FROM MY OWN EYES'

 There are many things' that I can see,
 The blue sky above and the light that the sun brings,

 I see those who wander all around,
 They have no home, they don't make a sound.

 I see those who are only concerned with their own,
 They have not a care for others' around.

 The trees that I see, move from the wind passing through,
 I see the birds' fly fore this they can do.

 What Is It I see when I'm looking at you,
 Is my future still to come, for us things' we may do.

                   Keith Garrett 



 It has no heart nor soul, feeds on life and 
 Is so cold,

 Hate is this monsters only friend, takes until 
 The end.

 Watches you with delight as the suffering haunts 
 Through the night,

 Who you are disappears along with your fight, 
 Blurred with fright.

 Treat from the devil, cast upon the human race, 
 Within our veins,

 We share this gift of evil, like all wars we may win a  
 Battle as the war rages on.

 So much energy, do we forget who we are, for a breath  
 Of life, We carry forward,

 When it drains our days, tries to remove our smiles, 
 Dignity Will not be removed.

 Eyes of life, a smile within the pain, a glimmer of 
 Hope that takes us away,

 Cancer does not die, life it watches end, treat from the  
 Devil, It is not a friend.
                                 Keith Garrett


                   TREMONT AVENUE

  As a young boy I lived in a town, on a street,

  Amesbury, Massachusetts, Tremont avenue.

 Two story house built in eighteen ninety five,

 Over one hundred and twenty five years old.

 Beautiful trees, I recall woods down the street,

 Friends whom can't be found, a long time ago.

 Stormy nights, a full moon, seasons of snow,

 A tire swing, a snowman falling to the ground.

 Family, parents, a bag of colored blocks were mine,

 Nineteen sixty six is a year I do recall, grapes 
 On a vine.

 Christmas trees and snow falling down, Christmas Eve,

 Batman and the Munster's, coloring books and cartoons,

 I remember Tremont avenue, Mom, dad, and you.

                     Keith Garrett                


                      1943 NICKEL

 A nickel I came upon, old is its age,

 Dirty and worn, 1943 had a name.

 When it was made, which first pocket did hold,

 A celebrity of movies or a farmer tired at night.

 Could it have been the great Joe Dimaggio, 

 As time went by possibly a singer or Olympian.

 A little boy had a nickel in his pocket, grew did he,

 A famous writer he became, a 1943 nickel, where could 
 Could it be?

 Beyond seventy years this silver looking coin has 

 Today it rests with me, who held onto it in 1943?

      Keith Garrett


                    MOTHER'S DAY 

                       Little girls become one day, moms, mothers become grandmothers and so on,

     The special thing about a mother is they do a thing a father can't do, they experience child birth.

                     Not to say a father doesn't in some way but from the outside, today it's moms day,

                      For all the things you do with patience that at times a father does not wish to do.

                    It works both ways, that's why as a team things can work out smoothly sometimes,

              Not all is cozy and warm, this isn't a fifties show, a fantasy wished for does not come true.

                        Today we honor you the mother, a salute to you for those special things you do,

                       Taking time to know your children, being there through the tears and laughter.

                Doing your best and loving your family even when at times they show no appreciation,

                         Remember, when your feeling not loved or taken for granted, let it be known, 

                    Sometimes  you just need to scream, sure they should understand, child and man.

               For all the Saturday little league, the sleepovers, the guys are coming over for the game,

                     Of course you'll help out by preparing snacks and maybe cleaning up if they can't.

                  Here's hoping your family lets you do something for yourself or they might do for you,

                           Enjoy your day as tomorrow there will surely be lots to do as life continues.

          Happy mother's day,
                                                    Keith Garrett


  Keith Garrett   MYSTERY OF HER SONG

Many years before, she sang a song, he watched himself Gavotte,

Who was this song about, Carly sang loud.

The possibility that there were three so vain,

There was one in her thought’s, knows of him today.

As she lives, they still live and have not yet gone away,

Much older today but the song still plays.

A clue as Mick danced the Gavotte, a rolling stone,

Jack and Warren, they were vain hung out at a place of the same.

Mystery of her song, she does not speak out loud,

Who was so vein, was she so angry, Carly remembers you’re so vain.



                     MOTHER, YOU ARE THERE

 I saw the sunrise, in the morning, you are there,

 The sun sets each late afternoon, you are in the air.

 The wind wanders through the trees, I can see,

 When the wind blows, you are here with me.

 The light fades into the dark of night, you are in 

 Every night you drift into the future, somewhere.

 As the seasons change all things change, you are the

 Mother, you are there, beyond the stars, you had a name.

 As the days go by, through many remembered songs,

 Flashes of your life fill my head, a life still not long 

 Mother, you are there, when pain rests in my heart, 

 When the world is a scary place, I can see your face.

            Happy Mother's Day

             Your son, Keith


                    RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

 The span of life Is short In time,

 To do as much as you can before you're gone.

 There's no place to run, there's no escape,

 The process of aging can't be beat.

 Take things' slow and the days' still pass,

 If you move fast they don't slow down.

 Run, run, run for your life,

 Inside the clock keeps' on ticking until there 
 Is no more time.

 Don't waste time worrying about dying,

 Spend every moment trying to live life to the 

 Keep on moving creating energy, slow down and 
 You'll die,

 Search and search as much as you can find.

 You do not see It now, your end Is nowhere In sight,

 So take It all In, run for your life.

                                                                                            Keith Garrett


                   WHAT MAKES GOD SAD

 The wonder's of the world, for us he made,

 A cool felt breeze on a Summer's day.

 Mountains that stand so tall up above,

 Oceans and rivers, that which does live in them.

 What makes god sad is the hatred towards one another,

 The destruction of land for a dollar put in hand.

 Thinking of only ones self, perhaps not lending a 
 Helping hand,

 Murder, the taking of a life, this wasn't his plan.

 Pollution of lakes and streams, toxic waste not 

 The air being destroyed, does anybody even care.

 Abuse of all that is here, what man values is not 
 What he shared,

 What makes god sad should bring shame to this world.

                      Keith Garrett 



 A long ride, not much in between,

 Upon a quiet, deserted town I came.

 Not a soul in sight, a breeze echoes through 
 This place,

 Many different sounds as if people lived.

 Only ghosts of a town that once had breath,

 The back and forth clanging of an open 
 Jailhouse door.

 A saloon sign creaking as it swings in the wind,

 I can almost feel those who once were here.

 Only dust walks these streets, this town that died,

 I'll stay here for the night, I'll be alright,

 The only thing that will be my company are a horse and 
                               Keith Garrett