David W. Berner’s Garden Tools is a tender, unfiltered look at life’s quietest, most intimate moments through a collection of personal poems. These verses unfold like a walk through a familiar neighborhood—each turn uncovering memories, losses, questions, and the simple grace of being alive. Whether Berner is remembering his father’s workshop, holding a sick dog in the middle of the night, or watching clouds hover like smoke, he invites readers into his world with open arms and a poet’s soul. The book is divided thematically—“Landscape,” “Love,” and “Longing”—and each section gently pulls at different emotional threads, yet they all speak to the same universal truths: impermanence, connection, and the raw, fleeting beauty of daily life.

I found myself genuinely moved, not just by the content, but by Berner’s voice. It’s plainspoken and warm, never showy. He doesn’t try to impress; he just tells the truth. That humility gives his poetry its strength. Take “Dog Dreams” or “At the Window”—they’re simple but heartbreaking. He sees life like a worn photograph: faded, yes, but still holding onto light. His reflections on aging and memory hit especially hard. There’s a lived-in honesty here, like he’s writing from a shed in the backyard with a dog at his feet and time running out. And the humor slips in at just the right moments—dreaming of Scarlett Johansson or pondering a half-moon with quiet affection. It doesn’t try too hard. It just works.

The tone is relentlessly nostalgic. Some might find the sentimentality a bit thick in places. But to me, it never felt forced. There’s something brave about writing plainly, without armor. And it’s not all wistful. There’s wisdom tucked between the lines—about fatherhood, forgiveness, even the weight of an old omelet pan. His poems act like mirrors. You read one and suddenly remember the smell of your dad’s garage or the way your grandmother’s cane thudded on the floor. That kind of recognition is rare, and it stayed with me.

Garden Tools is for readers who want to slow down and feel something real. It’s for anyone who’s ever stared out a window and wondered about the past, or watched the sky and hoped for some kind of sign. I’d recommend it to lovers of Mary Oliver, Billy Collins, or even Thomas Merton, whose spirit quietly haunts a few pages here.

Pages: 61