THE BEST SUMMER OF MY LIFE

Think far back or just a few years if there was a season remembered,

I was a child when those first Summers played, a time not in my mind.

Places that I have lived have Summers that belong to them, what is remembered,

There have been many seasons of the heated time, some of the best in my life,

Do you remember a house and city you may have lived in as a child or teen,

Friends, running with the wind, full of energy as the days seemed to never end.

The best Summer of my life, the first one that has never been recalled to this day,

The best Summer of my life was the last Summer as a young boy with my dad.

When you are young it is that when school is out every Summer will be the best,

For me, there was a great place, some of the best Summers of my life, Yorba Linda,

I was ten when I moved there and for all those kids who did, do you remember the magic.?

The best Summer of my life is every Summer I awake to from beginning to end.

Keith Garrett

PAGES

My life starts out like a book, not yet a cover,

Nothing inside page one, still not printed.

My story constantly being written with every breath,

How many pages there will be not known till the end.

This title was imagined before my creation,

Cover too cover is mine to write as I walk my life.

With each turning page I illustrate my own time,

The one just before this just a memory in my mind.

Stay open it does until my story is told,

Until I’ve been published this mans’ book will not be closed.

Keith Garrett

LET ME PRETEND

I am somewhere else, far away from this,

The only sound is of birds in the trees happily.

The crime-filled streets and sirens are not with me,

There are no voices of thought to ruin my day I say.

Everything is much louder in the real world today,

Peace seems like a rare, lost, gift that will never be again.

Let me pretend that I am not here where there live trash and fear,

A little bit better, just for a moment, let me pretend.

Keith Garrett

MISUNDERSTOOD

Sometimes the way I walk and a way I talk is noticed,

My words out loud are not always poetry spoken.

A look upon my face is perhaps seen as an angry glare,

To be safe is not always a smile shown, a distance kept.

Trust a little, just enough so that I am not fooled or taken,

Misunderstood I know I am, a judgment without knowledge.

Misunderstood as an appearance does not tell of who I am,

An impression to be observed, not always a story known.

Keith Garrett

MAGIC BUBBLES

There was a time when you were a child, remember when,

Children playing simple games back in a world of wishes and magic.

A bottle, do you recall that magic bottle from where bubbles appeared,

Close your eyes and blow through that circle of dreams, watch their form.

Bubbles, see the colors inside, small and big are they as you see them float,

Away they go to somewhere, disappearing with the wind, vanished bubbles.

As a child, it is and was such a creative, wonderful, experience of magic,

Did you believe, try to see that each one had a different gift to be held.

Blowing in the wind were dreams, wishes, possible things, everything,

Magic bubbles, once upon a time in a child’s dreaming eyes.

Keith Garret.

MAN OF THE WOODS

Born quite a distance from civilized land, this man was,

In this place, these surroundings of still and quiet, lives he.

Immense sort of a man, bearded with scraggly hair,

Hunts for that which he eats, gun or knife in hand has he.

In weather hostile or friendly he makes his way, survives,

Cabin built of wood is where this loner dwells in silence.

Content to be in this place without another soul for company,

Whittling wood or the harmonica played is a passion of a man alone.

Fish that have been caught in a stream nearby, fried up for dinner,

Eaten next to a fire that takes the chill from the night as he thinks.

On the porch settles this soul who exists in solitude enjoying the night,

Not so complete without the puff of smoke from his tobacco filled pipe.

As he speaks good night to all around, all that lives, he’s off to slumber,

Whom he is matters not, man of the woods, farewell.

Keith Garrett

LIGHT IN THE WINDOW

Each night as the sun goes down, darkness visits a sleepy town,

A usual stroll through the streets brings peace before dreams.

What’s noticed from a man’s eyes within the blackness is a window,

A dark building shows off the faint light that glows from behind a shade.

As I pass by every night along my route of walking I wonder about the light,

Who might be there beyond the walls surrounding this one and only window?

Always seems so quiet, could there be laughter or singing on the other side?

Someone quietly reading a book, dreaming of what’s out there in the world,

Beyond their window, do they wonder of things that are a mystery to them?

Is there a possible sadness that wanders around inside, who might hide?

A name must be attached to a soul with a life, only a light in the window is seen.

Keith Garrett

JUST LISTEN!

On the shore, sounds of the ocean are heard,

You can hear crashing of the waves, close your eyes.

In the afternoon, a Summer breeze, it whispers to me,

A windy day, Just listen! to the sounds that come your way.

A cricket on a warm, humid night, silence visits but there is life,

Just listen! you can hear whatever visits your wanting mind.

Keith Garrett

DID YOU HEAR IT LAST NIGHT?

I awoke last night to a booming sound, echoing across the sky,

Cracking like a whip was it as I lay there listening and wondering.

Thunder, louder it became, the sound of sparks high in the sky,

Very unusual as my eyes needed to see what this spectacle could be.

Nothing could I see except the sounds ringing into the dark night,

Did you hear it last night? it came out of the sky, I tell you no lies.

Like heavy footsteps across the clouds, horses galloping with no sight,

What was happening, was it something so real, was it just I who heard,

Did you hear it last night, did it bring you fright, was it from beyond the sky?

Keith Garrett

A PERFECT MOMENT

When darkness falls and the night is quiet,

Fighting is no more, words are of silence.

Sitting on a bench, hand in hand,

A drink for two on my private land.

When the echoes of sirens are no longer close,

The scream of the freeway is not near my home.

When all is everything I want it to be,

A fantasy is made in my own world to see.

A perfect moment can only be what we make it to be,

Things of change piece by piece, a perfect moment can be anything.

Keith Garrett