KEYS TO THE KINGDOM

For whatever it’s worth you came out on top,

Power in the hands of the right and wrong is scary.

You are human but who are you really behind those eyes,

Through the years, from any shore, leaders are seen with fear and war.

Behind guarded doors of a house, Palaces and castles on foreign soil,

Keys to the Kingdom are held by those with or without morals.

There are battles fought to hold onto or gain possession of many keys,

Keys to secret places, vaults, and of course, keys to the end of the world,

Some keys should be destroyed, taken from them who misuse keys to the Kingdom.

Keith Garrett

THY THUNDERING HEART

Listen to the sound of my heartbeat, rumbles as i sleep,

From where it is you rest can the rhythm play to your ear.

This heart cries for a moment spent alone with beautiful you,

So long has it been since our walks together, forever, forever?

No prince am I, only a man with a spark of love in his eye,

Not a King of anything, no kingdom of riches to worship.

A knight in shining armor is a dream I am for you,

A beggar of wanting is not what I’ll do, not with you.

A movie star of handsome features you will not see,

Just a man who loves as he lives and dreams.

Thy thundering heart laughs and feels life’s energy,

Hurt and pain circle my every day but go away, go away.

I love you, I love you, thy thundering heart says so,

Heart and soul, from the heart growing old, strength from you.

Keith Garrett

STORIES ARE TOLD

Traditions of storytelling from thousands of years,

Around campfires and in homes in times of old.

Thought up from Imaginations or a small tale that grows,

Fables told by a Grandfather to a child in countries of old.

A bedtime adventure from a book to send you off to dream,

Around the world, many have listened, stories across the sea.

Stories are told that touch one’s soul,” listen child” they never grow too old,

Generation to Generation, within cultures of different beliefs, a tale that speaks.

Keith Garrett

DESPERADO

More than one hundred years ago he lived,

In a small village somewhere in Mexico, a boy.

Poor was his family as each day was a struggle,

There were those close by, the bad ones who stole everything.

A day came when his village was destroyed, family killed,

Survived did he to one day grow to be a man.

Revenge would be his only friend, not a bad man was he,

With pistols at his side, he would seek justice.

They called him desperado, a no good criminal,

He stole from them who once took everything meaningful.

His gun did the talking, anger ate at his soul,

He lived by campfire, ate what he shot or stole,

Justice was one day his, his reward was always on the run.

Keith Garrett

jUNGLE MUSIC

Take a fantastic journey into their world,

The birds so exotic watching high in the trees.

Sounds come from hidden places of darkness,

Snakes slither and hang from tree branches.

Tigers and panthers roam quietly for prey,

Monkey’s sing out as apes go their own way.

Insects fly far and wide, an Aardvark is noticed,

Baboons speak a different way, Chetah’s on the prowl.

Chimps or Cougars, Elephants so loud,

Watch for a Gorilla, a Hyena is found.

A Jaguar is seen searching the grounds,

Climbing a tree, a Koala is around.

A Leopard has spots and talks his own way,

As for the Mongoose, what does he say?

Wild dogs and Wolverines, Zebras and birds,

Jungle music is played, they all know the tune.

Keith Garrett

LORD OF KINGS

Rulers of many lands, they were different but greed the same,

Treasures valued beyond the real purpose of a living man.

Since the birth of man and the rising sun, war is never done,

Blood spilled with time, lies and guilt, death seems but a crime.

There are Kings who sit upon thrones of deceit and evil deeds,

I wonder If there ever was one who thought more about the common good?

The Lord of Kings Is a mysterious one, creator of all things great and kind,

Master of Earthly scenes, creator of the universe, that which men build and destroy.

Keith Garrett

As he sat down in his rocking chair he began to speak,

With a smile, he invited me to sit and went about his story.

His life as a child at the beginning of a war for Independence,

On a farm in South Carolina, he lived with a father, brothers, sisters.

He went on to tell of adventures in the Summer just before it happened,

A big house, great times with family, working the farm each day was tiring.

He must have been about ninety years old now, the war and those days long gone,

A childhood recalled, swimming in the pond with a friend or two, the night’s moon.

He told me of this war being all around them, nothing would be the same, much change,

Tears in his eyes as he described that time and place where brothers and family died.

He sits in his chair today, many years away from there, he lives in that house today,

He sits in his chair on that porch where as a child he played, he told me of his life.

Keith Garrett

STANDING IN THE RAIN

It was dark, I glanced out of the window and saw him,

Tall with dark hair, a sweatshirt soaked from the falling rain.

Why was he out there, by a tree he stood watching the rainfall,?

Clouds of many, darkness was everywhere, he stood drenched.

I wasn’t going to open the door as I was curious but a little scared,

Was I mean for not showing care, He was a stranger, why was he there.?

Standing In the rain, where did he come from, what was his name,?

Good or bad, I did not care, I walked away and left him standing in the rain.

Keith Garrett

SITTING ON A TREE STUMP,

I WRITE

Saturday morning, early as the sun is shining down on my face,

Fall is here, there’s a coolness in the air, thoughts fill my head.

Under a beautiful oak tree of many years, I sit on this tree stump,

A stump that has a story, who might have been here before.

Sitting here I write, the land and world is my playground today,

By a creek with the sunlight looking down, I’m alone, a loud silence.

Sitting here on a tree stump I write my dreams down on paper,

I write about fantastic things that can never be done by me.

Possible adventures where I can travel down the road with a pen,

I have the imagination and power to create a world of hope and love.

Sitting on a tree stump I write poetry that I have hope will touch others,

Possibly make in their place a better day, I write all of you from a tree stump.

Keith Garrett

” FEAR”

To walk alone, the growl of an unleashed dog,

In the dark of night with nobody else home.

A crowd of people watching as you attempt to speak,

Thoughts’ of the past, dreams’ of what yesterday may bring.

Crumble to the ground as the fear surrounds’ with no sound,

Do not cry, do not walk In circles, do not run, do not hide.

If eyes try to see through your windows’ of home,

Is It the thoughts’ In your mind or reality of the known.

Fear wears’ a face, It has a body and mind, It thinks’ and sees,

It remembers’ the painful monster, It Is you and me.

Keith Garrett