What Are Words 4 – Olde Punk

what is love 4

From Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective, available on Amazon

Lidocaine and cold passion

Misshapen nights unfastened

A misprint in my falsehood

Driving derision in a thunderstorm

Stormborn, borne to the edge

I scorn the precepts that flood

The nights on television

With false precision, more indecision

The race is tightening, the racism frightening

When will we be of all one kind, one mind?

Whatever, nevermind to quote a sad sod

Another in passing is saying hello 2 heaven

The words live on and they say fight for

Your rights

I don’t know what right I have to say

But I tend to write these things anyway

Reproachful I pretend to be

But I so tire of the reprehensible dichotomies

We are not the lazy, stupid fools

You desire to see

I am out to sea with the Party

I wish there was another choice of tea

This one has gone cool and the aroma

Is quite drab

I’m fishing for the big one

My mood is quite glum

I hope to find

Others like me, the ones

Left behind and still alive

And fed up with the 9 to 5

And taxes and healthcare reform

I need to be fucking reborn

My kids’ heads are full of drivel and swine

Zero Trans Fats and sugar substitutes still seem

To widen my behind

Where o where is the truth?

Is it hidden under my pillow like a fallen tooth?

I beseech anyone who is reading this silly farce of prose

Am I talking out of my ass

Or did I hit it right on the nose?

Dimethocaine and rational thoughts

Mix as well as oil and water

There are some things cannot be bought

I struggle with what to tell my daughter

Poverty for the meek

Lambs for the slaughter

A kiss on the cheek

But sometimes I pray

That we all go underwater

But hey, I don’t know

Isn’t there always

Hope for tomorrow?

If not, I’ve still got

Dimethocaine and whiskey

And the love of someone smarter


Olde Punk is an editor of Sudden Denouement and the curator of Ramjet Poetry.  Hockey, food and punk rock junkie.  Sci-Fi/fantasy/comic book nerd.  Writing for years; still not any better.

Sudden Denouement Classics: Daffodils-Olde Punk

Daffodil

The smell of rotting agendas always waft in your wake.  I’ve grown accustomed to your sand storm daffodils.  It’s not what you once were, but what you could be that still intrigues me.  Potential, potentially terminal, with velocity.  Sniper taking aim, the looks you throw with abandon.  I lie still sometimes and pretend I can hear the screaming in your eyes.  I would have given it all for you, you know.  I do not think it would have mattered to you.  You are the song Reptile by The Church.  I can see you sauntering and stalking in the sun by the beach every time I hear that song.  Which is often, ’cause I like to pick at open wounds.  The bloody mouth of puckering pink skin attempting to heal is such a turn on and a visceral reminder of your violence, my violet-skinned lecher.  Your Krispy Kreme coochy-coos hardening my arteries.  And then, slow syrupy suicidal sex. Something in me went dormant when you left.  I vaguely remember why, but it’s fuzzy like flash backs from a blackout or a bad trip.  Which I only had once or twice, but that was more than enough to keep from doing it again.  I would for you though, if you wanted to.  Crashing around in the forest at dusk under deep November skies and yelling fuck-all to the universe.  You were always the spark that started Devil’s Night.  A goddess of Bacchus’ loins.  There was nothing I would not have done for you.  I died when you left.  The husk remains, with the frozen portraits of your jack o’lantern smile burned into my retinas.  My skin still shudders with the traces of your touch.  My gypsy witch, evil love cursing the hearts around you like a speedball on fentanyl on meth that is the last run of the roller coaster and heart is pounding and I will be with you soon and my veins are flame and my heart is a jackhammer and I will be in you soon and I will kill you soon and soon I am coming for you my beautiful malady with the melody of death on my lips… and a fistful of sand storm daffodils.

 

image courtesy of Pinterest and Awkward Family Photos

Quietly incessant

by Oldepunk

I wasn’t always sure

About the noise in the background

Incessant, like the peeling of

A grimace in rush hour massacres

Pounding out the march of time

To rounded pupils and bloodshot

Veins that wrapped around conclusions

They claim names remain inane

I see some new faces on the pavement

air is thick with mistrust and ash

I know it’s not safe to breathe

There’s really no other alternative though, right?

Nodding on Himalayan chiba

Absorbing good news vibes

While the bad news bears play to lose

In the side streets, side stepping

Johnny law and copper johns

Did you hear that meth is a thing again

Don’t call it a comeback, it’s company certified now

Cheaper and harder than generic opioids and gin

Sundays and shit coffee and stale pastries

Freebasing the shame on the nails of

Mary Magdalene and asking if maybe

She was the one this whole time

I once knew a girl who looked like

My vision of the wife of a Messiah

Except she dressed like Lilith and wakizashi

She wrote me a Gospel unlike any other

My faith in her will be

the dirt of my grave

She spun up a speedball packed

With that Chelyabinsk fentanyl

Cooked herself the last supper

she ascended while surrounded

by a dozen other prophets

in a broken down rectory on

North Brother Isle

I would share her Book but I haven’t the words

To quite define the Spirit she conferred;

faith restored in self.

I regret I could not return the favor

Perhaps that’s how angels get back

Where they’re supposed to go

I tattooed Psalms of her movements

Upon the palms of my daughters hands.

Holy things can come in the strangest

Places that hum quietly incessant,

Prophecies behind a junkies teeth

_______________________________________________

Oldepunk writes in Texas with a pair of kids and cats.  Hockey junkie and music aficionado.  Read more at Ramjetpoetry.


The Loss in Us- Oldepunk and Lois E. Linkens

Life passes, unfettered by the loss in us
I want to touch the echo of you with hands
time has counted twice
Morning’s claw does rive mine empty mind
From dreams more full
And coloured than time aware.
arid fantasy does drift away
to morning dew upon lip of leaf,
to glisten in rays of layered gold
We are creatures on a strange ship
In a curious place. See – the island lies,
All life and shade, its green banks 
Like shiny apples on a ghostly tree.
behold the Fleece hangs dimly
upon crippled limbs, brittle coppers
casting what little light they may
comforts aplenty beseech us to shore
It had once known splendour, too.
The jewelled hands of kings did brush
It’s ‘chanted thread. 
And so it seems, we none of us
Have waged with Time and won.
A parade of somber gaiety
These feeble celebrations deem us hollow
For if’n that mighty Ram may fade
We must gone quietly quick
As dawn to day to dusk to night
A welcome blackness
To close the tattered shapes of what once was.

Oldepunk and Lois E Linkens ( Italics)


You can read more of Oldepunk’s writing at RamJet Poetry

Lois is a poet and student from England. She is studying the literature of the Romantics and hopes their values and innovations will filter through into her own work. She is working on longer projects at present, with a hope to publish poetry collections and novels in the years to come. She is a feminist, an nostalgic optimist, and a quiet voice in the shadows of Joanne Baillie and Charlotte Smith. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkens.

Excerpt from Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective- A letter to someone’s saviour/Oldepunk

aletterto
Hey you.  Allah

I feel nothing anymore

If I do, I can’t tell

is it supposed to be this way?

Hey you.  God, why am I

screaming at the fact that you’re aware of my failure which I see sitting demure at a table sipping espresso as the aftermath of the encounter thickens the air and afterwards no one knows what to say and I want to sneer at our confusion but find I can only shout fears in tongues at the matador in front of the corner store

can you spare a holy smoke?

You know the man who said he knew you tried to teach us

he liked to play with the little boys in the parks after dark

my parents decided that he probably didn’t know you but must have had some good lawyers cause he packed up his show and moved on to the next town

anticipating sundown.

I need a cleansing

I wrote this for you.

Christ,

I thought I left ’em all behind

those friends I never knew

and the women I never loved

the things I’ve never done

and the truths I’ve never spoken

those tears should have dried

those emotions should have died

Buddha,

I should have left when I had the chance

and now I am alone and stoned and cold

no longer so bold, I wish I would have walked away

from those lies I’ve never told

pain I never endured

People I’ve never needed

friends I never saw die

the escape route always eluded me

draining my will to try

Do you offer a resurrection

for those of us who got it wrong

will you truly offer me a chance to start again

or was it bullshit all along.

if it’s really a redemption song

then maybe I too could sing

and see what  your new tomorrow

may bring

maybe, If I can be strong

it has got to better than this

Warmest Regards,

I was Wrong

Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is available at Amazon.com, Amazon Europe, Amazon Canada, Book Depository, and other major book retailers.


You can read more of Oldepunk’s poetry at RamJet Poetry

Leaden Skies- Olde Punk/RamJet Poetry

leaden skies

Come

Come and lead

Me on

Past the sallow

With leaden eyes,

Leaden cheeks

And leaden mouths

Heaving leaden words

At our backs beneath

Leaden skies

Come, come and find me

Down in the gutter

With the elixir still heavy

On my ragged breath

Call me to the gathering

With your voice like

Tambourines, drowning

Out the drawing of midnight

And the ringing of bells, pulling

Me towards the grey spaces

Where the Ankou waits

My golem is coming closer

Dead eyes seeking to take mine

Come, come and guide me

To the places where your sun

Blinds the darkness I wear

My funeral shroud already in place

I clutch it selfishly, growling curses

I will resist you, as you know I must

For I dwell in the houses of sorrow

And she is a lustful creature, despair.

Still I pray for you when lucidity

Finds me.

To come

Come and lead me

Far away from here.

Image courtesy of Pinterest


Olde Punk is an editor of Sudden Denouement and the curator of Ramjet Poetry.  Hockey, food and punk rock junkie.  Total sci-fi/fantasy geek.  He writes, right?

Murder in the thirst- Olde Punk

Murder in the thirst

There is always the murmuring first

Anticipation is just the worst

Do you not think?

No do not speak

Why we brave the waste

There is ever aught but dust

And folly, ever the tides rush

Close to our feet

I’m trapped in the past

And I know you are the last

Of the crimson knights of defeat

Feel my heart beat

In time with the rhythm of demise

I despise and deplore

Blood on the floor and all over

Your precious face

Oh angel of disgrace

Never are you more beautiful

Than with the fear of death

Perfuming your breath

And heavy with the knowledge

Of my damned divine curse

Shadow clouds over the moon

As dawn and dusk meet

Clasping hands over the finality

I embrace you lovingly

The taste of your blood on my tongue

I listen to the dearest murmur

That escapes your lips

And quench the murder

In the thirst
Image courtesy of Pinterest


Olde Punk is an editor of Sudden Denouement and the curator of Ramjet Poetry.  Hockey, food and punk rock junkie.  Total sci-fi/fantasy geek.  He writes, right?

Sibilant Nonsense- Olde Punk

 

I feel I’ve listened
To something
That means nothing
Yet everything
I will leave you
Before you leave me
The mountain calls
And her heart
Is bared
The wind cries my name
Over and over and over
Do I dare answer?
I should go….
I’m lost and cannot find my way back
Is there anyone who can guide me?
Drive my hand into the treasure of despair
Let’s talk business
I don’t think you will ever understand
Just exactly what it is I am trying to say
I don’t think anyone will
I need something I can taste
Moonlit sun
Gasping
I dreamed I was alive once
Only to awaken comatose
Adrift on a sea of sorrow
I contemplate the tomorrow….

Looking for silver
In the sands of time

We hope you enjoyed this classic piece of writing from the Sudden Denouement archive.


Olde Punk is a writer/editor at Sudden Denouement and the force behind RamJet Poetry

A Note from Jasper Kerkau

sinatra-elvis-aug-29-1969-2

I want to take a minute and wish everyone a very happy holiday. This has been a wonderful year for Sudden Denouement and Sudden Denouement Publishing. The holidays can be blissful and arduous. I want to apologize for lack of communication over the last couple of weeks while I dealt with work and personal matters. Over the next couple of days, I will be finally have time to make corrections to the site, assign new editors and begin moving SD to the next level. I want to thank everyone who has given their time, passion, and vision to our humble collective. We have put together the premier collection of writers on the planet. Over the course of the next couple of weeks, I will be working with others and make the process more cohesive and share the responsibility. I want to give a special thank you to David Lohrey, Nicole Lyons (thank you for your friendship and counsel), Olde Punk, Sam Lucero (there is a special place in the next world for Sam for the work she does without asking for recognition). I will be adding two new editors who I feel will bring new energy to SD.

There was a time I would bombard our writers with my emails—especially OldePunk.  As writers, we often fall into strange places. We live in the darkness and the light. I look forward to getting caught up with a lot of you, getting input about the direction of SD. I will get caught up on emails, but I promise not to overshare.

I appreciate every one of you. SD has been the beacon for me to find my way out of the darkness. The future is very bright. Each one of you is touched by the light of the universe. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. We are doing something special.

Jasper Kerkau

Petal – Olde Punk

the scent of the dogwood

petals drifting to soft bed

their crimson reminders

stark on white

I remember the sound as my town lies dying

the fall out of midnight as Mr. Sunshine

banks and curves, He’s the nightmare

stuff that frightens King and Cave

wide ass smile with one deep dimple

dark eyes of a shark in frenzy

He has a red right hand and a left one blue

a long mile coming and a breath or two

his need for an event horizon

is strong indeed

Infecting the populace, stirring the dead

teasing with masochism and candies

those young in the head

Mr. Sunshine likes to devour the foundations

and watch it all fall from the absence

Burning dogwood screams against

the hate and malevolence as our town

lays dying

No work, no hope, no direction, no community

just anger and abuse and the needle and the juice

the Way of the Gun, Mr. Sunshine’s favorite fun

knots and bonds undone under the grin of Mr. Sin

and his midnight zeros

Some people say we had it coming

but I don’t know

I recall the scent in the fall

and the petals resting on the floor of the forest

thinking that there are worse places to be…

but that was long ago

prior to that pious bastard

Mr. Sunshine and his midnight zeros

once we knew of unity and sacrifice

the petals remind me so

We sit sanctified in our heathen afterlife

watching the buildings burn

Believing in nothing is a belief in something

Our sciences tell us that nothing consumes everything

so what side are we really on?

petals in the snow and binary code

one two zero zero

image courtesy of Lewis Hine and Pinterest

[inspired by the Orwells song ‘Ancient Egypt‘]


 

[Olde Punk is an editor of Sudden Denouement and the curator of Ramjet Poetry.  Hockey, food and punk rock junkie.  Total sci-fi/fantasy geek.  He writes, right?]