My Forever Friend

Doug and Shirley (February 2022)

Hello, my Forever friend. It’s just lonely me, again. 
You’re on my mind it seems, and in my dreams. 
Your face still lingers, slips through my fingers,
I try to make it stay. Heaven’s just too far away. 

The paths we walked, arms interlocked, hands grasped.
We’d joke, you knew before I spoke, what I would ask.
Your voice, your touch, I miss them, oh, so much.
There is no sound when you are not around.

Once in a crowd, I called out loud, nothing mattered. 
People stared, they were scared, so they scattered. 
I didn’t care. I saw you there, why could they not? 
It meant so much, the sweet tranquility you brought.

You were called to leave. I was left to grieve, 
The honour’s mine, do not pine, just let it be. 
Grief, noblest show of love, show I unto thee. 
I’ll wait for you, you for me, My Forever Friend. 

Douglas Garrett

Alone

I pray in my own Gethsemane, far from my Saviour’s tomb.
I’m down on my knees as I sob my pleas, alone in a dim lit room.

Though the blood doesn’t pour from my every pore. like my Saviour shed for me,
The tears it seems, shed their steady streams, from my eyes that no longer see.

It takes times like this, then it happens: a broken heart is made whole.
His love is felt, by the words that melt the ice from a troubled soul.

He speaks to me at length of strength, and a time so long ago,
When he offered free his gift to me, and I feel my spirit glow.

When I rise with the dawn, my trials are gone, and I feel the warmth of his light.
The sins of my past are forgiven at last, and are left with the dark of the night.

-Doug Garrett

Reaching Out

I passed him waiting by his cart. “God Bless you friend,” I heard him say. 
His smile was warm, not like my heart. How easy beggars like to pray.

When I have prayed for God to hear, to help parched and withered grain,
His voice came not, nor was he near. All by itself came needed rain. 

Thrice I had prayed to see again those who I loved, long passed away.
But sick and poor were all that came. How could I have such people stay?

So I have worked with eyes down turned and gleaned alone by sweat of brow.
All which, by rights was mine, I earned! But oh, the lonely silence now.

“Your God is foreign to my eyes.” This time the old man heard my chide.
“My son, I heard each time your cries. My outstretched hand was swept aside.”

-Doug Garrett

Unfinished

God left the world unfinished, placed man in it unskilled.
He left the voltage in the clouds, the sands with oil filled.
He left the rivers running wild, untamed with power leaping,
The cities waiting to be built, the pregnant forest sleeping.

Raw nature was the gift he gave to strengthen man – not soften,
To sweat man’s brow, to sear his soul, to test and try him often.
What will you find? What will you build? What mystery uncover?
The will of God, the role of man – all waiting to discover.

-Doug Garrett

The Promise

For so long the land lay waiting, undisturbed until that day,
When their footsteps crashed like thunder, bringing dreams from seas away.
Like great waves they filled the forests. Onward as a mighty flood.
Steel rails reaching for horizons, gripping sleepy prairie mud.

As they filtered through the mountains, as they plowed the eager earth, 
A vision burned within their hearts – a nation was in birth.
They built with strong traditions, they dreamed upon their youth,
This nation of the future: A nation built on truth.

Tell me brother, tell me sister, are you not the ones they bore?
Are you not the ones they witnessed that made their spirits soar?
They left for you a nation, they sowed you in this land.
They put these gifts of nature into your waiting hand.

Have you seen the nations wealthy standing on the nations poor?
Longed for strong and righteous leaders to keep crisis from our door?
We now face the troubled future. Hope’s not vested in the weak.
You were born to keep a promise. It is you they search and seek.

Hush your chatter, pause your laughter, still your hands from noisy toil.
Hear the sound the soft wind whispers, bringing voices from the soil.
Wake up, wake up, its urges. Claim your legacy and land.
Faith will fill your heart with courage. God will guide your trembling hand.

-Doug Garrett

Nephi’s Lament

Based on: 2 Nephi: 28-35
Set to the music of: You Raise Me Up

Awake my soul, no longer droop in sin. Slack not thy pace because of faults therein.
Rejoice my heart and cry unto the Lord. Give place for him and waken to his word.

Lest I give room for evil in my heart, destroyer of my peace from me depart.
I’ll not embrace the scorn of pressing foes; The gates of righteousness to these will close.

My God, my rock, forever be my might. Upon the wings of truth my soul take flight.
No more the groaning of my heart dissuade, nor lead me from my promises hence made.

-Doug Garrett

The Road

The road leads on and on and on
in never ending line, 
The present and the future scenes –
The rest is left behind.

The white clouds are the memories
And as they come and go,
Remind me of forgotten times
That I feel I should know.

-Doug Garrett

Modern Pioneer Reality

This poem was written in 1965 when I packed up my family and moved from Montreal, Quebec to Calgary, Alberta Canada. We truly felt like pioneers moving our way west to make a new home.

Oh pity the Western bound stranger, with sunburned and leathery face.
Whose eyes gleam of hope and adventure to be found in that faraway place.
Just like a pioneer he travels, but now it is for frolic and fun,
As he steers his chrome studded wagon, his camera replacing his gun.

Now behold, oh misguided observer. See the bumps on his weather tanned face.
And note how vigorously he scratches, black fly bites all over the place.
And see how he stares ahead proudly, hand shading his brow firm and strong.
The look is not proud, its desperation –  as he searches in vain for a John. 

-Doug Garrett

The Little Red Hen Rap

“Who will help me to make some bread?”
“Not me Hen Mother, I feel half dead.”
“Out of sight cool chick,” said Ol’ Hen Mother,
“I guess I’ll have to find another.”

So off she went through the Barn Yard City,
Until she met a real wild kitty.
“Hey Cool Cat, I’ve got some dough,
Needs a little like, kneading though?”

“How about you and me together,
Fling your fur while I flap my feather?”
Get lost Mumsie, I read you clear,
But I ain’t got time for working here.

“Got a red hot band with a far out tune.”
So cat checked out that afternoon.
Then she saw a big old cow.
“Help. Help Milk Maiden like, I mean right now.”

“I got this flour that’s high on yeast,
I’m just about ready to make a feast.
But I need some muscle to pull and push,
Cause the scene right now is flat, white mush.”

“I’d love to help you Feathered Lady,
But it just so happens I’m getting ready
For a dairy meeting in Saskatoon –
Some cow tried jumping over the moon.”

“I’ve got to get some compensation.”
With that, Red Hen packed the conversation.
Back to the kitchen all by herself,
She took the white mush off the shelf,

Set to with all her might and main,
Wretched her back, gave her neck a sprain, 
But finally the loaves were in the larder.
Mother Hen just couldn’t go farther.

“Hey, Hey! Hen Mother, what’s that I smell?
You’re a real bread swinger, I hear tell.
From the look of that bread, I’m just in time,
To ease that hunger pain of mine.”

Back on the veranda came a soft “ Meow,”
“I wouldn’t miss this scene no how.
How about bringing my band inside,
While we try this dough that Mumsie fried?”

Now old Milk Maiden made the scene,
“Our Milk Board members would turn bright green
If I brought them some of this invention,
to liven up their Milk convention.”

“Now hold on, Ethel,” cried Ol’ Red Hen.
She raised her voice and she said again,
“You girls drive me to complete distraction,
Where were y’all when I needed action?”

“You don’t fool me, cause I know the score,
So you better help out, a whole lot more!
Cook Chick, you come off that wall,
And lay a dozen, Grade A Small.

And cat, start up your band quartet,
And we just might do some swinging yet.
You gotta spin before you get to wear silk.”
“She’s right,” said cow. “Here’s a gallon of milk.”

So they all got fed, cause they each took part,
Each gave what little they could impart.
They remembered the lesson of Ol’ Hen Mother:
Work goes best with one another .

-Doug Garrett