Januaries Ago
Things hadn’t added up
in the past and they
weren’t adding up again,
when I did those
shamefully invasive things
I’d never done during
nine years of lies.
Opening the laptop screen
like a grave-robber afraid
of waking the dead,
I read what I feared the most
in resentfully etched
black and white.
No more speculation –
no more fabrication.
There were the words alive
and here they live
branded into the fabric
of nightmare and memory:
“I’m not in love with my wife …
I can’t stop thinking of her.”
A July Past
Revolutionary lusty love,
midnight moonlight passion,
post-apocalyptic, syncretistic,
fortuitously gracious,
sea-soaked cosmic balance,
post-daiquiri Guinness
total darkness –
it all swims through
my elatedly weary mind
helplessly riding
the wild waves
of the wax and
wane of change.
“It’s over and
I’m going under,
but not I’m giving up,
I’m just giving in,”
sings the lithe gazelle
in sea-foam green.
(In false fates I’ve
nearly drowned
again and again –
never forgetting
the familiar burn
of empty lungs
and panic;
never strong
enough to
just give in.)
Sometime Near Now
A dragon in fear
and phoenix in fire,
these salted lips
kiss faded bruises,
clinging to old gods
in hopes of conjuring
something new
from the flames of
recycled prayer.
Eternally the
hunted witch
and restless
Viennese whore,
parts of me
walk a familiar path
through the thick
emotions of a
muddled mind
and recounting heart,
searching for an
idea of peace
in faded times
of sickly love
and consuming woe.
And there it was,
the peace,
quietly alive
alone,
beneath miles
of tumultuously
conflicting currents –
without lover in mind
or fortune in heart,
beckoning for
the emptiness
of certainty to
pour from lungs
aching for the
powerful peace
of uncertainty,
finally convincing me
after lifetimes
of fruitless fight
to just give in.
Renee Novosel
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2014
Beautiful!
Thank you. 🙂
Think it was Nancy Friday who explained the difference between jealousy and envy: going after your husband’s lover with a baseball bat would qualify as jealousy–she encroaches on what is yours. The baseball bat landing on your husband, however, denotes envy–resentment at the power he wields over you.
I don’t recall her saying anything about turning the bat on yourself. For what it’s worth, your personal turmoil seems a springboard to another, greater place: your eloquent description of life transitioning is breathtaking.
As always, your relevant comments hit home hard. Thankfully the metaphorical beatings are in the past, as difficult as those aging bruises are to face. ❤
Oh, sweet René, I didn’t mean for my words to come across as brusque. I’ve bruises myself and in the end I had to ask myself, do I love the other more than myself. It took ages, but in the end I did choose. For myself. In my case the hurt was masking the immense anger I’d felt. Apologies. Really.
No apologies needed! I’m a fan of realistic, brutal honesty. Truly. 🙂
And God, I’m such a stupid auslander. I meant Renee.
Understood. Haha. I have a few friends from your fine land.
I’ve read those same secret lines in my life. Twenty-five years…poof! But oh………the best part of my life has come after that point.Now, I just truly want to celebrate finding ME in the aftermath of that volcanic eruption. Love, love, love this poem.
Thank you very much. As time passes I’m beginning to find a happiness that I never could have if not for the loss.
Loved all these!
Thank you!