The search for freedom and a fight to keep it,

After thousands of years more is taken away today.

It’s all up for sale, we can barely walk in the hills anymore,

Dirt, water, and even air are not ours without a dollar.

We are not as free as we believe, we are allowed to do as they say,

All wars are not about freedom, most are of corruption and money.

Finding freedom when so much has changed is becoming rare,

We are losing it from every direction, before our eyes, and behind our backs.

The enemy appears to be us, look to our neighbor more than across the sea,

Look around people, we are losing our rights, finding freedom between what is seen.

Keith Garrett




With my hand stretched to the sky I can not touch the stars so high,

Nor the clouds, a falling star, or the sun going down.

The wind, I can not grab hold, a bird in flight,

A dream in the night, never a yesterday.

Beyond my reach is not my dreams,

It is not that which I pray for.

The hand of God I can not touch, in my heart, I can surely take hold,

It is not hope, nor faith, it is not a tomorrow.

Beyond my reach are many things,

Beyond my reach is not everything.

Keith Garrett



I started writing in 1998, my first poem was called my fight.

I remember sitting on the floor, a drink, pain, and much sadness.

At the time I was fighting for custody of my children and at times hiding.

My poem was about my children, today it is in a frame on my desk.

I wrote my poetry on paper in those days, I didn’t own a computer.

I never let anyone read my writing, I didn’t want their opinions.

I finally gave myself a treat, I went and bought a computer.

I spent many months typing out my poems, a lot have pictures to them.

To this day I have thousands of poems, 23 binders and still writing.

I started letting people read them many years ago, I had the chance

to read them in front of an audience thanks to my son’s Kung- Fu Instructor.

I was scared but started doing it at every Demonstration and award ceremonies.

A guy that I was speaking with once suggested I start a blog, post my writing.

My sons’ girlfriend got me started, she set up WordPress and helped me out.

I have made some friends on here as well as so much support with my writing.

I have learned not to get angry, I opened myself up to opinions and criticism.

I just say thank you for reading and think about what has been said about a poem.

I have learned a lot from having a blog on WordPress, I appreciate all of you.

I can write better and have had many ideas thanks to your thoughts and comments.

Thank you for reading,

Keith Garrett




In the Spring and Summer, you’ll find me around,

Even In the Fall, I am found.

Flying and buzzing Is not the only thing that I do,

My love for making honey Is so very true.

My quest is not to sting, though my reputation Is this,

Just like you, to survive and be left alone Is my wish.

Many cousins’ to me In this world,

Different are they, this I will say.

They all slap at me, run away, and scream,

If only I could laugh then they would hear me.

What frightens’ them, I’m so small you see,

I’m tiny, I’m fragile, I’m only a bee.

Keith Garrett



Beats this heart, a strong yet fragile organ,

A complicated mystery that gives and sustains life.

There is no love in the heart, an emotion, state of mind,

We like to believe that a person has a big heart, not a good thing.

Speaking physically and emotionally, there are two hearts,

That one in your chest and a beautiful spirit of it that beats in your soul.

Some have a bad heart, a black heart that is sick with evil,

A heart of pure gold rests with those so gentle and kind.

The hardened heart that is created within a lifetime of mistrust,

A heart of stone, a piece exists in my spirit now as I’ve been hurt,

Let it grow I will not, keep chipping away to a heart of love and care.

Keith Garrett





Do you turn eighty one beyond the sun, could this be,

If you do not ever again age, then younger you stay, always.

I saw you yesterday in a lifetime of reality, you were mom,

This birthday of yours is different, we celebrate on our own,

A card we create with words only in our hearts, a February thought.

A cake and toys, balloons were a fun time when once a little girl,

There will be only a phone call in birthday memories that passed.

You can be seen through your children’s eyes from past days,

Happy birthday! Mom, a celebration in a beautiful place.





Lost inside within a place full of lives,

How many care that they are there?

Not a pretty sight by day or by night,

A smile fades as not a family rescues you this day.

The halls hold eyes that have wishes deep inside,

Bring us home, we need a father and mother of our own.

An orphanage is not a home, nor a place we should roam,

Take us from here, we pray that you may love us and hear.

Keith Garrett