on avian matters.

Each morning

neighborhood crows

fly toward

a gently

rising sun,

 

hundreds landing

softly on the

highest hilltop

as our golden orb

slides into

watercolor skies.

 

Chattering of

breaking avian

news beneath

trees undressing,

they welcome together

daylight in

funeral attire and

with shrill songs,

doing a thing

that the human

in me can’t

help but join

in doing –

 

we marvel

in the sunrise

together.

 

Never minding

my presence

or admiration,

never minding

their bad reputation

for doing

dirty jobs,

never minding

their tenuous

flightpath

between

death and life,

 

they do their

crow thing

each day

and fly each

evening back

toward the sun

as it slips

into a fiery

goodnight.

 

Inhabiting the boundary

between heightened

existence and

ambivalence,

they’ve little

concern for where

November winds

blow decaying things

during the cold night,

 

rather they

sleep soundly

amongst the dead

before gathering

for tomorrow’s sun,

rising once again

upon a world alive

with morbid

avian purpose.

 

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

fruits and nothings.

Kiyo Murakami
Kiyo Murakami

 

What does

it mean to let

come what may?

 

Formless words

dense with

abstraction

 

dripping with

the tart juices

of something

 

less than love

and greater

than reason

 

shock a tongue

expecting

the tickle

 

of sweet

fruits and

nothings

 

tasted and

whispered

after the

 

world was

asleep

and only

 

the stars

were

watching.

 

Bitter fruits

growing from

the soft petals

 

of decadent words

(with vibrant hues

and sweet aromas

 

that trick the bees

into yielding

poisonous honey)

 

are innocent

carriers of the

impolite pain

 

of sacred words

lightly thrown

into the face

 

of a one who

craves them

like breadcrumbs

 

toward the

eager beak of

a starving pigeon.

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

the weak cog.

Fleeting, Shayne of the Dead
Fleeting, Shayne of the Dead

 

So we’ve got

these things

that are just

the best at

what they do –

 

fruits and fireflies,

trees and tigers,

demons and dogs,

each commanding

a unique

genetic purpose

without question

or doubt.

 

Countless creatures

of leaf and fur,

of scale and skin,

of life and breath

working and resting,

foraging and nesting,

attacking and defending,

keeping this

clockwork ticking,

 

while we struggle

with our big brains

and fancy thumbs

to get at

the meaning

of life.

 

You’ll never

see a bear

slumped over

on the forest floor

wallowing in

the despair of

meaninglessness,

 

an ant paralyzed

by fear of change,

 

a fern listless

in the wake of

unrequited love.

 

Human beings are

simultaneously

the most effective

and defective

animals

on the planet.

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

 

the blindness of busy.

1922369_783659418318363_5667144531560021540_n

 

It’s walking

down a road

stunned by

the beauty

only to realize

you’ve driven it

hundreds of times.

 

We miss so much

when we hurry.

 

It’s the golden finch,

the baby mantis,

the fuchsia wildflowers

nestled amongst

thorny weeds,

delicate,

gorgeous,

and hidden from

hurried faces.

 

Rushing past

the loves of our lives

to make the bus,

catch the light,

get to work,

blindly chasing

the empty dream,

finishing gold-plated

in this heated race

toward death,

 

rushing past the love of your life,

 

past walks and drinks,

past hands held shyly,

past nervous lips

meeting beneath

flickering street lamps,

past quiet conversations

draped in dawn’s

blue light,

 

rushing past

what songs

and poems

 

and lives

are made of.

 

Rushing past inspiration,

we are driven by the

constant fear

of slowing down

for long enough

to look it all

in the eyes

and see the truth

that proves

this madness

wrong.

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

the quiet push and pull.

10157216_796153827068922_8326897676896274012_n

 

Your weight descends

upon the top of my head,

reaching into mind and brain

with luminous tendrils

of motherly love

and celestial command

in dizzying

orbital pirouettes,

 

a balloon riding

waves of solar wind

barely tethered to

a body or identity,

you push and pull

on our oceans

and minds high

in this early

summer heat,

 

quietly promising

to keep life churning,

keeping us company

without saying or

doing anything

but simply

being yourself,

 

teaching us all

a thing or two

about love.

 

 

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

From the upstairs window.

480194_626309297386710_1005829737_n

 

A drifting blanket

certainly thick enough

to stand on,

this pale heavy fog

completely envelops

just one lonely town

in one lonely world

where we survive

day-to-day

pretending that we’re

all so different

from one another,

 

Loving, struggling,

longing, working,

doing and feeling

the same things

regardless of shape, scent,

or sound surrounding

our entirely meaningful

but undeniably

minute routine,

 

we share this one place in existence.

 

The Here. The Now.

Our island home is

just a speck of blue

where some swim

and others drown

while fighting

the powerful currents

carrying us through

this homogenous

ocean of being,

 

(because it’s easier choking

on a lungful

of unwarranted conviction

and the unsubstantiated certainty

that there is no ocean

and there are no tides,

than it is embracing

that we’re all along

for the same ride.)

 

In the faces of both

god and reason

we give up on that which

is worth anything

and make idols of that

which is worth nothing.

 

But some of us feel the tides,

and you who feel them

feel me,

and we are in it together.

 

We’re strangers.

We’re neighborhood acquaintances.

We’re chance encounters.

We’re dear friends.

We’re mothers and fathers,

son and daughters,

sisters and brothers,

aunts and uncles.

We’re lifelong lovers,

and we all feel each other.

 

Energetic ley lines extend

in a sticky web

across the miles,

glueing us together

beneath the fog,

 

assuring us

of the tide’s wild ride,

and reminding us of

the one truth we know,

that we’ve always known:

 

that we are never truly alone.

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014