Hide and Seek – Daffni Gingerich

hide and seek

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


 

I have poured out the contents of my insides today. I don’t want them back but there will come a day when they’re handed back to me with side notes and red ink. And I will retreat under the bed like I did as a child during hide and seek. There’s knowledge left under beds from those who never survived hiding. My eyes would dart back and forth and my heart would race as if death was truly on the outside waiting. It was always the big brown eyes of my brother that found me. And with such a rush I’d demand he be seeker again. He’d whine and I’d ignore him until he quit and we went our separate ways. Headstrong. That’s what they call me. I’m hard to stick around because anyone without passion bores me and anyone with it, well, that’s deadly. Deadly, like hide and seek. I’ve had an insatiable craving for sweets lately. I do my best to be an adult and pair them with more salads, but that amount of eating can be too much. I’d need more than 3 salads a day, and three is quite a lot already. If only hiding under the bed brought me sweets, I’d have been more likely to give my brother a turn to hide.


Daffni Gingerich says simply that she “is a writer.” You can read more of her mesmerizing prose at Daffniblog.

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 Publishing is Now Accepting Manuscript Submissions for Genre Fiction

Sudden Denouement Publishing has made its mark publishing contemporary and divergent poets such as force of nature Nicole Lyons, social commentator extraordinaire David Lohrey, and stunning Bruised But Not Broken’s founder Rachel Finch.

Although providing a vehicle to publish such extraordinary poets remains a priority for Sudden Denouement Publishing, we are currently seeking submissions of exceptional genre fiction manuscripts. Perhaps your science fiction/fantasy manuscript or your noir mystery is just what we are looking for!

If you are unfamiliar with the quality and aesthetic of Sudden Denouement’s writing, please familiarize yourself with our work before submitting.

How to Submit:

  1. Submit all queries to submissionssuddendenouement@gmail.com. Be sure to include Manuscript Submission in the subject line. We ask that you submit one query at a time.
  2. Please include a cover letter, and a concise synopsis no longer than one page in the body of the email.
  3. Your cover letter should include a brief bio, and detailed contact information (name, email, and phone number).
  4. The synopsis should be a full summary of your manuscript, including the ending. We want spoilers.
  5. Attach the first fifty pages of your manuscript. We accept PDF and Word doc.
  6. The manuscript should be a polished, final product.
  7. Please allow us four to six weeks to review and respond to your submission. If we’d like to see more, we will request the entire manuscript.

 

Sudden Denouement Publishing is Now Accepting Manuscript Submissions for Genre Fiction

Sudden Denouement Publishing has made its mark publishing contemporary and divergent poets such as force of nature Nicole Lyons, social commentator extraordinaire David Lohrey, and stunning Bruised But Not Broken’s founder Rachel Finch.

Although providing a vehicle to publish such extraordinary poets remains a priority for Sudden Denouement Publishing, we are currently seeking submissions of exceptional genre fiction manuscripts. Perhaps your science fiction/fantasy manuscript or your noir mystery is just what we are looking for!

If you are unfamiliar with the quality and aesthetic of Sudden Denouement’s writing, please familiarize yourself with our work before submitting.

How to Submit:
1) Email two chapters of your manuscript to submissionssuddendenouement@gmail.com Please clearly state in the subject header: Manuscript Submission. Allow us four weeks to review and respond to your submission. We appreciate your patience as we give your work the attention it deserves.

2) We ask that you submit only one manuscript at a time.

3) Submitting to Sudden Denouement Publishing is free. We are grateful for the opportunity to review your work.

4) Please provide a cover letter in the body of the email. This should be focused and concise. We suggest a paragraph about yourself, and a paragraph about the work you are submitting.

5) Include your contact information in your cover letter. Most important is your name, email, and phone number in case we have questions.

 

All the little deaths and beautiful scars- erroneouschoices

Holding on tightly to the hand written letter, I looked out at the growing world and the birds were silent, watching too maybe. As my heart pounded a little in anticipation, I read the script on the outer part of the fold. “Read me gently” in his crazy penmanship that I remembered immediately. Sort of like the way he spoke, rough around the edges but his vowels were crafted to perfection.

I smiled at the first few sentences, “Hey love, I know this finds you beautiful but I hope this finds you well too. Do you remember when I told you that one day I’m going to finally have enough money to buy my house on a mountain where I can live peacefully alone? That I’d have an enormous library and someone that comes once a month with supplies and more books. There would be a little cot near the cliff where I can drink, and smoke, and read, and look down at some sad little village trying to make unendable ends meet. I’ll have paper so I can write to my hearts content. Maybe some can visit, but stays are only short. People taint you. Well, they taint me, and I bleed when I’m not in my own colors. Well…. I’m there kid, I’m there.”

We had spent so many long nights where nothing made sense but our hearts wouldn’t stop talking. And in the end we decide we had to kill Netflix or concluded that the trees only whispered and then we’d muse at what the world would be like if they only shouted. Once he told me he was about to make ribbons out of my dress with his teeth as my heart melted around his soul. This man, he was a love affair between a word and the meaning it masks, how the word helps the world stay hidden.

The sky is a bruise and coffee is godly. I wouldn’t ever say I didn’t miss him, even the birds were quiet for a bit while I wished him. But we had our time and now he has his dream. I love my letter, I put it to my face and inhaled deeply. Maybe it was my imagination but I smelled him. I kissed his words lightly leaving a tiny hue of pink over them.

The sky is a tempest and the coffee is divine. I took out my pen and wrote a few simple words, took a deep breath as I folded it and made it ready to send. Life’s like this. And people, well I’ll be damned if people that touched my thighs and my life hadn’t left indelible marks inside my heart.

Id love to be a bird on his shoulder and watch him smile as he read my note. “I have words in me that are in the shape of you.”


Read more at Choices in Error

Jean Rhys- John Biscello

You held the islands in your eyes, where it rained

and rained and then the sun warmed wet to a wafting hiss.

This Jean, you, the feline slink,

filigreed shock, and sinewy comb

of whitelaced waves

ruffling upon

puttied blobs of shore.

Heartsore eyes,

you looked out

when no one was looking,

when the judges had lost sight of you,

and then, daring glee, you’d dive

into the smallest kingdom,

of mudpies and sandcastles,

seafizz kissing the wiggling halfmoons of fresh pink toes,

and you’d laugh and laugh, nymph of the sea,

begging its inheritance and claim

with the involuntary desperation of the meek.

Yet the islands, at the mercy of memory-tides,

flooded regularly, and you, rag doll corseted to a raft,

were carried back back back—

the shabby hotel rooms with vicious mirrors,

brightly lit cafes with trained voices

faring your terrors,

and your heart, o your poor heart,

a ruptured cadenza

consummating tender relations

with all the wrong men,

and out of its brokeneness

flowed the sap and resin

of nursery school blues—

I didn’t know

I didn’t know

I didn’t know.

There was the bottle, gauzy fretted palls,

the milkfingering of wind.

There was also ribbed fringes of prose,

and that was where we found you,

alone, the barest treble,

shipwrecked on a distant island

that was mostly made of mist, and nostalgia, scabbed.

You held the islands in your eyes, Jean, where gashes

came to know the sea’s suture and rhyme, its flicking bluegreen tongues

as balm and frolic upon

the smallest kingdom

restored

to grace.


Read more at John Biscello

Fierce and Daisy- John Biscello

Among greengolden pastures,

the fierce grew. Its plastic

vampire teeth tore into the jugulars of bluebells,

its molten leavetaking gave the earth

scars and heartburn, and left the fresh grass in tears.

The roots, understanding the nature of siege, its effects

and causes, sent fierce a chance, moist daisy,

the softest of sorrow incarnate.

Fierce, mating beauty to sadness, blushed

an incandescent vermilion that spread

like holy wildfire.

Fierce stayed fierce

but loved through

daisy’s soft sorrow

in fostering fated

outgrowth.

 

Image courtesy of Pinterest


You can read more of John’s writing at John Biscello

From the Rib of Adam- Sabrina Escorcio

From the rib of Adam
her splintered self remains,
fruit of scarlet rebellion
devoured and consumed,
seeds of truth swallowed
bring knowledge to bloom

An ache carried within
the hollow of her belly,
a source of life in shroud
born into sheer will,
a desire for freedom
that will not be stilled

She walks a fertile path
in a covenant with self,
as his flesh does sting
with wounds he cannot hide,
from the wayward thorn
pulled from his side.

Sabrina Escorcio
©2017

Image courtesy of Pinterest


Read more of Sabrina’s writing at Una Zingara

Part my ribs- erroneouschoices

I adored all the things he did that made me feel like he was strong. It wasn’t only in the things he did but from the air of confidence he brought with him everywhere. If he was strong, I could feel weak but safe. Being the strong one was over-rated and exhausting.

As I watched him working under the hood of the car I knew I was as going to miss him desperately. My body started to ache and I wanted to make me think of other things but I wasn’t able enough.

Laughter is a kind of sex and that meant we had sex down pat. He was the best at getting a laugh but moreso a smile from my usual poker face. His eyes never failed me, filled with reckless they constantly ignited my abandon. And every time he bit his lip while concentrating Id salivate at the idea he was biting down hard on my lip and I’d have to press my legs together to temper the heat in my lady bits. I wanted to live the dream where we kissed any time we wanted and I know all his shoes and shirts and he’d feed me breakfast. And I was there, damnit, I was there.

Things are fluently fleeting and neverlasting, and when he kept saying he wanted to be the best man that he could be it kept making me think that is sounds so judgmental, so difficult and everything I don’t want. We never run out of sins in all this breathing we do while dying. The struggle to be the best would take away the light and breeze from being the not best.

Im well aware that the heart and brain fight like little children. But they also know each other better than bread and butter. Sometimes what the heart can’t do the brain fills in and visa versa.

I’m made of stubborn softness and sea breezes with a touch of pink to lighten the space between. I’m getting to know my heart better and my minds getting to know life better and madness tastes like him.

As the madness began to grow and the sanity dispelled, I knew I was going to miss him more than my mind, but not more than my heart.


Read more at Choices in Error