Telling Stories

Through the sliding Glass Door
I step and look up
into the nights sky
and see the stories drawn
in the darkness

Like street lights in the distance
make clear the pathway
make audible the sounds
of the spheres as they spin

In that darkness speak
through soft tones
of the stories drawn
by the light


©scott garrette 2009

Till nothing's hot

Till nothing's hot

excuse me if I don't stir the pot
let it all burn till nothing's hot
and the fire that started it all
is dead

there is no room for listening ears
it is all filled up with anxiety's tears
only patience can withstand the cold
that follows

we have no time
we must hurry and stop
that we may go again
even sooner still
and warm our hands
beside the fire


©scott garrette 2009

A Man Named Douglas

Oh there's a few rocks in the road
and one knocked my tire loose
all i can do is drive in fear
just a few more minutes here

I need a mechanic
but where can i find
someone who knows the time

The words are not here
the pain is so clear
all I can do is drive

With this banging and clicking right under my feet
my souls grow weary
over the mountains
through the streams
while the rain pours from the sky

Just a few meters ahead I'm told
I will find a man named douglas
one look and he knew
I needed new shoes

©scott garrette 2009

Shut the Alarm

So i set my alarm
and wait for it to go
I just can't sleep
is that the sun
I'll go out and sit
and write down my thoughts
pour another coffee
turn that tv off
i can't understand
all the noise in my head
what does it say
this or that way
there comes a dense fog
and the curves in the road
are not marked

another bomb three more dead
all this noise in my head
sing me that song
little cricket
above all others
let me hear your voice alone

let's get another opinion
of how things could best be done
just fill my eyes
and flood my ears
with your singing voice
tear down the structure
rebuild your home
and throw out all of the collections
of dirt and grime
that have collected your wealth
and soiled your clothes
bring back those primal ears
and shut the alarm

©scott garrette

Out From Far

i can not see what is in front of me
when i always look back
yet i must be going somewhere
i must be seeing something
a memory or a dream
which could it be
i may have lived a thousand lives
and yet i still hold this one so dear

a voice calls out from far
i have not heard a more welcoming sound
from just next door
a man comes out
speaking to those who can hear
yet all is silent
and there is no one here but me

Just Moved to NY

Originally written 12/13/2008
There is a constant cold breeze blowing on this clear blue-sky morning. Coffee is getting cold quickly in the handmade ceramic mug from my pottery days. The steam rolls off as the sun shines through the bare branched leaves and the crows move west. A perfect reflection on the glass table of a beautiful naked tree and blue sky - like the still water of a frozen lake.
My fingers go numb as i write - trying to find clarity - trying to find comfort... Trying to find meaning.

© scott garrette 2008-2009

in the woods again

In the woods again

In the woods again I follow
a trail that seems to have been made for me
or for three...
so peaceful here, so colorful
I don't speak to show my gratitude
it is known and not misunderstood

© scott garrette 2009

when the earth shook

when the earth shook

as the blue sky appears
the moon dips into the clouds
just behind the mountain top
the earth shook as it came near
in the darkness of the early morning.

she closes her eyes
for a new day
lay your head down
song birds sing their greeting
as the baby of my soul awakes
a squeak and anoter toucan appears
watching and protecting the moon
the black bird and the earth shake
with a golden beak we wake

Written in Jan of 2004 in Costa Rica at a beautiful farm called Finca Ipe. It was the first and only earthquake I've felt. More of a shudder than a quake, but strange none the less. The moon was full, and everything was quiet. I remember thinking that there were wild animals running through the woods nearby, that was the sound that woke me from my sleep. We were sleeping in an open air stilted shelter made as a yoga retreat house. Oh, it also sounded like hard footsteps on the teak wood floors, but there was no one there. The serenity of the experience is what I remember most and how out of tune I am to natural happenings. I think I can tune-in... if I try.

Ginger Bread Houses

so much exchange
of self-interest
goods in excess
from foreign halls
we want it all
but make not our own bed

give me this for that
and put out your welcome
mat when a neighbor
comes by to say hello
charge him $20 for the stay

It's all commerce
the American way
building family values
with ginger bread houses
we'll eat it all
don't forget the bed
get yours before i do


I'm not sure when I wrote this, but I'm pretty sure it was 2004-ish. Luckily, many of my writings have survived all of my moves. My collections begin in 1996 while in college at Baker University and randomly cover personal thoughts, subtle observations and some social commentary.

music to die from

music to die from

Up on green mountain
I hear the music
of the gasoline instrument
that sputters perfume
to melt my skin

They come like the gusts of misty air
around the bends
through the cloud covered hills
gently caressing my internal
combustion chamber


Originally written 1/10/2004 in Costa Rica.
It is hard to escape diesel fumes on mountain roads.

the waves are blue

Just over there
the waves are blue
birds jump from tree to tree
I'm barely shaded by these giant leaves

What are those words I hear?
sudden laughter then a pause
Where are all of my friends?

Some of the birds don't flap their wings
The wind is hot
someone left the heater on

There are few people playing in the waves

The first of a series of "words and pictures" using imagery and words created by Scott Garrette.
This writing comes from a visit to Costa Rica in 2002.