Daniel Y.

Daniel Y. Poems

1.
A Poem Is

emotion
condensed into a paste
smothered onto buttered toast
giving life a taste
...

2.
Gargoyle

The gargoyle frowned with his permanent face
and scuffed at the birds perched on his carapace
Even more he despised the humans below
causing a ruckus and a clamorous row.
...

3.
God, My Lover

You are a mystery to me,
God my lover,
the poet with velvet hands
and a heart like a war-drum.
...

4.
On The Back Of A Napkin

I found a little poem
crying on the floor
whose dark-chocolate eyes were filled with tears
whose center was cleanly torn
...

5.
#2

The pencil just sat there.
Not being chewed, or sharpened.
Not on the verge of a great novel.
Unused. Unnecessary.
...

Daniel Y. Comments

Daniel Brick 17 February 2014

I really misinterpreted Hello Again, Stranger when I wrote my comments yesterday. Actually it was early Sunday morning and my brain wasn't fully functioning. But tonight both that poem and WALKING ALONG... make perfect sense; they're two chapters from an on-going narrative. I don't know why I made the assumption that the couple in the first poem were uncommitted, hesitant, not ready to surrender to each other. Now I see from the opening they are connected: We traveled together... braved the unknown. And their rapport is mysteriously confirmed a few lines later: We went/because we were called/you and I. Is that an inner calling, because I don't see an outside agent. I really like the passage about the note he puts under her pillow, because it is a gesture of love. Your character doesn't have to say I love you, which would be a cliché, because he just proved his love with a gesture. (I'm going to stop and send this, because the problem might be the length of my comments.)

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Daniel Y. Biography

Had too many glance and click away.
I thought you were here to find out:
my life story;
or why I write poetry;
or who is this person? ?
for anger or delight.
But those things, like tabloids and
stale chips for the unworked brain.

Dear, I do not want to bore
but poems I do not whore.
So read, read, read some more.
But do not read with such abandon
that you've lost sight of who you are.
You are a poet.

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