Michael Garrett Poems

The morning, immaculate and brilliant
pulls
me
from
...

Are we monsters?
To be pursued perpetually to the margins of society?
Deformed from the scars of neglect and painful experiences.
Oozing the bile of past traumas, reanimated and assembled from various salvaged parts of ourselves.
...

Many years have passed since I stood as a young child, savoring the consolation of the sun.
Yet I feel him stirring inside of me, kicking, birthed from memory.
I, even now, close my eyes and feel the sun, exuding, igniting my face.
Wildfire of memories burn.
...

He died all alone.
He lived for us all.
Preached love and respect
and Mi Familia
...

I like the mornings.
Some folks prefer the night.
With its allure of satisfied vices
and shadows groaning.
...

Sometimes I sit and watch
the graves at the cemetery.
It is a solemn quiet affair.
Everything seems to cease
...

When I leave you with my last goodbye
That I pray shall come from these lips
As I sink slow and peaceful, into imperceptible darkness.
Think not that I had to die
...

I left NJ behind just as soon as I could.

Left the old 70's era trailer
Where it stood, just behind the bar
...

Sometimes I have nothing to say,
however I still feel the urge to sit and write and Play
with words.
To feel them and work them like
...

Little things can seem so big,
create a branch from a twig.
Problems emerge like stars in the sky,
flicker a while and say good-bye.
...