Early Spring Day Poem by Daniel Brick

Wow a creative excelent poem while watchin yor gran's portrait and recallin those olden days.! Pls do review my latest poem too.

Very nice imagery. I could almost see the picture in front of me! Also, I like how you used, 'mother of my mother's mother' instead of simply 'great grandmother'. Very creative! Nice job. -SOH

Wow Daniel, this is amazing! You captured an entire existence and painted it for us in vivid heart wrenching language. The only thing left of her is a photograph and a ghost that wanders in search of something. It makes you wonder what things the future holds that you'll never be able to see. And maybe one day someone will be holding your picture in the same way, remembering your existence. This is the kind of poem that just seems to echo inside your soul. It's a kind of foreboding and reminiscing all wound into one. that probably makes no sense. One thing is for sure I'm adding this to my poem list :) ~Nika

Let me quote a few lines- - - - But I can hold this time, hold it gently in my hands, and let the gentleness ease your ghost, still wandering around the house, searching for something, perhaps a brass button in a clogged drawer, or a letter addressed to you but never opened, or a red scarf you only wore on Sunday afternoons. (Part-II)

A soft tender poem with the eagerness to connect with one's past, to feel the feelings of the great great grand mother and hold those moments gently in hands and pouring forth through words-(Part-1) - - -

A very touching poem - if your mother of mother's mother and the other beloved ones had heard you poeming for them in the Early Spring Day, how delighted they would have felt... I enjoyed reading this work.

'It reveals more of yourself than you ever revealed to the deep men around you' ' two sons whose brash voices speak of new years whose threshold you will never see or cross' These exquisite lines enticed so much thought of the refined ladies of those days, hard physical work running a household, and the new generation, a reminder of our mortality that prevents participation in the future world of man. A truly lovely portrait.

Lovely poem Daniel. But as I hold your poem ‘gently in my hand, ’ I am reminded that though life is hard (a terminal disease that will kill us all in the end) , in spite of that, there is meaningful joy to be found in a lost button found in a clogged drawer, the ‘treasure’ of an unopened letter, whether its contents bring us tears of joy or pain, and a very special red scarf which others might well put in the Salvation Army Box for the poor. Perhaps also true of the husband grunting to breakfast and the (almost always brash) voices of her children, is that these simple sounds were in fact music to her ears, the symphony she loved the most? ! We are all so disconnected from the past especially and from each other sadly, but I love this poem, not for what it says about your grand mother and about your longing to connect with her, as what it says simply about your longing to connect with others, the spirit of all poetry perhaps. I think again that the sadness, the wish for a hug that epitomizes this poem for me, is something we all feel, every day, our feeling’s richness not just in joy, but also it’s absence. My conclusion is simple: in your life, in feeling, in your verse, in how I (and others) feel about you, you, Daniel, are a wealthy man. Your poems, almost always remind me of my own humanity, that I am in fact not alone, that feeling loved, like loving another, is a choice, not something that just happens to us.