The fence – Cary Briel

Posted on May 29, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

The fence is straight.
It’s an inch out here
but the wind ignores it
and the crows haven’t noticed.
To its posts and planks
the grass huddles and clings.
Ants ascend to their gods—
they stand in its heights
and worship something.
I think they’re wiser.
The sun lights and warms
the fence,
the ants,
and me.
I’ve gone to the roof to cry.
No one looks up but the ants.

Taut – Cary Briel

Posted on May 24, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

In a field, I see you and I lying taut in the sunlight, stretched so perfectly that no finger or toe is even slightly bent. There are no ropes, no restraints, so I tell the me beside you, “ask.” And I see me turn to you and ask. In your eyes, I see it. I can’t help myself, I can’t. I’ve understood.

At night, the moon lights your flesh so I could swear I’m not stretched anymore. I stand and run around you, still understanding your taut predicament. But I’m free, and you’re rooted like a tree, unmovable. I know this, but still run free. I’ll get to it eventually.

I’ll miss the left – Cary Briel

Posted on May 21, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

There is no war to end it,
just a tired old man
behind a trick.
A closet with a serpent suit
and multitudes.

I’ll miss the left,
her slender legs,
the myth.
Waters torn
from fortitude.

Your feet are peas – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 26, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

A waif, an angel.
Run ’round our garden
calling til I wake.
I’ll shed my shame,
my Calvin Kleins.
Let’s be shameful
for the kids’ sake.
You sweat.
Your hands,
your lips,
your smell.
Sticky girl,
I’ll never tell.
Then flash it back,
and feign,
pretend,
crash flesh and wet
into me again—
crash sin.
Your feet are peas,
my hands reveal you—
make a meal of you.

I’ll buy a house – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 23, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

I’ll buy a house with many floors, one within a peak, with a window to let in light, sun and moon, and an unassuming, little desk pushed against an ill-planned wall. And that’s where I’m going to write. I’ll shut the door, and the world out with it, and dream.

The sea – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 19, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Strong and rugged,
sailor standing, seaside,
toes in the sand.
Broad shoulders,
his hair’s getting old,
some lost but not forgotten.
Thirds and threes,
he doesn’t even know
what it means.
The sea, oh the sea!
Home calls him away.
It runs up over his feet,
the dawn of the day.

Your heel – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 18, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Boxes,
shelves, wire-type,
I remember.
White Swan marks
without a feather.

I can’t describe
the blissful terror,
left of pencils,
Post-Its, right—
you pressed tight.

I’ve known of late,
sitting,
staring—
nothing.
willing

with a look.
doodling
fifteen pencils
sure
away.

Your heel
has lifted,
stocking running,
fifteen times,
I memorized.

The jogger – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 16, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Heavy breath,
Spandex, Nike—
pass me in
your labors.
You nod and smile.
Perspiration—
I almost feel
your clammy hands.

Your toes
touch mine,
hot and sweaty.
Breasts confined.
Your smell
punishes me.
I’ve guessed your name
a hundred times,

and how you’d feel
atop me.
Sweat runs down
your neck to mine,
your navel
wet.
Golden hair falls, wildly,
in your eyes.

Goodnight, you – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 10, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

The world spins ’round,
and I must, too,
turn in.
Goodnight, you.

Your knees – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 9, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Your knees,
pink,
cuteness,
simple
flesh,
call me from your chair.
Heaven’s hinge—
pleasure’s
knobs.
I make them
strangers to each other.
Shallow breaths
in sweaty palms—
They feel cool
in hands.
I’m dizzy,
I smell Spring.
With your knees
I foretell my future.
I get lost
inside you
so I almost
faint.
I smell Spring.