SD New Writers

mickhugh

We put out a call for new writers and have been overwhelmed by the response. I have been trying to reach out to each writer, though the process will take me some time. I am currently compiling all of the documents to be looked over by all of our editors. It will be a week or so for a decision to be made about additions. It has been a wonderful experience reading your work and look forward to corresponding with more of you in the near future. We will be adding a number of new writers.

Jasper Kerkau

 

Poisonous – SRP

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Poisonous – SRP

they sit calmly around a table

in a well-lit room spewing hatred

from their mouths

it is what it is, and it’s only about

that person who looks back at me

when i stare into a mirror

telling me that I’m not good

enough

they’ve been deciding what to do

about a couple of people

who make it hard for

them to

rule

i sit quietly at the table

as it all swirls around

me

i remember that mirror

tells me the truth at night

its hard to be

quiet and still

i do what I’m told

wait for direction

and silently grow old

silently i grow old

you can’t turn away because

i can’t process the signal

it happens so fast

my sin

drops the needle when

the moon fades to dawn

and it all washes away

clean

and you’re leaving here

while I’m still here

we drink the poison they serve

night after night

until I can’t feel you

anymore

i dreamt you’re near

silent and still

until you don’t breathe

I think the poison they serve

night after night

until i can’t see

the sun will wash it

clean

[SRP is co-creator and editor for Sudden Denouement.]

Guest Blog: Soshinie Singh – Scream

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There is a scream lodged

At the base of my throat

Looming like phlegm

Being rattled by an inner earthquake

That I feel it bubbling up and with it

An entourage of emotions vibrate

Threatening to spill

But yet, I swallow it down in fear

Of what this scream might do,

Should I actually let it out

To tramp on my body’s strength.


 

[ Soshinie Singh is a West Indian young lady currently residing in the United States of America. Though she suffered heartbreak, she deviates from writing strictly about love and hurt. But she utilizes the lessons she has learnt effectively through her writing. She has a drive to turn anything into an inspiration which many can feast on and boost their morale. There is no fixed time nor place that she writes. Most of the time, the words just come to her and keeping playing on her mind until she can get them down- whether it be on her phone, her iPad or the old fashion way of pen and paper.]

Blogsoshiniesingh.wordpress.com

Instagram: @soshiniesingh.author

Facebook: Soshinie A. Singh

Book: The Phoenix Letters: Letters to My Younger Self.

Glass and Thorns – Christine Ray

hysteria (1)
Betrayal is an inside job
wrecked by muscle and
joints
neurons and
neurotransmitters
mitochondrial mutiny
lays waste
to formerly silver tongue
now struggling to find words
that used to flow like
ink through fountain pen
fatigue hangs round neck
chain woven of boulders, glass shards &
thorns
muscle spasms contort me
into balloon animal shapes
so alien, so grotesque
that they frighten the village children
like the pick axe
I plant above right eye
in hopes of blessed relief
don’t mind the blood
it’s barely an inconvenience
during insomnic ruminations
about long dormant-mutations
coded in DNA turned
time bombs
that ripped through my life
casualty count still being assessed
by medics in white coats
who write cryptic words
on shiny clipboards
while I bleed


 

[Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and is a member of Sudden Denouement.  She is also curator at Blood Into Ink and barista at Go Dog Go Cafe.  She is an aspiring badass.]

Glass Ceiling – David Lohrey

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Anya: she’s a cheerleader for the downtrodden.
I know because she’s ambitious.
The higher she wants to go, the more she cares.
As she fills out applications, you can hear her crying.

Oh, Anya, how she weeps for the poor.
She wails for the disabled. She loves
above all else to wag her finger. She prides
herself on her outrage, she thrives on indignation.

What Anya craves is power. She longs to join
Mothers of the Disabled. After distributing
pamphlets to the masses, she’ll drink toilet water.
She’s on the same wave length as the desperate.
She hangs a portrait of Mother Teresa over her bed.

What the fuck, she wants to be President.
She’s determined to get that promotion,
enough to hug a leper, but first she’ll read
to the blind. She’ll distribute clothing to the homeless.
She wants street cred; it’s the only way to the top.
She wants to be compared to her idol, Lady Di.

Not so long ago, the poor piano player was told
to try drums. Today the little girl is told to keep playing.
Anya has seen to that. The fat girl is encouraged
to join the ballet. The not so very bright boy is sent to law school.
This is the world she hopes to dominate.
The triumph of empathy is the next big thing.

There’ll be no stopping her. There are billions to be made off
mediocrity, a thousand times more than what’s been
made off talent. The triumph of failure. She’s tapped
into the voice of despair. Today the losers are on the move.
Everyone gets in. They’ll get a certificate for breathing,
a degree for trying.

They’ll attend graduate school on Skype from prison.
No one gets left behind. By the year 2029, 89% of the
American people will have a Ph.D. Now that Anya’s
President everyone on earth can attend Harvard; they’ll
learn to turn their despair into dread, like Franz Kafka.
The American dream is fulfilled; everyone’s a fool.


 

[David Lohrey is the author of Machiavelli’s Backyard from Sudden Denouement Publishing. He is also an editor for Sudden Denouement and a mentor for me personally – Jasper Kerkau]

Sentence of Sentience – Max Meunier

max

 

Sentence of Sentience – Max Meunier

what have i
but quieted inquiries

hollowed
and echoed
through vales
of a sub-violet druse
of aversion

no tangible touch
to form valid expression

intentions adrift
amid merciless
miles of mutable morass

from which somnolous streams
softly spill
forth eclipses

in lapses
bereft of availing account

where whims slowly waft
beyond walled apparitions

fled from partition
to form in summation
a dormant despair
born of quiet desperation

awaiting conclusion
in sediments muring

a freedom reprieved
of sententious ideal

for what purpose plausible
peers within prisms

but spectacle
cradling consciences captious

enraptured in casting incessant goodbyes

alas
i digress
lest my thoughts
become i

[image credit: Wilhelm Kotarbinski]

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations.  I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe.  He writes at Max Meunier Dissocative Void.