Faceless Composition, Lara Jade
Faceless Composition, Lara Jade




mourning pale yellow light

as velvet plum wine reflects

a vacuum sea of stars

struggling to penetrate

the city’s glare.


Without rational passion,

without positive prostitution,

without damaged ears to hear

or bloodshot eyes to read,


alone with my

reckless creation,

all around,

all stillness,

all movement

is without.


Hands compelled to

write with open honesty

are stunted by caution,

my remora

fattened upon the

volatile words

of a weary brain

as they drip

down through

to fingertips

in a parade

of ink beasts,

vowels and consonants

shaping a strained reality

determined to undermine

the foundation

of these precious

fleeting moments

where there’s still

life to live.


This thing on my mind

leaves me stranded

without option,

without power,

without a plausible solution,

giving birth

to coded abstracts,

disguising the truth and

feeding from within,

replacing the me

with the nothing.




Were I to know unmitigated satisfaction,

I might die in its arms.



Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014



Leonora Carrington
Leonora Carrington


How often

I wrote your name

in invisible ink

on blind paper

to a deaf audience

in an empty theater

while imagining my skin

with your skin,

my mouth

with your mouth,

my body

with your body

within the walls

of our modest home.


Grassy yard,

happy dog,

sweet child,

wily garden

each blooming with life,


our patch of passion

and contentment,

secluded seduction,

calming condition

where we share

wine and wishes,

philosophies and prayers,

secrets and dreams,

where we sleep deeply

in each other’s company –


and here we are.


Close enough to

feel your breath

and all I can smell

are hot lies

and bitter delusions

pouring from

that precious mouth.


Far enough to

see your disembodied

hands tearing down

our fragile house

while your mouth

claims to mend it.


Piece by crumbling piece

the foundation breaks away

in arid clumps

within your tightening grip,

turning to dust

in unorganized winds

blowing into my

eyes and mouth.





reaching out

for your shadow,

you turn

away and

do what’s best

for us all.



Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

for maya.

Maya Angelou


We all have pain.


Some more than others.


Some people feed

its scraps

to the hungry dogs.


Some people take

it to the bank,

stowing it away

in a dusty

safe deposit box,

fading to nothing

upon its key holder’s

fade to nothing.


Others fling it

in the face of the

world at large,

an unfortunate fate

for innocents

crossing the paths

of emotional maniacs.


Some people


their pain.


They take it

into their arms

and cradle it

like a newborn,


losing sleep

and time

just the same,


feeding it from

their well of

inner strength,


until it

matures enough

to reason with.


Matures enough

to comprehend

how cruel the

world can be.


Matures enough to

make peace with.


Matures enough

to let go of

like a parent

waving goodbye

over a parade

of packed boxes

and painfully

joyful embraces.


Some people

fabricate their pain

knowingly and willingly,

masquerading as

the victim

in a cruel and

unfair world.


For others,

the world defines

cruel and unfair,


and some,

they let it break them.


Others wear the pain

like a pulsating

badge of

bloody honor,

feeding from its

richly caloric

bittersweet powerhouse,

owning it,

embracing it,

overcoming it but

never forgetting

the poisonous needles

prodding them

toward success.


We are brothers

and sisters,

mothers and fathers,

lovers and givers,

us all,

and the pain

doesn’t define us.


We define

the pain.


We define

the suffering.


We fuck up

and falter.


We squander

and abuse,


We withdraw

and explode,


We love and learn

while defining

our pain,


and it drives

us farther than

the finest

fossil fuel


when you

give it

the homage

it deserves.




“Cotton rows crisscross the world

  And dead-tired nights of yearning

Thunderbolts on leather strops

 And all my body burning

Sugar cane reach up to God

And every baby crying

Shame the blanket of my night

   And all my days are dying”

– The Memory, Maya Angelou

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

manifest destiny

'Betrayal' by Mario Sanchez Nevado
‘Betrayal’ by Mario Sanchez Nevado


The river muddy and deep

is somewhat welcoming

and even warm looking

as I ponder the farther distance

of walking the bridge

over swimming the waters.


Just an angry current or two,

a shorter distance

for the price of

a few hundred calories

and a swift gray undertow.


(Just my clothes and phone

to sacrifice to

the trash and filth.

Just me and the river.)


The sun shines hot

on my back

for the first time

in always and never

as the striking

primitive valley

reminds me

with it’s velvety hills

and garish billboards

that we’ve squandered

genuine beauty

for the sake of

hideous vanity.



Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

when the weather wants to talk.



The storm nudged me

through the window,

through the world

as I sat on the couch

just waiting

for something

to happen.


Through the window.

Through the woods.

Over the hill

strange lights

made crazy

in the clouds,

drawing me out

toward the park

on the mount,


through the woods

and toward the light

the hill crested

revealing the sky’s

silent inferno,

a hellish orange

miles away,


slow bolts of

skeletal lightning

cut through the

cream soup air

toward dehydrated ground,


reading it like braille

and drawing me into

the heart of the storm,

an alive thing

with a secret to share:


“Don’t be afraid of complexity:

I am a ghost of change.

You smelled me coming,

am I not welcoming?”



Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014


Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski


Four years into the ground

and you were nothing but

dust and bone

yet your words went down

as smoothly as

yesterday’s beer on the nightstand,


which for most

isn’t smoothly at all

but for a young woman

intent on drinking dry

every drop of pain

in the world around her

your metallic swill

was worth every cigarette butt

swallowed from the bottom

of that can.


Perhaps you tuned in

from beyond

as ghosts spoke

of your death

and your youth,

from your bedroom

and your whiskey,

of your horses

and your whores,

filling the air with

phantom thumping keys

and wafting smoke,

feeling entirely like home.


Like dulled mountains.

Like the steel guitar.

Like a dirty warm embrace

you spoke to me,

and suddenly I knew

that while in the

posthumous company

of a drunken misogynist,

smoking mad

fucking filthy

old soul,


I was somehow less alone.


“Things get bad for all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who/what we are.” – Bukowski




Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

journey home



Sitting here on this

brisk spring morning,

feet snuggly in fluffy boots,

sipping rich creamy coffee and

heavy sweater hugging tightly,

I’m as warm as I’ve ever been


while the grasshopper hosta,

pine cone lily,

hearty iris,


delicate succulent,

and dancing Japanese maple

uncoil their leaves

for the welcoming day

in a breezy

synchronized sway,

beckoning me back

to this daylight

from a Neptune night,


(sentinel on the

edge of light,

frozen azure orb of wind

and unforgiving darkness

makes an eternity

of spinning

six thousand miles per hour

through emptiness,

keeping me

just beyond reach

of return home

or permanent escape

into interstellar space,

forcing feeding

the easy answer to a

taunting question:

for every winter

there truly is a spring.)


Sometimes we survive by

remaining dormant

in frozen soil,

awaiting the

beckoning warmth

and tickling rays

of sunlight

to remind

our slumbering roots that

there’s more life to live,


(at least for now),


so come out and live it.



Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

temporal contiguity.



This old perfume

in the creamy curvaceous bottle

looks and smells

like a bride

filled with hope

lust, wonder

and security,

its blanketing grace

cloaking chilled shoulders

with protective serenity.


Cinnamon, clove,

crimson red rose,

sage and sensuality

provides transport

to the misty day when

dense clouds loomed

smokey and thick

in fifty degree

late September skies,

parting only

for that abracadabra moment

when relentless rains stop

and the bride floats out

upon a lungful of

At Last,

filling the air

with sunshine

and bullshit.


Bitterness can’t help

bleeding through to memories,


doing them injustice


because I deserve them-

pure, and beautiful memories-

unscathed by future seepage

through time’s layers,

whispering bitter words

into the bride’s ears,


whispering things

she already knew

deeply and painfully,

but chose to ignore

for the sake of happiness,

maybe. Just this once.


unadulterated and entirely lovely.


(Trembling hands

transfer shivers

to the giggly bouquet,

ferns wiggling,

autumn berries bobbing,

lilies sprinkling

a dusting

of orange pollen

into the wind,

exaggerated nerves

filling the air with “Amour”

and damned if this

isn’t exactly what love

smells like)



Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014





Although I’ve been writing for most of my life, I’m entirely new to the blogging scene. Blindly fumbling through for just one month, I’m humbly honored to have been nominated for the “Liebster Award” by the talented http://luvlifedream.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/the-liebster-award-nomination-congratulations-and-thank-you-all/. Karen’s writing offers deep insight wrapped in juicy nuggets of sensual language, (and I love it). Thank you Karen for sharing your thoughts, reading others’ words, nominating newbies like myself, and caring about fellow writers!

“The Liebster award is awarded to bloggers with under 200 followers to try to promote their blog and also bring together a community of bloggers. The rules of the competition are as follows:

The nominated user must provide a link back to the person who nominated them, provide 11 facts about themselves, answer 11 questions set by the nominator, and choose 11 more people and ask them 11 questions.”

(So here it goes … )


11 facts about myself:


1. I wrote a song when I was nine called “Heartbreaker” that was hilariously awful.

2. I absolutely can’t exercise without music.

3. I’m not the best at spelling …

4. I am, however, annoyingly fanatical about grammar, (and the regular use of spell check).

5. My parents have more tattoos than I do.

6. I truly love my hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and its cozy rolling hills.

7. I’m an “INFJ” in the land of Jungian personalities.

8. I was an avid “raver” during the 1990’s, thus explaining my clown-like wardrobe for several years.

9. I want to be reincarnated as honeysuckle.

10. When feeling anxious, I close my eyes and go to Neptune.

11. Although I love all animals, the older I get the more ridiculous my love for dogs becomes. I resist the urge to yell silly words from the car window with every pooch that I pass.


11 Questions from Karen:

1.”If you could go back in time and do something you never did what would it be?”

–This was a hard one for me! To choose one thing of all the things in all of time is quite a task considering the epic scope of everything, but I’m compelled toward witnessing a slice of the birth of our sun. Before the planets, just after the spark …

2.”Why do you choose to write?”

–In a way, I think that writing chose me. It always felt natural to pick up a pen and put on paper what I couldn’t put in the air.

3.”What is your biggest inspiration?”

–The immensity of our emotional universe is both maddening and inspiring. Writing keeps me sane. (Sort of sane.)

4.”What is you pet peeve?”

–I’ll choose one from the many: sloppy and moist public kisses. It sounds like you’re stirring a bowl of macaroni salad: please stop.

5.”If you were to be a character of a book or movie who would you be?”

–Sarah of Labyrinth, all the way: she was the biggest bad-ass of the 1980’s female fantasy crew. And Because of David Bowie. Enough said.

6.”What is you best quality?”

–It’s undeniable that I’m a survivor. Stubborn self-reliance and subconscious perseverance seem to be powerful assets in the life that I’ve led.

7.”Do you ever get writer’s block and what do you do to overcome it?”

–YES!!! And I edit. I love editing. I love editing so much. There’s a lifetime of work to do even when feeling uninspired.

8.”How has writing affected your relationships?”

–It’s worked the other way around for me, in that my relationships have affected my writing. During my marriage, I was severely depressed at worst and mildly depressed at best, which drained me creatively. Once the veil lifted, the words returned!

9.”What is you biggest accomplishment?”

–I am a child of an addict and an alcoholic. I married an addict/alcoholic. I am a recovering codependent, and my biggest accomplishment is reprogramming my mind with a new meaning of life.

10.”What is your favorite movie?”

Amelie. Period. I’ll openly admit, however, that Moulin Rouge will forever be my jam.

11.”If you could be anyone for a day who would it be and why?”

–After much thought, I’ve settled on being the president of ABC and giving David Lynch an offer that he can’t refuse to re-launch Twin Peaks. Sure, there are bigger fish to fry, but someone needs to fry THIS one.


Karen http://luvlifedream.wordpress.com/, thank you again for this nomination, your fantastic questions, and your gorgeous words!


I know some of you guys have more than two hundred followers, but still …

My nominations are:













My questions for the nominees:

1. What is your spirit animal?

2. Who was you favorite childhood author?

3. What is your nerdiest pleasure?

4. What book in your collection do you treasure most?

5. If you could have an affair with any writer, dead or alive, who would it be?

6. Regardless of age, what do you want to be when you grow up?

7. If you had a superpower, what would it be?

8. What is your favorite word? (I love how archipelago rolls off of the tongue.)

9. Who was your most influential teacher and why?

10. What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever see?

11. Can you remember the first piece of substance that you ever wrote? Describe it and your reason for writing.


Instructions for the Nominees:

Set #1

1) Post a short Q&A about themselves

2) Answer the questions the tagger has asked

3) Create a new list of questions for their own nominees

4) Choose a list of their own nominees and notify them


1. Thank your Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog.

2. Link back to the blogger who awarded you.

3. Copy & Paste the award to your blog.

4. Nominate 11 blogs to receive the award who have less than 200 followers.

5. Inform them of their nomination by leaving comment on their blog.

Set #3

1. Post the award on your blog.

2. Thank the blogger who presented this award and link back to their blog.

3. Write 11 random facts about yourself.

4. Nominate 11 bloggers who you feel deserve this award and who have less than 200 followers.

5. Answer 11 questions posted by the presenter and ask your nominees 11 questions.


Thank you Lorraine Reguly for blogging the Official rules.


Moveable ocean.



Wet and warm

like a first real kiss,

her raindrops fall

in a heavy, steady, rhythmic

symphony of drum beats

on the canvas awning

above our mountaintop window,


rolling green hills

become a veiled dragon

sleepily watching

the rooftop patchwork

lazily bathing

as I sit quietly reveling

in this dousing

downfall of a

movable ocean,


April rain quenches

chartreuse shoots

and mud-born buds

as she soothes our

winter-weathered souls

with restorative moisture

carried far and long

over glacial scars

and endless plains,


wafting through

open windows

a welcome friend

with open arms

and cerebral ambiance,

generously lending us

her ancient sedation

while passing through

on her journey

to reunite

with the sky.



Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014