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Daniel Brick

Bronze Star - 5,295 Points (June 10,1947 / St. Paul MN)

After the Poet's Death

His poems refuse
to mourn his passing, they
detach themselves from
books, magazines, wall hangings
and float freely
in the fair summer air.

Their refusal to mourn is
steadfast. 'He's just changed
his address, ' one of his
first poems says to the new
lyrics. 'He's done this before,
searching for a better place to live.'

'And we always go with him, '
pipes a small poem, barely
audible, maybe not
completed, hardly a poem
at all. 'We are all of us
pieces of his soul, ' booms

the lordly Epic Poem
of 24 cantos. 'We must
catch up with him, restore
his soul to wholeness, then
together, all of our words
linked, all of our sentences

looped around each other,
we will be the ONE POEM
he always claimed
to be writing.' Murmurs
of approval for Epic's speech
crescendoed over the meadow,

into a harmony of voices that
was almost musical. 'Excuse me,
oh, pardon me.' From way in back
where the sequence poems
had clustered, Sonnet XIV
was coming forward. He

squeezed through a group
of illustrated narrative poems,
and eased himself past
the pastoral poems, reclining
on the yellow-green lawn.
Lacking the familiar support

of sonnets XIII and XV,
XIV was unsure of himself.
Epic graciously steadied him,
and introduced him to the assembly,
'Dear friends, ' he began softly,
'we sonnets were with him for hours

yesterday. He was reading
us to his three children. It was
the happiest afternoon! He read
sonnets by the two Rossetti's, brother
and sister, his favorites. Then,
just as the sun dipped and lights came on,

something happened. He suddenly
collapsed.' XIV breathed deeply.
'We watched as two of his childen
covered his face with a blanket.'
For a long moment, it was
just the green air of summer.

Then an immense cry
sliced the greenness, and it bled
grief over all the poems.
The Elegies, whose gray eyes
had held little hope, were
comforted by a volume of

haiku. Pairs of Love Poems
embraced fiercely to crush
grief before it could
propagate. Drinking Songs from
the Chinese laughed harshly and
poured more wine. Wisdom Poems

fell into stunned silence. The other
sonnets joined XIV and they all
bowed their heads. A straggle of
Free Versers assembled, reciting
They sheltered the small poem, confused, bereft.

It was dusk but no shadows
obscured the outlines of trees,
bushes and flower patches. The sun
had withdrawn, but left behind was
a spiritual glow, suffusing all
with yellow-gold, an unasked for grace

welcomed nonetheless for beauty's sake.
A procession had quietly formed
on the furthest margin of the meadow.
Prose Poems, from his last published
work, carried and pushed a huge
covered arch. They were silent,

except for a choral hum, which other
poems joined as it gathered them
into the procession, making it more
spacious and resonant. A smiling Epic
and the sonnets understood suddenly
what was happening, and joined

the Prose Poems, who welcomed them.
Together, they braced the arch
and removed the cover. Cheering
resounded across the meadow. Then,
in perfect silence, the poems
crossed the threshold, and entered

the open arch. Sonnet XIV paused.
'You see, he is not dead. He
lives in all of us. We are his
life eternal.' Then he too
disappeared within, as did
every poem, quietly entering -


Submitted: Thursday, August 07, 2014

Topic of this poem: Poetry

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  • Freshman - 1,071 Points Galina Italyanskaya (11/20/2014 4:08:00 PM)

    An interesting poem, Daniel!
    People leave us, their bodies come back into the earth, but their thoughts, feelings, some part of their soul stay with us. And maybe it's true that pictures, music, writings are like their children - another form of memory, not genetic but sometimes it lives even longer than DNA. (Report) Reply

  • Freshman - 1,871 Points Paul Sebastian (9/17/2014 10:33:00 AM)

    I was entralled with your write. Read it a few times to dring in the beautiful wine! True, Daniel, poets live forever through their poems. All poets contribute their heart-written words, each painting a part and there is no fishing end of the picture. Generations will read and savour each verse penned by the poet. Contribution of wisdom, beauty, joy....happiness. Such are poets! Thank you so much for your poem. Just loved it! (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 2,555 Points Abekah Emmanuel (9/6/2014 3:07:00 PM)

    It takes great minds to compose styles of poetry such as this one. I like your choice of words and the enjambment. Carefully and wisely employed. keep up the good work! (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 472 Points Sana Hernandez (8/14/2014 11:13:00 PM)

    Your use of conversation in your poetry never ceases to amaze me, Mr.Daniel! This poem; however, was very heart touching. To a poet it'd be heart caressing, I'm sure. As it beautifully and accurately describes the eternal bond between a poet and his poems. Your personification made it almost magical, certainly intriguing.I loved every bit of it! Especially the rollercoaster emotions that came with each poem.No mourning, then love, then laughter, grief etc.All so quickly, like a lighting bolt of inspiration.In short, your poem was absolutely stunning!
    -SOH (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 927 Points Piyush Dey (8/13/2014 10:25:00 PM)

    simply marvelous. this heart touching poem had a unique love, humor and sorrow in it.
    loved this beautifully expressed verse a lot. enjoyed! (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 603 Points Nika Mcguin (8/12/2014 11:43:00 AM)

    Would it be weird to say best funeral ever? lol. On a serious note though, this was amazingly creative. You have such a way with painting a scene, always choosing the most striking and eloquent words. I think this is something all poets - all writers - can agree on. Our poems take on a life of their own, because they are tiny bits and pieces of our souls.

    Nika~ (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 222 Points Marie Shine (8/12/2014 9:36:00 AM)

    Wow! Thought I'd never get to the end of this write, Daniel! What a marathon! I feel that your wonderfully crafted poem is relevant to all writers. We live on through out poems in a sense after we pass. Each is like a little piece of the jigsaw, when they all fit into place, the character of the writer is revealed. Beautifully expressed, with the smoothest flow, I enjoyed reading very much. Thank you for sharing, Daniel. Blessings... (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 11,765 Points Mandolyn ... (8/8/2014 1:37:00 PM)

    reclining to the yellow-green lawn- love that.
    there are too many great phrases in this write to mention
    so i will just mention how pretty dang rad it is. (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 12,205 Points Valsa George (8/7/2014 11:40:00 PM)

    Wow..... What a wonderful write! The poet is fortunate that he is going to live through his creations..... His life is not wasted! Even the father of a dozen children won't get such a solemn Adieu.... such homage! Here his demise is not mourned but celebrated as he has only changed his lodging to a more comfortable settlement! Being a prolific writer, the poet persona described here has laid his hands on everything..... epics, elegies, sonnets, haikus, narratives and prose poems...! They are all 'pieces of his soul'.... Now all pieces are melded together to form a collective entity that will be enduring ever and the poet passes to timelessness! Just wonderful...... Hats off! (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 282 Points Daniel Y. (8/7/2014 9:52:00 PM)

    A really magnificent poem. Touching movement, like an orchestral composition. I love the end, a sweet and gentle gliding into immortality as simple as a new title.14 is the bold hero of the bunch, confronted with the visceral death of their creator, he does not give up hope, because it is not in him. The creator taught him about the world and gave him strength. The single piece that seems to keep everything together. Is 14 a summation, then, of the poet's philosophy? It's fascinating to see the different types and how they interact.
    Could you do something similar with all the emotions of a single person? Perhaps trapped in some kind of self-induced coma? (Report) Reply

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