The Other Daniel Poem by Daniel Brick
The Other Daniel
He has better luck with women. He doesn't
obsess over them, walks next to them
with an easy gait, much like his unforced
conversation. His smile is spontaneous,
never phoney. Several girls have told him
they like it, that made him smile broadly,
and proves my point - of difference. He
prefers to spend his free time in company.
To this end, he has a plethora of acquaintances,
and many activities and sports, just
in case one is needed to pass the time
with one of those acquaintances, who help
him keep SOLITUDE in its proper place -
which is in my life....
He has pursued several jobs, but never
a career. Boredom is one of his major
issues, and he says a career is one of society's
way of confining you, of stunting you. He
borrows my words and phrases, when we talk
like this. Once he mumbled a thank you,
but usually we avoid anything emotional
or sentimental. We are, after all, closer
than brothers. clones really, mirror-images
that reflect those differences which define
the negative space we occupy in each other's
reality. These are my words again. I aim to be
precise and coherent in all my communications.
To that end, I gave up prayer many years ago.
It was a conscious decision, not a whim, I
thought my way out of belief in prayer. He,
on the other side of things, prays all the time,
and never gives it a thought. He told me,
but then regretted telling me. He got mad,
and almost threatened me physically. I realized
suddenly he could do me harm. Our bodies are
identical, but he could easily hurt me: he has
that killer instinct....
We drifted apart for a while early in the new
century. There had been no argument, no rift.
I guess he got bored. But that's been mended,
and now we communicate, face to face, so to speak,
every week. Just last week, he surprised me.
He told me, he has read all 100+ poems I have posted
at PoemHunter. 'I'd give my right hand to be able
to write poems like yours, ' he said quietly, and
the look on his face assured me he was telling the truth.
THE OTHER DANIEL. I started writing spontaneously. Then consciously.
Forty minutes later, I had the first draft of this poem. I'm surprised by what I wrote, but the other Daniel just smiled and said, 'This poem has been
inside of you for a long time. You've just been too busy to notice it.'
I'm going to trust his opinion on this and post it. It's good to have that other self available.
We Are Seasoned Antique Wines we soul spirit poets are seasoned in verse immersed in decades memories distilled thoughts must time ripe rise we write ourselves with each draft drunk we drink distilled life experiences we are seasoned antique wines Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'The Other Daniel' by the poet Daniel Brick. Dedicated to the poet Daniel Brick. Complete version of the split images 'Spirit Poet Poetry', 'Distilled Thoughts' and 'Absorbed Distilled Life Experiences' by the poet Terence George Craddock.
We Write Ourselves we write ourselves with each draft drunk we drink drunk on words we write time fermented memories wisdom's shadows etched into mirror images echoes focused lens Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'The Other Daniel' by the poet Daniel Brick. Dedicated to the poet Daniel Brick. Complete version of the split images 'Time Fermented Memories' and 'Wisdom's Mirror Images' by the poet Terence George Craddock.
Poets Life Distilled In Oak Body Caskets seasoned in verse immersed in decades memories distilled thoughts must rise we write ourselves with each draft we drink drunk on words we write wisdom's shadows etched into mirror images echoes focused lens reveals amplified magnified surface layers penetrating thoughts are distilled in oak body caskets Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'The Other Daniel' by the poet Daniel Brick. Dedicated to the poet Daniel Brick.
Spirit Poet Poetry we soul spirit poets are seasoned in verse immersed in decades Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'The Other Daniel' by the poet Daniel Brick. Dedicated to the poet Daniel Brick.
Poetry at its best, a very entertaining poem on the alter ego. Brilliantly presented. I have enjoyed a very very lot. Thank you so much for sharing, Daniel. A 10 Full Score and much much more. Up to MyPoemList. God's Blessings!
daniel, this is my first time for reading this poem, and i find it entertaining. i relate to the process by which our different selves—shadow, persona, whatever we call them—meld to make a whole self, one in which we're comfortable in our own skins. took me while. -glen
AND THESE LINES ARE precious, beautiful, outstanding; you pick. (to MyPoemList) : and now we communicate, face to face, so to speak, every week. Just last week, he surprised me. He told me, he has read all 100+ poems I have posted at PoemHunter. 'I'd give my right hand to be able to write poems like yours, ' he said quietly, and the look on his face assured me he was telling the truth. .......hey, then the PH Daniel could have 3 hands! bri ;)
(continued) ............MY decision to 'give up prayer' was a conscious decision in my early twenties, when i finally gave up the last remnant of my belief in a God (other than me..........OF COURSE) . favorite sentence so far: Once he mumbled a thank you, but usually we avoid anything emotional or sentimental...........ha! (to be continued) ...........
i 'love' the Poet's Notes. good job, both Daniels! ! now to read the poem. [i'm glad Terry Craddock left me a LITTLE room! ! ! ] this made me laugh (aloud, but not loudly) : with one of those acquaintances, who help him keep SOLITUDE in its proper place - which is in my life.... (to be continued) ...........
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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10/12/2024 8:10:42 PM # 1.0.0
'I'd give my right hand to be able to write poems like yours, ' he said quietly, and the look on his face assured me he was telling the truth. seasoned in verse, immersed in decades memories, distilled thoughts must rise, we write ourselves with each draught we drink, drunk on words we write wisdoms shadows, etched into mirror images echoes the focused lens