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

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?]

‘Recombinant Selves’ – A Collaborative of 11 writers

We inherit

The wordless cry

Of all our former

Selves (CER)

 

They layer themselves

upon us

ragged cloaks

of the homeless

dragging

at our heels (AP)

 

Dusk takes one last breath

Swallowing golden specks of us

Scattered among the detritus

No light reflects

From such depths

We are the chosen (1W-W)

 

We stumble against starless darkness

searching for one truth (KMA)

 

Layer by layer, I am revealed.

The reflection looking back at me

isn’t one I recognize.

Will there be anything

worth remembering,

when I’m gone? (SD)

 

Fragmented remnants

permeate our evolution

ill-fated to dissonance

a dichotomy of our

recombinant selves (AGD)

 

Searching for a candle in the abyss,

A hope to hold onto,

To chalk sweaty palms

Gripping a frayed rope.

tearing tender flesh,

Climbing toward salvation (JWL)

 

But the stars have fallen, smashed diamonds

of our shattered images, and the lost cry

who am I? In tune with our hearts.(A)

 

Through telescopes

we focus on a point

All else is irrelevant

From the bottom of a well

our vision is limited

All else is a mystery (WC)

 

The mysterious property

of my ancestors

the progeny of dusk

I am prodigy or effigy

What I ought to be

or another misstep in

my fragile history (OP)

 

Our former

Selves

Cry:

Look

Their

inheritance! (SFF)


 

Writers:

1Wise-Woman

A.G. Diedericks

Allie

Kindra M. Austin

Ward Clever

Sarah Doughty

Stephen F. Fuller

John W. Leys

Aurora Phoenix

Olde Punk

Christine E. Ray