It’s not here that heaven

Posted on Jul 8, 2016 in Poetry

It’s not here that heaven
will be found,
as much as we look for it.
The animal hides in the room,
in our genes,
staining hopes
that we continually aspire to.
As for me, I’m comforted
in the thought of illusion;
The reaper isn’t
a figure to be feared.
He’s a guy in
a Halloween suit,
sent to shake you awake
from a long night of wrestling sleep;
Wrestling with oneself, as it were.
And on waking,
there, standing, smiling,
will be loved ones,
the moral of this world in hand;
Memories fast kept in their hearts;
Comforting words
on their lips;
And the missing animal,
the elephant in the room.

The girl in the stone

Posted on Feb 1, 2013 in Poetry, Writing

The girl in the stone
has no seam

I’m back

Posted on Jan 3, 2013 in Poetry, Writing

In technical terms,
every moment of my life is now.

So I’m back holding my Slinky at Christmas,
With Stretch Armstrong nearby
And my chemistry set.
I can see the odd looks
as I say it to the neighbor kids.
Try it, you’ll feel smart.

I’m back to reading every ad
in the back of Popular Science,
so carefully, as if it were a textbook.

I’m back to the apartment complex swimming pool.
There’s Mary Whitehead,
She’s twisting the water from my towel.
Her friend helps.

I’m back to lighting the dumpster on fire
with my brother Matt,
burning the rubber off my sneakers.

I’m back with my sister Peggy.
She’s throwing her clothes out
her bedroom window again.
Littering the lawn.

I’m back with my brother Jimmy,
and his so perfect breath.
Officer Bruno is chasing him
up the railroad tracks during school.

I’m back in my father’s deli in Delaware.
I’m steaming a sub roll in the back.

I’m back driving my Chevy Camaro.
Delana is at my window.

I’m back in Johnson City with Jim
prank calling my future wife Christine.
She’s putting on nail polish,
The making of a metaphor
I’ll never live down.

I’m back with my Mom.
She’s negotiating a price on a van,
with Italian charm and skill,
to a price so low,
you’d not believe it.

I’m back with my Dad.
He’s trapped me in a room
while he tells me of God.
I won’t hurt his feelings by leaving.
I won’t.

I’m back in the mall.
Misty’s howling from her pet store cage,
turning us around to save her,
to save us.

I’m back with my daughter Jess,
And her funny face
And her cat, Nichol, with steps up the wall.

I’m back with my daughter Laura,
with Daisy on her shoulder.
She’s baaa’ing like a sheep
in her sisters ear
in the car
And she’s skating circles around us all
on her rollerblades.

I’m so glad that I’m back,
but I wonder why I was ever fooled
to believe I ever left
all those moments.
I’m so glad that I’m back.

Warrior – Cary Briel

Posted on Dec 17, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Your pretty eyes
dart, gaze from behind
your mask,
your facade.
The bend of your knee
is all that I need
to sustain the day.
The angle of your ankle
subdues the monster
in man.
Strength fades.
He’s owned by
the weakest,
the smallest.
Big muscles sit
while prettiness sighs.
Little one
I will climb back
into the womb,
I’ll be born again,
what facilitation,
what imposition,
the time of the wall
that would be a door,
when you looked so comely,
so pleasant,
so accommodating,
when you overtook
by being overtaken.

Back – Cary Briel

Posted on Jun 24, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

I awake in the night to find
the yellowed mirrors surround me.
I hung them when I was old,
when I was lonely.
Where is my shiny boy, my wife?
I will carry her from the dark,
back to familiar waters.

One deep breath – Cary Briel

Posted on Jun 5, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

One deep breath
at times when your knees
speak volumes
that I cannot hear in your words,
and your eyes cannot say
my name.

One soft kiss
when I’m not expecting it,
and am reminded
of why you’re my best friend,
and yet not my friend

You’ve invaded my world,
and I cannot breathe and not
think of you.
My work is not work anymore,
my play not play.
I am overthrown in my place.

Smitten, taken,
eaten up and swallowed whole.
I ferment in the belly
while I wait for a sign,
longing for the stir
of the sun.

What would make a man? – Cary Briel

Posted on Jun 4, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

What would make a man
seek nylons
and high heels,
and weeping
two days long away?
Except he be young,
except he’d agreed,
when he was a he.
What would make a man
seek mountains,
just to fall,
just to leap,
and to be caught
by his angels,
by his kin,
when he’d become a she?

You are a tree – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 4, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Trees grow up between your toes,
this one oak,
that one elm.
The maple winds your curves.
I am it.
Oak I was til you thirsted.
So you tapped me and drank
and you were filled.
Trees shade your comely proportions,
your newborn skin.
You are a tree in my garden, amidst
the fairest, a flower,
tall and slender,
with vivid hues
and perfect petals.
You are my bride
and I am not alone anymore.

Come back – Cary Briel

Posted on Mar 16, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Your earth imparts
to my bare feet, your sea
to my fair shore,
a familiarity,
a cottage dream,
a door.
Oh Beloved,
ten thousand miles
you flew, you flew away.
Don’t you miss
my pretty knees?
Come back, come back and stay.

Farewell, Misty – Cary Briel

Posted on Jan 31, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

Words will not capture
your sweetness,
your kind and tender heart.
Words can’t tell
how you loved,
how you were loved.
My heart wishes not to say goodbye.
It is sick.
My belly is aching and tight,
my head, hot.
Without you, the world is empty.
Blank looks fill the house.
Behind each is a cry.