Sudden Denouement started a little over three years ago with a vision of creating a platform for divergent voices. We have grown tremendously and have been gifted with amazing talent from around the world. We are now soliciting submissions for new writers. If you are interested, please send a sample of your work, along with a short bio. We are interested in those who write poetry, short fiction, or any form that lends itself to the format.
I called my father today and told him that his death
will give me closure.
“Why don’t you jump off the balcony
while I’m talking to you? You’ll do us all a favor,”
I said, seething with rage.
Echoes of abuse never become whispers;
the past lies mangled like the hind leg of a deer
in the mouth of a lion,
the future is as cut up as paper put through
a voice in the dark
that’s as sharp as a blade screams, “Injustice!”
But does that give me a right to become the very man
I detested growing up?
A tormented, tortured, theatrical fool,
a disgruntled, discontented, disgusting do-nothing,
an uneasy, unstable, unsettled madman.
I wish there was more to life than
looking at my shattered reflection,
I wish there was more than drowning
in a green abyss of self-loathing and hate,
I wish there was someone who’ll love me
unconditionally and help me purge the
But I’ve realized that this arid valley of dry bones
is the only place I’ll ever know.
Nitin Lalit Murali is a poet, flash fiction writer and essayist from
Bangalore, India. He also enjoys reading literature of different genres
and listening to jazz and neo-classical music. He started writing seven
years ago and art has consumed him over the years. He blogs regularly at
Fighting the Dying Light
And so I rest upon my one, good, in inverted commas,
right eye and it works harder
and I work harder,
maintaining slices of routine.
amidst all those banks of fog.
Morningtide, I pray, eveningtide, I pray.
I think for now, that’s all I can do
and hope, the good hope.
“I guess you might describe me as a semi-nomad, at the moment . . .
and in the moment, I might change. I am transitioning into a creative
life, blogging, photography and, significantly, the publication of my
first two photographically illustrated poetry anthologies, this year.”
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Are there pastorals in a pixel?
I’ve heard it said so.
That a perfect moment holds life’s memories…
yet the playback waits for death.
No better than the world
in a meek man’s hands:
show me the roses growing naturally in the graveyard,
or a romance with a wick for the years.
We can get high enough
if we run the old Buick
with the garage door shut.
We can get high
walking the Lincoln Tunnel,
or gasping for breath
from a Newark overpass.
A thousand office faces
find their dreams in computer screens,
still glowing when the day shuts its lights.
Wither the aortic valve,
just from a lack of use.
myopic Coke-bottle glasses.
The smoke-stacks in a Cezanne.
in the gold mines of a wedding ring –
are we done yet?
Febrile seizures on a death-bed
awaken his famous past:
canyons in the skin
that ran the red of roses.
He’d take his books for walks
till his legs got lost,
down by the waterfront,
down Washington Street.
The clamor of half-built high-rises,
soot of the tent towns
under the highways:
the fast clacking of sharp shoes on the sidewalks,
a briefcase to withstand the bullets.
Strange creatures that lurked down the streets,
mange and tendon and quiet whisper.
The dog with chopped ears
pawed the Plexiglass shell,
as the clerks and the lawyers brisked past.
A daisy grew in a pavement crack.
A daisy grew and the seasons churned
on a playback twice as fast.
Stuck at a stop in the traffic-thronged street was a truck,
hauling concrete to the next empty lot, being filled.
The driver could barely be heard:
the hum of idling traffic,
the overpasses rumbling above;
beneath the sounds of airplane thrust
and the debates of World News Tonight,
the truck driver,
“I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass!”
Mick Hugh is a writer for Sudden Denouement, and the groundskeeper at Mick’s Neon Fog.
It said sleep / the voice said / slide into / me / like a fish / in water the voice said / dreamless / I’ll catch you / just sleep it said / you’re tired and / it’s time to / sleep.
Like this / it said / the voice said / close your eyes / slide / let go / see? it said / like this / come to me / easy / you’re tired / just sleep.
That time / it said / remember? / that time in the sea / the water closed over / so close to the shore / but that current / that sneaky tricky current / it said let go / the voice said / like fish / you’re tired / sleep / easy like this / don’t blink.
And you thought / why not / easy / the water quiet / like a sheet / it said now sleep / and the world will wash you by / stay still / finish it / go down / deep / a stone in water / so easy like this / like sleep / heavy dreamless / sink.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow / it said like this / no more of this / just sink / slide / sleep / for a moment it was easy / to let it all go by / bead after bead after bead / meaningless string / remember? it said / you don’t but I / remember how wide-eyed / you escaped me.
Close your eyes it said / that time that street / remember? the voice said / it was me / slip of your feet / in the rage of its machines / don’t blink / stand still / and the world will crush you by / like a wave / like a current / in a sneaky tricky sea / don’t cheat / now sleep.
And I’ll catch you / said the voice / why not believe in me / it said tired / don’t think / slide / dreamless deep / ready? sink! / for a moment you were ready / but you cheated / backwards step / you caught yourself / quick / no sleep / through my arms you slipped.
It said sleep / the voice said silk / let go / and the night will pass you by / why not / easy / and I swear it’s not me / now and forever deep / just my twin / not me not me / not the voice in the sea.
Why not believe in me / in my arms / I’m my twin / like this: see? / easy / close your eyes / come to me / don’t think / sleep / never pushed you in the street / try me / the voice said silk.
To the voice I said like fish / through your arms I’ll slip like this / voice current / hair seaweed / I am wide-eyed / you’re no sleep / no end of cheat / to the voice I said don’t speak.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow / I said I like this / yes! more of this! / be quiet now / like a sheet / I don’t know what it means / but I know how it feels / sun on skin / daisy fields / sitting idle by a stream.
Quick / I blink / backwards step / I catch myself / you can sing your lullaby / all you want but never me / never in your dreamless water / I slide / I slip / easy: see? like this / there are parties I can’t miss / if I’m late don’t wait / eat.
Always sweet / a sheet of silk / but your singing goes six feet / under daisy fields I think / so don’t
speak / don’t sing / quit / here’s my finger / ready? Sit!
Basilike Pappa lives in Greece. She likes her coffee black, her walls painted green and blue, her books old or new. She despises yellow curtains and red tape. She can’t live without chocolate, flowers and her dog. Places she can be found are: kitchen, office, living room. If she’s not at home, I don’t know where she is. You can find Basilike up late with a notebook in the Silent Hour.