A WAND OF MAGIC

In hand, a wand would make me a magic man,

Not even a word and crime would disappear.

I could stop time, rid the world of trash or pollution,

Take away the sick waters of rivers and oceans.

Murder on our land would be stopped with a hand,

The ill would be no more, cancer but a memory.

I could run fast or jump high,

A tear would be one less for all of mankind.

The cruel slaughter of creatures in the world,

With a wave from my hand, this would end.

A wand of magic need not be that of evil,

For love and good, the hand that holds this wand.

A wand of magic is not to be real,

We can wish, hope, and pray, that it all goes away.

Keith Garrett

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A VISIT INTO YESTERDAY

As I couldn’t seem to believe I was really there where at a time a ten year old boy

Without so many worries ran and played, a dreamer who was much afraid.

Saturday, August thirty first two thousand and thirteen I once again stepped

Onto that school ground and thought of all that use to be and faces hard to see.

With the wind as my eyes searched around a long lost laughter, invisible sounds,

Remember the grassy playground,? today I imagined the ghosts that did in fact play.

Watched did I those memories of a yesterday, the trees are much bigger,

There was one that I use to sit under and read books with some friends,

It still stands, much older though, shadows of us sitting there, now older I am.

Many changes there are as change is in everything, today I changed,

We said goodbye and began slowly away as I looked at houses of old.

Brett Olsen, Mike Keefe, and Brad Gribble’s house I remember,

Ron Laufercade, Lori Prichard, Neil Haynes houses were filled with ghosts,

Others are a bit faded in my mind, heading for Esperanza to see what we find.

Pulling up in front of a school, a place of so many thoughts and memories,

In the heat of the day, we took pictures of a long ago yesterday.

One last stop beyond where once a donut shop stood, Winchell’s,

Past the park with the tennis courts, around the corner of Cordova Street,

A picture of a house, a memory, Kim Gilberts, a memory that rests with me.

Keith Garrett

PAGE 1.

A VISIT INTO YESTERDAY

A drive in miles not so far as the journey through time,

This trip I took with a friend, to Yorba Linda on a hot humid day.

Down the road, a boulevard with the same name as a city once lived,

Around the corner, closer a school where ghosts of friends now walk.

The gates were open, emotions filled the soul of a man for another moment a boy,

We walked the grounds where friends no longer speak or laugh, quiet all around.

Down the street and around another corner, Amberdale to Fernglen Drive, back home,

Out from the car, we step, hot and humid but here we stand in front of our childhood.

As the years pass it’s a little hard to recall who lived in what house, so many friends,

Staring at my old house as a picture is taken, seen from my eyes is a family inside, no more mine.

Bryan Martin’s house, my old friend, a friend far from there as I stare and freeze a thought, a picture,

A house from nineteen seventy two, I remember you, the things we would do.

I stood there in spots where once my feet walked, the face of a house where a family

Forty years gone, the Darcy’s, a friend standing by my side who also once lived inside.

Up and down many streets where young girls and boys once played and dreamed.

Above it all, over a hill, we traveled closer to a playground, a school where children

Once upon a time sat in classrooms to learn and listen about the world we would see.

A TRUE OLYMPIAN

What seems like a lifetime of preparation and hard work Is here,

Sacrifice, blood, and sweat have been understood throughout.

For years getting ready for the ultimate competition Is recognized,

Whatever the battle you’ve been preparing for Is close, are you ready?

Stand and face your opponent, hold your head high and face your fear,

Strong Is the athlete who does finish whether win or lose, still a victory.

To make It there, be chosen to represent a country Is already a winner,

Raise your hand high In the air, wave the flag of colors and be also proud.

You are a true Olympian If you worked that hard and made It, head held high and proud.

Keith Garrett

A THANK YOU DEAR LORD

It’s 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 PLACE WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE

Their Is a place, It takes a lot to get there, a search everyone must make,

There’s a place, It might be so far from where you stand or closer than thought.

A place where dreams are made rests deep Inside the heart, desire to succeed,

They are made with hard work and sacrifice, up late Into the night, weary eyes.

Running every morning before the sunrise catches up with you, make that dream come true,

Climbing the mountain until the pain disappears Into a numbing nightmare of fight.

Rowing across the channel against the ferocious water, It’s up to you to make It back to shore,

You can do It!, this Is a place where dreams are made, battle through what tries your mind.

Through the jungle you make you way, nothing stops a man whom dreams of a better place,

Don’t give up, say this to yourself as you struggle for that fifty, fifty chance to make It a dream.

You are the men, the women who run when the bell rings, sirens take you beyond the danger,

Remember, It was all of you who passed the test so that a life may be saved, you had a dream.

Do you carry a gun,? a badge worn every day from sun till sun, this was your dream, my friend,

To win each day Is to go home and walk through that door with a kiss for a family, you survived,

A place where dreams are made, Inside the human soul, the spirit of those who never choose to lose.

Keith Garrett

A PICTURE

I stand here watching as I am not noticed but observe I do,

By an old, leafless tree I watch this scene hidden in the shadows.

A long time ago I see in front of me an old farmhouse of red,

Old, withered, fences surround the house and land, many trees in the distance stand.

A sky of clouded blue is a part of this picture seen from my eyes,

To the left of me slowly walking is a young man and horse,

Their shadows follow along as they head on down the road.

Covered with leaves is the ground as the look and feel of Fall is around,

A wagon sits unhitched close to where it is that I stand,

A picture from a long time ago, not recognizing where I am.

A picture of a place that once used to be, now just a picture of a memory.

Keith Garrett

A MAN WITH AN AX

Wood needs to be chopped, it sits waiting, many types and sizes,

Fall is in the air, chillier the air turns, work must be done.

A job it is to chop enough wood to warm a home for the Winter,

Must be done, perhaps no fun as it is an accomplishment to be proud.

Stack it in a pile, carry it piece by piece, chopped and split wood for a fire,

A smell, can you take it in, smell the aroma as it’s cut, stronger it grows.

A man with an ax gets this job done, he sweats from morning till the setting sun,

Swinging an ax, working as the cold moves closer,

The wood pile will rise higher.

A man with an ax is strong and determined,

He will succeed because he knows of its need,

When it’s done, a Winter of warmth,

When the setting sun, he knows the job is done.

Keith Garrett

A GAMBLER

Spin the wheel, maybe a roll of the dice,

A bad hand at cards, so it’s said, you’ll lose your shirt.

Bet on a game, football, basketball, baseball, it’s all the same,

Your wallet is empty, credit cards are okay.

Horses are great, this time you feel lucky inside,

At the finish line, a house could be on the line.

Deal in drugs, surely a gambler you’ll be,

If it’s not the law, a dead man you might be.

A car thief is a risk, money at your feet,

End up in prison, oh! what a life you lead.

Ask of a loan shark, a favor please,

Put up your life, no friend indeed.

A gambler, a gambler, in each one of us may be,

What risks do you take for all that you need?

Keith Garrett

A FACE THAT LIES

The devils’ eyes have a face that lies,

It smiles at you with promises so false.

Giving you gifts of sinful things,

Changing your appearance, a picture of greed and evil.

It taunts you into believing that bad is good,

Material belongings are most precious, love not kind.

Stand and be recognized, a face that lies,

Don’t stare in the eyes of what does not cry.

Accept not a wish, not a gift from a demon spirit,

Give not of yourself, in an instance, he’ll own your soul.

A face that lies has many by his side,

They walk as you walk, do not be fooled, this is no heavenly stroll to the sky.

Keith Garrett