A bee man visiting china

Posted on Nov 23, 2014 in Poetry, Writing

A bee man visiting China
talked to his dog back in Maine,
with howls and with tears in his eyes,
Over signals bounced off the moon.
The dog must’ve thought he’d come come,
That he was in the next room.
But the bee man,
He was timezones away
And he cared for the dog
more than all the tea in China;
More than all the millions
she’d stolen away.

Concentration is ended

Posted on Nov 23, 2014 in Poetry, Writing

Concentration has ended
the cart upended,
The wheels came off the bus

If you look

Posted on Oct 4, 2014 in Poetry, Writing

If you look beneath
the faded,
the facades,
the grayed approximations
of what once was,
the kind ghosts that walk this life,
there it’ll be,
the trick the writer plays when he ticks the clock,
so slowly—
The clock called “life.”
When he bends a thriving light
which once glowed so beautifully,
as if it were simply refracted for a time.
Our odd, little temples.
He morphs children into mothers,
fathers,
grandparents.
So slowly, we hardly notice.
Until we catch it one day
in a mirror.
But this thief can’t be stopped or jailed.
There’s no door to lock.
He strolls right in
like family
And steals away
with a glass or a plate—
Working his way to
the jewelry,
the safe,
Everything most valuable and precious.
He looks you in the eye
just before he goes,
this thief of odd familiarity,
Carrying with him all your “stuff.”
He looks, as if to say, “you knew.
You knew it when you signed up for it.
This coming of age.
You knew that none of it
was permanent.
You knew.”

The girl in the stone

Posted on Feb 1, 2013 in Poetry, Writing

The girl in the stone
has no seam

The old oak – Cary Briel

Posted on Nov 1, 2010 in Poetry, Writing

The old oak swayed
as I drove away,
my oldest friend
though I not his.
Many he’s known
for many a year
of creak and groan,
from acorn
’til I bought this home.
And now he’ll know another.