AN ACT OF FAITH

Is there trust in yourself, what trust in others,

How far would you walk for another, what would you give?

Are you of a good heart even if in the end there is no reward,

Do you expect something in return for putting your life on the line?

Would you run out in the street to save a child or one in a burning car,

Is it a question of a moral value, fear and life is a thought that comes to mind?

An act of faith, would you take a chance, do anything for friend or man,

Would you give of yourself if there could become a certain end?

Keith Garrett

A SMALL HOUSE

Along the banks of a river, is home,

Apple trees and hills of grass live here.

A small house for a family of people,

Food on the table and a fire burning warm.

Sitting on the porch, a fiddle in hand I am,

A pipe to smoke is an evening kind of thing.

Horses are down for the night, children in our sight,

Nineteenth century life is quite a fight.

A small house is all we need to believe,

Hopes and dreams are seen as far as our eyes can see.

Keith Garrett

“SISTER”

It was only what seemed liked yesterday, a little girl,

You ran around with that pretty girl smile, playing with dolls.

Not much of a care in the world as all things seemed so magical,

Your mother was always there when you skinned a knee or shed a tear.

On a playground at school running carefree with friends till day’s end,

“Sister” to brothers who were always around if ever you needed them.

Valerie, born into this world a tiny, baby girl, mystery of life and beginning for you,

I remember you back then, “sister” of my childhood friends, dark haired girl.

It may not seem so but some Angels came to see you some time ago, sent just for you,

They were there last night, sat with you until the morning’s light, they were there,

When It was time to let go they guided you away, a smile on your face as you journey to a place,

” Sister” you were loved by many, memories will fill their hearts till you are seen again.

For her family,

Keith Garrett

A PAINFUL MEMORY

Our minds remember, a picture or scenes from the past,

A reel to reel movie that for a lifetime lasts, beautiful and sad.

Scars are formed from many types of pain, a reminder of your days,

We take a look backwards of the steps we take, where we played.

A painful memory is more than one, It may reshape us into something strong,

If we can’t learn from a lesson taught, it may be we wander in circles of not.

A painful memory has found us all, we stand to experience and remember the fall,

It is a hurtful thing that follows us through, a painful memory as we live each day new.

Keith Garrett

A HEARTBEAT

Listen to my heartbeat, thump, thump, It beats,

Blood runs through it, listen to me as I breathe.

A heartbeat means life, It beats fast or slow,

Thump, thump, it goes, a heartbeat that slowly grows old.

It speaks of who I am, only one of a kind,

Listen, thump, thump, with a hand to my chest feel as I am alive.

A heartbeat lets us know that this moment is still ours,

Hear it pound, listen to its beautiful sound.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, one beat at a time,

A heartbeat so precious, thump as it beats one more time.

Keith Garrett

A LONER OF A MAN

He saw the sun but when the sun went down,

He wanted nothing more of that which was around.

Heading for the great Colorado Rocky mountains said he,

I will not be back until I see a land of eternity.

A long time ago, this man not many would know,

As for the few, he treated them with kindness, they would not forget.

A loner of a man, no choice to love and care, an inherited family,

Because he did help another kind, they took from him the love in his life.

He wanted to be alone and he learned to care, again only pain and despair,

A mountain man you see, he had a life, until life met eternity.

Keith Garrett

A HORSE CALLED STORM

Jet black, tall and strong, he stands in the morning light,

Out in the grass land roams this free spirit.

Never ridden, not a man calls him theirs,

Answers to not a soul does this horse left alone.

His name is storm, dark as the night,

Moves like lightning, sounds like thunder.

Fierce and at times mean is this beast,

Untamed by man, natural and free.

He is friends with each day, land where he runs,

A horse called storm standing in the sun.

Keith Garrett

1969

I was a child in 1969, I had not a clue of the world,

I knew of certain things, those of which I lived through.

Riding my bike and a deadly Halloween night, that’s right,

I remember all that I did as a kid, a lifetime ago and a family,

Vietnam was a reality and I was protected by my childish world.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid, Clint Eastwood was the man,

Raindrops keep falling on my head, Simon and Garfunkel were grand.

Scooby Doo and all of the colorful cartoons that I knew, I think of you,

Baseball with the miracle mets, Bill Russell and the champion Celtics,

Joe Namath with his Guarantee, the Jets beat the Colts, Charles Manson and history.

The Innocence of the Brady Bunch, walk on the moon, Led Zeppelin and a tune,

1969 was the year when love and innocence was mixed with my day.

Keith Garrett

A THANK YOU DEAR LORD

It’ me again, many thoughts swirl in my head,

For this life you gave to me, I am most grateful.

I wake each morning to the rain or shine,

You’ve let me walk your worldly creation, I’m still alive.

I forget at times and also for granted take,

This life is precious, there’s much good in the world.

A thank you dear lord for the things given to me,

The wonders of this land at times are hard to see.

I’ll try to remember that fragile is man,

Speak to you soon, I keep trying to understand

And be the best I can.

Keith Garrett

A STORY TO TELL

A PIECE OF TIME

It’s been a long time, I think about being thirteen,

I just started at Bernardo Yorba JR,high, just a scared boy.

Life seemed to be changing so much from where I came from,

I moved to Yorba in nineteen seventy two, I was lost after my dad died.

Glen knoll was my first stop, then off to seventh grade where I met many friends,

Taken for granted all of these things right in front of me, we were just kids.

I think of those friends today, dreams enter my sleeping body in the dark of night,

I would like you to know that I remember you more than you know, a long time ago.

You walked through a school that I once visited years after we were far from there,

The year was two thousand fourteen, I wandered again in the land of Yorba Linda.

Neighborhoods that we knew were mostly the same, trees taller than once stood,

It was a Saturday morning when I walked with an old friend into a school much older.

We were no longer fourteen just as Bernardo Yorba had so much age to it now,

Wandering this place filled with ghosts of friends from the past, cobwebs now rest.

Lockers were no more, where all kids stood and spoke of childish stories that would end,

Standing in the center surrounded by classrooms where teachers once taught,

I was an older me remembering a boy playing sports in this place, I stood again.

Nineteen seventy five I was thirteen, coming back here it is quiet, a sound from the wind,

Looking around, echoing voices from ghosts of friends, I remember you a long ago friend.

I have been back there to Yorba several times since I was young, a neighborhood I loved,

Although it has changed over the years just like every small town anywhere you go.

The last time I visited I walked around the streets of my neighborhood, a bit older,

The outside area is too crowded, Yorba Linda Boulevard is not the same as those days.

I’m so grateful that I was able to have lived there at a time when it was quiet and peaceful,

Esperanza was a great school with the best friends I ever had, Short lived for myself.

An Injury suffered at school turned to Illness and I was suffering at school along with each day,

I missed out on a lot so I find myself traveling back in stories, I visit back in my mind.

A piece of time is what was given to us all back then. a childhood, life as teens was ours,

For myself, walking past houses of old neighbors, and friends is like seeing emty shells.

A ghost town now with tumbleweeds, the seventies were left behind, that was my time.

Keith Garrett