear, like no other type of bird,
When they pass you by, slightly they are heard.
Keith Garrett
HOW MUCH LONGER BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE?
We need to open our eyes, we’ve been blind too long,
Look what’s happening to us, there’s something very wrong.
Alone it won’t be done, we must do this together,
All of us take for granted a world we live in is forever.
Overlooking the pollution we pass by each day,
Leaving it to another to make it go away.
Poisoning the resources we must have to survive,
These things that we do, one day surely we will all die.
It’s now time to change, make a difference each one,
To save mankind, let’s all stand as one.
How much longer before it’s too late,
Why do we tempt the thing we call fate.?
It’s a crime what we are doing to the ground and our sky,
It’s time to stop now, it’s our time to make things right.
We can make it work if it gets done now,
To hesitate and delay will only bring sorrow.
Keith Garrett
HOUSE ON THE HILL
It stands above, from the road it is large and quietly mysterious,
Never seen is a person or people but lives there is certainly someone.
An old but beautiful, made of brick and wood house that rests on a hill,
The iron gate that surrounds it says to stay away, its beauty is always.
Appears that this old house on the hill is empty and lonely, from the outside,
There runs water down the side of the house into a lake that shines in the sun.
One can only imagine the appearance of the inside as over the years who did see,
The fact remains that somebody does live in such a place as this, a person not seen.
Why would one so desire to hide from the world or do they simply wish to be left alone,
The mysterious, quiet, house on the hill has stood for many generations as told,
Years of family perhaps at one time were known, what’s inside, a book of stories old.
Keith Garrett
HER NAME BE LISA
I sit here on a weekly basis visiting her, the green grass beneath me,
Life goes on all around but In between a piece of land that rests quietly.
It holds those who have passed on, who rest peacefully In the great beyond,
This is such a beautiful spot where the dead lay silently beneath the aging trees.
I can feel the wind upon my skin as It Is seen with branches moving musically,
The slightly clouded sky moves along forever as forever this will be her grave sight.
Her name be Lisa as It will be always carved In stone, I sit here while she Is forever gone,
A place she goes, somewhere, where It Is only the peacefully departed shall ever know.
This place where I sit, a memorial to them, to her, so that all will be remembered by some,
I know that she rests not here beneath a gravestone with her name upon it, she’s gone.
Physically It Is as close as can be, does she know I am here, she sleeps always In my heart,
Her name be Lisa, she once had life here as I still live on without her, one day our souls will meet.
Keith Garrett
THE FLOWING RIVER
I sit and watch the flowing river, the river runs away from me,
I’m here alone beneath the singing trees, the river flows into the sea.
Looking down upon the valley, the river flows between the rocks and me,
I watch the trees, the valley is seen, the flowing river is a forever dream.
The sun is setting upon all that is seen, I am life and the river is me,
I am not pretend as I have been forever, the flowing river flows through me.
Keith Garrett
HEART OF A WINNER
I’ve struggled In search of the worth of a man, to be a winner,
Questions I’ve asked, thoughts of the value from within the human heart.
Created not of money or material things, objects, treasures that we hold,
Born within us, no! not an Inherited trait, the heart of a winner.
In the morning awake do we to the rising sun, we’ve just begun,
From our nightly slumber, we stand and face the day, each day.
What drives us, what moves us along, perhaps survival,
It is the man, the woman who strives to achieve In which we see.
To the mountain top, we may never get but we’ll keep on climbing,
We do not stop fore one day a hope that It will be there,
Standing tall with your head held high, not In the physical sense.
But a feeling In the heart, a place In the mind,
To strum the guitar till the tune Is through, finish what you’ve started.
Shoes on your feet, each day a trek to work, at the end a mile home,
Not to win the game or conquer the fight.
Give it your all and sleep for the night.
I do not know where my road will take me, what I battle has no ending,
I stand here a winner for all that I have accomplished,
A winner Is one who strives to make tomorrow a better day.
Keith Garrett
HEART AND SOUL
Everything I’ve got, what’s inside of me strong,
Pours out with energy, stopped I can not be, give up I will not.
Stand and take notice as I conquer what invades my spirit,
Emotionally grow do I, strength and power absorbed within this soul.
Heart of the lion oh! I do possess, listen to me, hear me roar,
Weakness stares at me, such a pathetic coward it is, look away.
Fear and sorrow attack and intimidate who I am, rise up and fight!
Walking away, turn and gaze over my shoulder leaving it behind.
Hear what this man has to say, do you know that which lives in me,?
I grow and grow fore I have the heart and soul.
Keith Garrett
HEAD HELD HIGH
SHOULDERS BACK
Whatever gets you down, that which makes you frown,
Don’t let it take from you the smile from your face.
We meet with obstacles and challenges brought forth,
Tests of faith and courage to see what we’re made of.
Painful scars, we all hold something inside,
One foot in front of the other, we may cry but no surrender.
Each day we are blessed as also we are taught,
Some things are never easy, we strive for happiness.
Grateful for things we have, for the love of just one person,
We borrow trouble if we worry about what has yet to come.
Head held high, shoulders back,
Strength is every moment that we never give in.
Keith Garrett
HE WOULD BUILD AN ALTAR
Nobody believed he would survive as he lay there dying inside,
This young boy of twelve shot by an evil man with no heart.
A father with a faith so strong would never give up on a son,
His family, friends, and a town were concerned about his behavior.
He took his son to a wide open field of green grass where he might heal,
Set up camp and began to pray while his son lay motionless, staring.
He would build an altar of stone with a cross placed upon the top,
Seen for miles by travelers, talk of this altar and father would also spread.
Night was falling, the sun setting, supper was ready, and a visitor would show,
An old man with a cane would ask, let me try as the boy would not take broth.
The old man asked, if he is not saved will you lose your faith,? No said the father,
The old man went behind the altar, the father followed and the old man was gone.
Nothing but distance all around, where could he have gone, the father believed,
The father now wore a beard as the next night a storm was forming, this be the night.
The old man appeared in the dark and told the father, go to the altar! now!,
Lightning struck the altar and the father fell to the ground, the night was done.
When morning came and the sun rose in the sky his family was there wondering,
The father stepped from behind the altar, a true miracle as did his son with life.
Keith Garrett
HE WANTED TO BE ALONE
High up In the hills away from the crowded hostile world,
He lived alone, a quiet man of peace In his cabin of a home.
A fireplace and a pile of wood, always chopping to keep It warm,
He has all that he needs or wants with a roof above his head.
A man wakes to the morning light, begins his day with a cup of coffee,
A companion joins him for breakfast, a four legged friend of loyalty.
When the days are beautiful and filled with the sun they venture out,
Walking among the trees and the beauty seen high above what lives below.
He wanted to be alone In his made of wood home, he and a friend,
In the night as the crickets are the only sound, a chair, and a smoking pipe,
In a cabin on a hill lives a man mostly alone, all that Is needed, a smile and a home.
Keith Garrett
