elixir eyes-Lois E. Linkens

she was snowdrops in the midst of summer;

unexpected, meant for another.

i liked to wrap myself inside her.


comely couples, dulcet tones:

who’s talking now? god knows.


she was my panacea

panted, see her – in my pandemonium,

she was quoniam.

she was the talisman

to the haggard man who breathed her in.


she was ebullience, magnificence –

she loved me, once.

she loved with her elixir eyes,

my evanescent prize.


she was lavender and boiling water,

milk and coffee sunsets

over a steamy city,

where the highway blinks in red and yellow,

high-road fireflies

buzzed in her elixir eyes.


ineffable, she bubbled like champagne in the foyer,

in white-gloved hands,

on silver trays.


she was patent leather over marble floors,

red cheeks and chapped lips,

water and wine.


she was fine,

a pearl for a pauper,

a mother for an orphan daughter.


her mind walked a craggy road,

but my boots were in the cobblers.

[Lois describes herself as a “confused english student,” though one quickly finds a polished, charming poet in her work. She has an elegant style that compliments her keen insight and whimsical sensibilities. It is a pleasure to present her work, and we ask you to take a second to look at more of her wonderful work.]





Silent Speech

Sudden Denouement is more than a literary collective, it is a family. Max Menuier is an important component of that family. We love Max and appreciate his creativity, his heart, and his brilliance. I would love to hear from you Max.
Jasper Kerkau

Max Meunier

a broken shard of charcoal

will it prove enough to make a man?

when you fold into submission
sighting inference of slight
exacting of your ego’s wrath
upon those thought to interfere

we are all born hypocrites
and so it is that we shall perish

rue the day this truth desists
and pride usurps devised discretion

trumpeter of shadowed triumph
sowing seeds of condemnation
woven with such ornate bombast

propped up by a hollow victim
ever to avail their own

bleeding hearts
are blind with succor

leaving truth to fates unknown

tragedies will find appointment
at the behest most emphatic
negligently inundating
standers-by with self-accord
sordid with a dubious deliberation

sortie of self-indulgence

nevermind the sadist fallout
calling out in silent woes

left behind to mind the mayhem
bearing eyes of the observer
patient, with a prudent penchant

knowing time
reveals all

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Amaya is one of my favorite non-SD poets. If you haven’t had a chance to look over her work, I would suggest you do so. My goal is to eventually write a piece on her site/writing.
Jasper Kerkau

Gospel Isosceles

Art by Paolo Ceric

All were in their proper place–
The hedonists on the slippery slope
The proud upon hearths of their own function
The saints in the silent center of the sequence–
When the world ended, its perfect pied way

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Tree Sitting

Bipolar by cola

When I was just a teen the demons tore at my head, face, eyes, soul. Total destruction was there goal.

Now the years have past they encircle me, afraid to touch, I have concubines of my own who would put them to the torch.

I tamed the dragons, made pets of there threats. I’m surrounded by white light and there’s no higher I could get.

No longer the meek and the strength of my youth they stole now returns. I sit in this tree and send the demons love, nothing left that deserves my burns.

D April 2017

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Stuffed Pig

The Sounds Inside

Little bit of timed flash fiction, to practice narrative writing, also as I’ve hit a wall with poetry. Possibly a sensitive topic for some, but I was just in one of those moods.

There are three men in the room. Two are in a professional debate about saving a man’s life, whilst the third is fumbling around with medical equipment. He drops a container which spills a selection of steel instruments, and a few other odds and ends that always seem to be in abundance in hospitals. Masks, surgical wool, two bottles of hand sanitiser – but not the kind you get at the pharmacist. Hospital personnel get a special kind to kill off that last 0.01%.

The third man is bent over the sterilised debris trying to make it all fit back into the container. There is a designated compartment for everything, but he just can’t work out which…

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Just Got My Copy of Hush By Nicole Lyons


I just received my copy of “Hush,” the first book of poetry by Nicole Lyons. Sudden Denouement has made several posts about the release of her book, but I think it is fitting to make another mention of it. I am very excited about reading the book and would like to spend some time writing about it in-depth in the near future. Nicole has always been supportive of other writers, and I would hope that our friends would support her.  I understand the passion that goes into the these works, thus it is always an honor to be able to purchase the work of artist like Nicole. She is a wonderful poet and a beautiful soul; I am very blessed to call her a friend. I am not good at taking advice, but I have always look to Nicole for words of wisdom in relation to my personal life and SD. I would also like a take a second and thank Jillian Anderson and the Feminine Collective for making it possible and doing everything they do to support literature.

Again, I would like to make mention of all the wonderful works that are being published by SD writers. I have read Georgia Park’s new book several times and am constantly amazed by her unique voice. At some time in the near future I would love to buy several copies of texts by SD artists (S.K. Nicholas, Georgia Park, Nicole Lyons, Rana Kelly, David Lohrey, and others) and find a way to distribute them, perhaps in a contest. We will soon have our own imprint to publish the works of our writers. The SD chapbook will be a reality.


Jasper Kerkau



the monsters are due on vine street-Samantha Lucero/Six Red Seeds

There is a special place in hell for Sam Lucero, and I mean that as a compliment. Lol.
Jasper Kerkau

samantha lucero

of a grin usually on the missing
persons board at truck stops
where famished men would pick up hitch-hiking
girl-children run aways, escaping home
to find themselves, smelling like
violins in the attic
here she is in red-hot-red,
rose-red, blood-red, a portrait streak of
glitter high-heels with no hosiery
ankles with tattoos of talaria wings
and a wink at an invisible camera

she’s such a gem, such a picture
on the side of the road on her back
holding out her upturned palms to catch the diving
heavy rain, collecting it inside of the sinkhole
of her open mouth,
crooked THERE, like a tangled doll.

do you see that glorious photograph
of her alive, when she felt so dead
and here she is getting the flashing
lights she craved, licking the gravel
on sunset boulevard, dead as the moon
only bright because the camera catches
the last expression that her face made…

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