Poems written by Daniel Brick

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Daniel Brick

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I was born in the Twin Cities and lived my whole life here. As I look back on the many opportunities I had to live elsewhere I must conclude this is where I am rooted, near the Mississippi River, in a landscape of four seasons with many trees and parks and lakes. These are the natural things I treasure. Poetry, both reading and writing, and classical music are my two passions. Over the years most of my friends have moved to warmer climates. so in old age I find myself to be something of a loner. But I have a talent for solitude, and my extended family is very close. It's very important to me to read poems of other poets at a site like highonpoems. Through my comments I want to help their creativity and nudge them forward as poets. This is at least as important as having people read my poems and give me feedback. Language was given to human beings so they could make creative use of it; it must be respected and never used for debased or evil purposes. It is a sacred trust. Everywhere I witness language misused in advertising, politics, entertainment, daily usage, etc. It is my goal to create beautiful language in my poems so that people can appreciate the wonder of it. This is definitely a personal view; I am not here to impose my views on others, but to learn from their creativity how to increase mine. This is a two way exchange, and in the process of sharing poems we have a wonderful foundation for friendships.

Himself A Poet

Himself A Poet long poem

Sitting in a cushioned chair in his living room, absurdly comfortable, while he reads Georg Trakl’s late poems, the old man, himself a poet, drifts into a shallow sleep. He is alone in that place of Being, where desire and

Heaven And Earth

Heaven And Earth short poem

Head bowed, hands folded, you stand at the edge of the only heaven to suffice, waiting for a small miracle to occur. Behind us steadfast petitioners pray. The long dense line from this morning has thinned to just these true

Ars Poetica

Ars Poetica sonnet poems

A poem discovers itself along the line Toggle an image Free from a fabric of words And a poem unravels, whole and complete.. There’s the marble bench halfway down the Azalea Way, and nearby in a white leaf magnolia, a single silk veil