Through the Looking Glass – Hannah Munroe

I fell down the rabbit hole again today

and landed on a patch of tooth picks

I looked around for a kind face and there you were in the shadows

A father is the only man a girl can trust

but you changed your shape on me

there was your hand not lifting me up but pushing the picks in further

blue fabric torn to shreds

I didn’t even feel any pain, not in this upside down world

and I popped out on the other side

I told my tale of woe to all that I could find of the wonders and the horrors I had seen

Of the words whispered to me by the  cat and the future I’d been told

but no one would listen

No one believed

No one ever believes

Not until they see with their own eyes

Why couldn’t you believe in me?

I sat in my garden surrounded by disbelieving eyes

Until my cat appeared crawled up next to me

With a third eye that looked like a bullet wound to the head and said with a grin,

“Still don’t believe?”.

“Hannah lives in Salem, Massachusetts. She is a writer, performer, dreamer, and lover of all things Stevie Nicks. She writes to heal, she writes to breathe, she writes to awaken. Hannah tries to do six impossible things before breakfast. She thinks there is a little witch in all of us.”

Hannah Munroe

ritual

samantha lucero

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we were but girl-children

to the deathless moon

in this heavy-lidded woodland

eyes like soapy lanterns

twitching in the cradle-dust

still, we voyaged in

joined like dollhouse mountains

my bloodstone-sister was an untamed altar

at which they encroached, wept like ivy

unhinged men & their fresh shoulders

who would pile at her godforsaken toes

to revere, to wide-eyed pray, to boast

a ritual for veneration

that would never starve

still, she dared in

i was but a prying mortal girl & out-of-body

fingering sorries inside a waning pouch

i scooped from meat-faced vultures

dripping the diamond scent of

a grey folklore

which i bittersweetly appointed

on my melancholy own

still, i delved in

i don’t believe we ever emigrated

from the royal purple cold, unpolished wild

or the leather harness of the unclothed bark

of yolky-sun, of pine-fragrant wrangles of trees

here silver-winter comes & time to

urge patient gods…

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star gazers – lois e. linkens

stargazers

star gazers (lois e. linkens)

we drove all day, and into the evening
and when it got too dark to drive,
we parked the van on the roadside
and opened up the back doors.
the moon looked over
the scattering of stars,
like a mother hen.
and in the sun’s absence
all barriers dropped.
our curtains fell,
and all we had on
dissolved into warm ecstasy.
the sky melted into pools of dusky grey,
gathering on the horizon
like water drops down a frosted window.
throwing the doors open
lifted the latch on us.
was it the shimmer of the moon
or the intrusive breeze?
was it the smell of the leftovers
in their tupperware box,
or the ache
from the hard leather seats?
something in the air
led us through the doors and out,
onto the grass to walk about.
you leant on the wooden fence,
and gazed
at the sequin studded ceiling.
the stars had come out that night,
extra bright,
as if they knew
i held you, pressed my face against
the heat of your back.
i tucked my arms around you
and held you.
as the night lay quiet,
your heart beat through me,
loud and strong.
a bass drum in a marching band.
you were more alive than me
more alive than anything.
your body breathed into mine and
took me somewhere
made for me,
where i would be the only guest.
we saw orion’s belt, and
you were proud of me
because i spotted it.
there were legends in the sky,
stories and survivals,
dreams and departures,
histories and hand-me-downs.
you knew their names,
you told me.
‘there is no number created
that could count the stars
and make me tired
of stargazing.’
do you remember when you said that?
you know, my darling –
God could fling infinite stars across the heavens
and still my gaze
would be fixed
on you.

[Lois E. Linkens writes for Sudden Denouement and creator of Lois Links. She is a friend and a wonderful writer. She resides in England. Please take a moment to read her work.]

 

Inky Rivers. – ..ari purkayastha

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Inky Rivers.

He mourned moons with
moans of muttered courage,
through lips of lost lovers,
and draped himself in
forbidden shadows
hidden from the suns.

There were no perhaps or maybe,
just the absolute ticking of time
that sang to his mind;
too numb from
the last bottle of Jack,
or cheap tequila,
and coke.

For his blood was poisoned
from an unavenged rage,
and an addiction, to the blood of the man
that raped his mother,
his sister,
his daughter.

And he drank away, to the sight of
those photographs
stained from the careless moments
when the bottle had slipped, and the
liquid remembrance
flooded his childhood.

The world blurred into
the black and grey pages of calendar
that turned and merged
into faces engraved
on the inside of his closet,
while he stared at them; their tears
-shining in the fluorescent light of that
damp ghastly room-
filled his half full glass.

Even death looked away,
for he held a red knife of indifference
on the throat of life,
and read the Bible,
all the while a skeleton
washed his hands
and kissed the silhouette of his neck
in prayer,
for he played the role of God,
in this Godless world.

The winds never breathed,
when he wrote poems on the graves
where the dead could chant the words of dead,
shrouded within the cries of the Lord,
as he wept under the disguise
of the raining nights.

He fucked strangers
standing in middle of the storm,
and came, to the sound of the hurricanes
howling menacingly into his ears,
in rivulets of sorrowful ecstasy
that the torrents couldn’t wash away.

Betrayed demons of his
were buried in coffins,
and those coffins he inhumed
within his soul.
And six-feet under,
he sleeps peacefully- breathless,
for he lived years without breathing.

Jagged scars crossed his eyes,
under the headlights of cars,
begging silently to those burnt rubber,
to crush the weight on his bones
upon himself.

Those lines revealed-
in the charged air of thunder
when a certain gentleness
settled within him,
for then his thoughts
found themselves clear,
to drown in the inky rivers
flooding his being.
••ari purkayastha

Please check out beautiful blog and Twitter. We are so excited to have her contributing. She writes beautifully and is a wonderful addition to our group.

Fallen Alone

https://twitter.com/ryekayas

 

Outer Space – David Lohrey

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Outer Space – David Lohrey

Jason has disappeared from my vision.

Then there’s Michael.

Marian is gone, then mom and dad.

One by one they go.

Soon: no one.

 

I feel like the man on the moon.

The astronaut left to drift, holding

His severed umbilical card,

Disappearing, gasping, the earth at a distance.

I’m going, getting smaller and smaller.

 

I’m saying hello but no one can hear me.

Like Marilyn Monroe or Cher’s husband,

Sonny. Lost in space, the movie. It

Opens in September. Lost forever, the nightmare.

Stay tuned, 24/7.

 

I’ve arrived at the lost and found,

But I can’t remember what I came for.

Sign here.

 

There were once so many

I could name them but why bother?

Some leads, but mainly a chorus, a jubilee, not a party.

More like a camp fire without marsh mellows.

A cookout, without charcoal; a broken nail without a file.

Tits without ass. A pocket with no money.

 

How the hell did it happen?

Oh, it’s one decision after the other.

Choices.

Ingratiation, followed by despair.

Indoctrination, then disappointment.

It’s leaving home in a hurry.

It’s a flat tire on the highway.

It’s a bridge too far, so there.

It’s emasculation.

 

It’s not 2+2=4.

It’s not oppression, not control.

Not intervention, not suppression,

Not even repression, no.

It’s indifference.

The tyranny of neglect.

It’s choking on nothing.

It’s a phone call to we care.

Only we care has moved.

Call back tomorrow.

By the time you get through,

Your problems are over.

By the time you get through,

It’s been settled.

By the time you get through,

It’s over.

How may we direct your call?

 

[David is lost in Japan. He is a smart, kind man who writes amazing poetry. We are thrilled to have him writing for Sudden Denouement. He is one of us.]

David Lohrey was born on the Hudson River in New York but grew up in Memphis. He graduated from U.C., Berkeley. He earned his Ph.D. at Charles Sturt University, Wagga Wagga, NSW, Australia. He teaches in Tokyo. He has reviewed books for The Los Angeles Times and The Orange County Register, and served as drama critic in NYC and LA for Curtainup.com. His plays have appeared in the UK, Switzerland, India and, most recently, in Croatia. In a Newark Minute and Sperm Counts were translated and produced in Estonia (2016). His poetry can be found in The Rats Ass Review, Softblow, The Blue Mountain Review, Otoliths, Sentinel Literary Quarterly and Quarterday.  Recent fiction can be read in Crack the Spine and at inshadesmag.com. He is currently writing a memoir of his years living in Saudi Arabia on the Red Sea and on the Persian Gulf.

Contest Winners / gofundme for Rob

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We have come to a decision on the contest. The winners are:

1st Place Christine Ray “On Becoming a Writer” Brave and Reckless Blog

2nd Place Erin Crocker “Suburban Suicide” authorerincrocker.com/

3rd Place Aakriti Kuntal “Splatter” https://aakritikuntal.wordpress.com/

I will be sending out the prizes in the next day. Congratulations to these wonderful writers. The contest was a lot of work, but a wonderful experience, and I am so grateful to have been able to talk to so many wonderful people. I want to thank the following people:  Naomi, Alan, Danielle, David, Karl, Michael, wonderful Lizzi, Matthew, Corey (I enjoy your words every day on Facebook), Donald, Phil, my friend Ayyappan (we will talk soon), Robert–of course, and so many others.

I want to mention there is a gofundme  for our friend Rob of justruminatingblog. He is a good friend to Sudden Denouement and a great writer. Sudden Denouement has made a 100 dollar donation and would ask everyone to take a second and read his story. We all have been at a point where we needed a hand-up; he needs one now.

 

 

 

Turning

turning

By Oldepunk

https://ramjetpoetry.wordpress.com/

 

See there is this yearning

and I am learning

It’s all this painful turning

stations taking notations of rotations

always, always, moving

and it is making me ill

moon moving, earth moving

sun moving, galaxy moving

everything always

moving moving MOVING

for one second

I WISH i could stand STILL

a chance to catch up

with my breath

grab hold of the life that fled

the moment, I realized

I wasn’t dead

But the motion and momentum

buried me in concrete

before i could admit defeat

and I struggle with the velocity

violently pushing its god damn

philosophy

at ME

I need a moment to consider

my position i have to reconfigure

my life stole my soul and ran

at 17000 miles per hour

left before I began

to know

just what to do

in all this commotion

without you

and it’s all this turning

constant motion churning

it has made me so very ill

I just needed one moment

a moment to stand STILL