by eluding slumber
the eve of our undoing
once as mighty
as the matriarchal moon
teemed with warmth
of lucid shame
torn into pieces
as footsteps fall
this strangest feeling
told by victors
sold to loss
in surface tensions
depths of our
situated on a slab
of drab somatic sediment
a case of faithless
on the urgency
of slow submersion
there is no function
left to serve
fraught with fervor
fading into fields
overtaking structures stoic
’til all the hands
release their souls
[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.]
Max Meunier Poetry
Take me higher, so far away
This toxic place was never meant for someone like me
Despair chained by merciless desolation
An emptiness that is suffocating
Stinging tears, each formed of crippling isolation
True love can set me free
Yet, bleeding dysfunction is dripping all over me
I glimpse a distant doorway leading me somewhere else
My only comrade on this lonely journey is hope
Shallow certainty this life may transform for the better
One day my wishful heart will escape from here
Discontent, you cannot drag me down forever
[Sperantia Zavala is a guest contributor for Sudden Denouement. Her works include “Nothing that I Want” and “My Foolish Heart.”]
I’m not fooled by that mask of delicious perfection covering false pretenses, the façade of beauty with that devilish intention beneath. Your eyes give you away, like a wolf masquerading around in an innocent, irresistible skin. But I know better. You’re ready to devour every last bit of liquid fire coursing through my veins, leaving behind a scorched landscape, only to pour it all back into me. And as I bear the brand of your name across my steaming bones, every inch of my skin will pulse like a drum with every pound of my heart, begging for more. And I can’t bring myself to care.
Sarah Doughty is the wordsmith behind her website, Heartstring Eulogies, author of The Silence Between Moonbeams, her poetry chapbook, and the acclaimed Earthen Witch universe, a collection of novels and novellas, all offered for free (https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/useful-links/). To learn more about Sarah and her books, check out her website (http://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/about) and Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13753138.Sarah_Doughty).
Nose on nose on a balcony that overlooks a disused garage that swims with rats and pornos and junk. Black eyeliner, black tights. Red lips and a ponytail that swings like a pendulum. The smell of your hair and the feel of you pushing yourself against my groin in those hours that escape us upon waking. We sleep outside to be closer to the stars and because when we make love and taste God you want him to see you as a soul and not just a body. Pyjamas not skirts. Flirtation not chitchat. Tigers, dragons. Sushi bars and wet lips. Dimples and your smile and the absence of you when you’re not around and you’re never around but I have my words and my words will become you and that’s just how it is. The evenings are beer and wine and the warmth of your breath against my neck in the back of a taxi and then your arm around my waist in some bar with paintings on the wall I could paint with my dick. Nearly falling off your chair, you snort with laughter and bite my ear. What’s the worst thing about getting old? My hair going curly. The second worst thing? The knowledge that my mind and body are two different things and that the older I get the more conflict there will be between the two. Arguments. Frustration. To sleep. Would you sleep with me? Would you let me take off your socks and massage your feet while we sit in silence too drunk to do anything other than picture ourselves as different people? I hope so. Tears that stain the pillow. The beginning, the end. A writer, a fool. A hand around your throat. A doorway that could be a vortex that could be a portal that could be an opening to something those we have known our entire lives have never come close to. Do you remember when we were strangers? Can you recall the time you caught me staring at your mouth in the canteen at work not long after you first started? You asked me if I was okay, but I was lost in the future that danced upon your lips and although I didn’t want to be crude, I knew already what was to follow and it caused me to become lightheaded. Two hearts. One mind. That night we were under the stars and I wrote GN-z11 on your arm with a pen and urged you to get it tattooed- you never knew what it meant and I never told you. Well this is the place we shall go after we die and there we shall be free. Free to love without the presence of prying eyes. Type it into Wikipedia, and tell me you’ll say yes.
S. K. Nicholas is blogger at myredabyss.com and author of A Journal for Damned Lovers. To learn more about S.K. and A Journal for Damned Lovers read Jasper Kerkau’s interview with S.K. and his review of A Journal for Damned Lovers.
We are thrilled to announce that the writers of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective have been so productive lately that we have needed to create a Publications page on our site. See below for a sneak peak and look for the page in our top menu. We expect to be updating it regularly!
Earthen Witch Novels
The Silence Between Moonbeams
2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning
Until Her Darkness Goes
The Other Is Oneself: Postcolonial Identity in a Century of War: 20th Century African and American Writers Respond to Survival and Genocide
The Lithium Chronicles
A Journal for Damned Lovers
A Journal for Damned Lovers
Private Bad Thoughts
Quit Your Job and Become a Poet
next-day sore, fabled romance memories we’ll never have again hang themselves over the morgue of my shoulders. they sling there on the murderess hews of my collarbones like a noose. over the rubble of me like a shapeless dress, they cling. my sadness is a one-size fits all.
there’s a bad mystery of stitched up, prayer-words smothered & held hostage underneath the humid crucifix game of your nails. maybe we could be in love. your calloused hand, my beating throat. memories are ghosts that can physically embrace me; embrace us.
like dirt-sweat in a ghost-tour day of that hot mouth street in New Orleans, where the grinning specter-folks wanna stay like pasted gaslight posts in booze-colored hurricane beads. where there’s oiled-up candles in the balmy night lining decatur & quivering tarot cards in a sweaty palm telling me i’m meant for greatness. hail the votives for a virgin or a saint-chief, & watch palpitations at every pop-up table. my black boots on powdered sugar all over the concrete long after sleep should’ve gently tapped, hold the the dust of cemetery reflections & the 24/7 menu of the cafe du monde.
meet me for smoke, insomnia, primordial love.
you don’t need the blonde smiling photograph of her burned onto the back of your eyelids when things go wrong for us.
i don’t need the memory of him sewn to my back like a corset scar, like an unhealed secret.
we can make our own memories now. let’s erase them.
let’s erase it all & grow old
in the sweet, warm arms of new orleans where desperate, spilling souls belong.
[Samantha Lucero is an unseelie that has a nursery of shadows at sixredseeds.]
As a writer, we often find ourselves in the role of solitary practitioner. For some, solitude is exactly what is wanted in the expression of our literary pursuits, while others, like myself, relish being part of a community of like-minded individuals. I am most fortunate to be a part of the greatest group of writers in the world. Today, I count people such as Mick Hugh (Mick’s Neon Fog), Georgia Park (Private Bad Thoughts, Whisper and the Roar), Christine Ray (Brave and Reckless), and Olde Punk (Ramjet Poetry) as friends. I have received life advice from Nicole Lyons (The Lithium Chronicles) and countless others. I am now a part of the same collective as my literary hero S.K. Nicholas, not to mention my newest inspiration Candice Louisa Daquin. I am part of something much larger than myself. I am a member of a community driven by the brilliance of writers such as Max Meunier (Dissociative Void) and, my personal favorite, Samantha Lucero(Six Red Seeds), who weaves dark tapestries that leave me breathless over and over again. My feeling is that most writers do not have the benefit of the fellowship and support we share in Sudden Denouement.
I say all of this to encourage others to throw down the gauntlet, to find something special within yourselves and participate in our writing contest. Challenge yourself! Dig deep and share something that you can give to the world, an attempt to connect with a community of writers who are all dedicated to not only our own works, but the work of other members. Someone will become one of us and have the privilege of existing in the same space as Malicia Frost, Rana Kelly, Lois e. Linkens (who continues to amaze and inspire me), Howl Davies, my friends PBBR, SPR and Bishop Hermes. There are too many names to mention, but they are what we have to offer–a community. For me, it has been the most rewarding part of this journey.
Lastly, speaking to the power of the community we have created, it is worth sharing that when I was stricken by personal problems and decided to walk away from managing SD, several people stepped up to fill the void, to show that Sudden Denouement is much larger than all of us. Thank you Christine Ray and Olde Punk for your leadership. Thank you Sam Lucero and SRP for your contributions as well. Writing was never going to save me from the difficulties of life; however, members of SD have done a great deal to help me find my way out of the darkness. You can be given the same gift that I have received, a place amongst friends, writers who work together towards a common goal of causing all waters to rise. Please submit the best part of yourself. Join us on this beautiful journey. Submit a piece to our contest.
Sudden Denouement/Secret First Draft March Madness Writing Contest
[Jasper Kerkau is a writer/editor for Sudden Denouement, as well as his newest site Jasper Kerkau Writing.]
Secret First Draft
The Writings of Jasper Kerkau