Excerpt from I Am A World Of Uncertainties Disguised As A Girl: Designer Drugs-Nicole Lyons/The Lithium Chronicles

I knew the dealer
and we chuckled a few times,
he being street and me
being neater than the rest.
I knew them once too;
back when their mamas
fucked all the daddies
and I was too much
like my mother.
I knew them, the slink
and the oils of them
spread out for the gang
banging the doors
down after the nanny
cashed her cheque
and flew home to Mexico.
He took that ten-cent
off the dollar blow
and he cut it
with bleach that burned
the high class right
out of society,
and he funnelled it too;
into dollar store bags,
variety store bags, stamped
with pink lips and diamonds,
and he cranked that shit
up 499% and we laughed
and laughed and said a toast
to those designer bitches
as we slammed
drinks on their dimes
while they bled
from the eyes
in the center of the VIP
we were too street to enter.
We lived large
in the basement
and they paid
to push in the hallways,
and now I write poetry,
and they still hit
the best of the west,
sucking and chucking
the bucks for free.

I Am A World Of Uncertainties Disguised As A Girl is available at Amazon.com, Amazon Canada, Amazon Europe, Book Depository, and other major book retailers.

Paperback, 140 pages/Published November 9th 2017 by Sudden Denouement Publishing


Nicole Lyons is a force of nature disguised as a writer, a social activist, a voice for the downtrodden, and a powerful poet with a delicate touch. She is a best selling published author, poet, and also a consulting editor for Sudden Denouement. You can read more of her writing at The Lithium Chronicles

Excerpt from A Sparrow Stirs its Wings- I Was Unforgiving/Rachel Finch

I was unforgiving when the first hands to love me, pleased themselves,
I was unforgiving when the first friend to show me the self,
loved with her hips and not her pulse.
But am I forgiving when her own blood stands before me
and I morph the memory into something beautiful,
for the sake of the baby that came from her womb
and with his innocent eyes looking into mine,
I silence them.
I was unforgiving when I lay there and let her
merge the trauma carried in her muscles, into mine
and told my sister to turn away so the memory didn’t stain her eyelids,
so she didn’t feel it.
What was I when I let her lips press down on mine,
still carrying the flavour of her father and I swallowed both their shame?
How my body wanted to deny her,
but my hands ground down her hips and I needed her to know;
I knew him too.
I am forgiving when I look back at our prayers,
amid the tears,
that were our words and
I still taste her wounds.

A Sparrow Stirs its Wings is available at Amazon.com, Amazon Europe (Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.de, Amazon.fr, Amazon.it, and Amazon.es), Book Depository and other major book retailers.


Rachel is a UK based writer that originally started using poetry as a way to accurately express herself after a number of traumatic experiences in her young life. She is the founder of the online community Bruised But Not Broken which was started with the purpose to raise awareness of abuse and trauma and to provide a place of comfort and support throughout the healing process. She firmly believes that it was with the support of this community that she was able to recover from sexual abuse. Rachel is mother to four young children and dedicates her time to her family and to guiding others on their own healing journey.

You can find Rachel on Facebook and WordPress at Bruised But Not Broken. She is also a Regular Contributor at Blood Into Ink.

Excerpt from Superstition- Women and Horses/Rana Kelly

trembling skin.
come on to me,
slow slow slow,
and know.
wild-eyed and rolling, ready to bolt.
shattered, heaving sides.
shiver, shiver, shake
down your spine.
frozen, still ready to shake loose and hurt me
just in case.
because you know.
run my hand down quaking flanks,
speckled sweat, kiss your face, stroke your lips
storms and lightning in your eyes.
you know the sting and slash of whip-
boot heel, knee, fist.
whatever he had round at the time.
i feel it too, i felt it too.
sweet sweet girl.
with deep and shuttered eyes.
it’s the tight line of your spine when i reach for you,
and you lean and slide, reel and wheel, away.
gather up your strength little girl.
gather up your wind, show it to me.
silent now, lower your face to me.
lower your face to me.
breathe deep, don’t let him see you frighten,
don’t let him see your fear.
low low low, i blow on your skin,
touch the velvet under your eyes.
rim my finger on the seam of your ear.
hh shh shh. it’s all right.
lower your face to me.
ease down your eyes,
drift them down slowly.
lean to me, give me some weight.
i know the look of you-
coiled and strung
like hanging meat.
hooks and things-
until you break
until you break.
i know you.what i was.who knows us.
who knows what men can do
but women and horses.

Superstition is available from Amazon.com, Amazon Canada, Amazon Europe, Book Depository, and other major book retailers.

Paperback, 89 pages/Published August 5th  2017 by Sudden Denouement Publishing


Rana Kelly was born and raised in the Deep South, and now resides in the Southwest.  Her poetry, personal essays, short fiction, and photography has been published in anthologies and literary magazines far and wide over the years, from Caesura to featherproof press, FM to Ceremony Collected. Her first novel, Until Her Darkness Goes, was published in 2015. She’s currently writing her second novel.

Excerpt from Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective- Inky Rivers./Ra’ahe Khayat

sadman-s_1353443083_57
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.

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.


Ra’ahe Khayat is just another wild person with wilder thoughts, who thinks that writing them down might mean that the people around her won’t realize how out of touch with reality she really is, but she tends to write random gibberish in the randomest of places, so most already know. She likes words, and weirdly surreal metaphors, and sad songs, and has a sick sense of humor (depends completely on how you interpret sick). You can catch up with her on twitter at @ryekayas or just check out her blog, Fallen Alone.

Excerpt from Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective: Mother’s Blood/Introducing Mitch Green

Forever sorry, cut at the
bleach ghost in strokes.
Prove her out to be the
head over heels, smoke
em if you got em type.

Worming mists of steel,
sacrificial, superficial.

They warned you about
this one. They warned you,
stubborn listener.

They’ll fish you
out in pieces.

Tell me it to be fiction,
cause on the third floor
a girl fits a cage, made
of roses, thorns, and her
mother’s blood.

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.


Mitch Green founded Rad Press Publishing in September of 2016. He is an avid artist in visual design and literature. Published in various literary journals and magazines: The Literary Yard. The Penmen Review. Vimfire Magazine – Mitch aims to seize the narrow line between all artistic mediums.

A few of his known poetic titles are: “Flesh Phoenix” “Monsters” “The Wolves Howled”.

Offering his hand in graphic direction – his book design portfolio can be found here.

Follow Mitch and Rad Press Publishing on Instagram.

Excerpt from Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective- Street Rats/Daffni Gingerich

Ziegfeld Model - Non-Risque - by Alfred Cheney Johnston

From the depths of my churning stomach, he pulls out my childhood and makes me puke so violently it comes out of my eyes. After wiping my face, he kisses my acidic lips. That’s when the world stops and the words start to fall out of me. The mustard plants in the vineyard across the street bloom yearly. They’re beautiful so I sit on the fence and get lost in them. When with me, he’d stare for a good 20 mins before sneaking his dirty paws up my shirt. The wind would cause me to run through the flowers in whatever direction it blew. The sky is blue and I can taste grapefruits in the air. He grabs my arm and pulls me back towards him to say I could never get away. With his arms locked tight around me and my soul devoured by his eyes, I feel a shiver go up my dress. Reminds me of Clara Harris, the woman who they claimed had “sudden passion” and hit her husband repeatedly with a car. Then proceeded to run over his lifeless body. His kisses bring me to places I never planned on going. A monkey and tiger tug at my dress and the sultan rubs a gold lamp. I want the lamp but when I return to his kiss there’s not much else I could ask for. Besides well written work and well, that’s something I prefer to earn over rubbing a lamp to get for free.

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.


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

Excerpt from Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective- Poisonous/SRP

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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

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


SRP is co-creator and editor for Sudden Denouement.

indie support saturdays – tony & nicole i. nesca

Canadian Author Throws Literary Rulebook Out of Window, Releasing “Rebellious” Book of Short Stories that Captures Life’s Boundless Tapestry.

(Please note: all written content of this post is by
PR.com, and Tony Nesca, of Screamin’ Skull Press.)

The whopping sixteenth book by Tony Nesca, ‘Junkyard Lucy’ is a bold and intense collection of stories that free-flow to cover everything from sex and death to rebellious youths, music and love. It’s all part of Nesca’s mandate to wage war on literary mediocrity, stand out from the crowd and compel readers to cut to the core of what it really means to be human.


EXCERPT FROM JUNKYARD LUCY, “THE BOY, THE GIRL, THE FLOWERPOT IN THE SKYWAY.”:

It wasn’t so much the people he worked with that he hated, it was people in general – he went through all the proper motions, all the expected pleasantries, but still it came out all wrong. Nor did people like him. He didn’t bring out hatred in them, just a sort of disinterest, a boredom of types. Which he returned in abundance. He liked girls, liked their legs, their clothes, their minds, but could not muster the courage, the desire to actually interact with them. Still, they were more interesting than the boys. He often wondered how different they would feel if they actually knew him, if they saw how sensitive he was, if they saw that he was more like them.

And what if they knew that he wrote poetry at night, beautiful, haunting street poems that any editor would kill to publish, but that he kept hidden as a punishment for the stupidity of the world.

Yet, there was one girl, yes, there was one.


WORD MUSIC
By Tony Nesca

deadly silence got me low-down-hungry
thinking about that hot-dog stand on the dismal corner
beside the old beggar hand extended
16 year old virgin in hot-pants looking mad-bad-dangerous
crimson fireball streaking across the sky
middle-aged hooker front tooth missing
she beckoning my weary ass one I love absent in world-gone-hungry
Dixieland trio singing happy songs amidst angry
downtown laughter low-down drug-mood feeding me
blue music pornography rattling my brains
wrap your lips around my broken heart happy
whiskey bottle-shards hitting the off-keys feel that
fucked-up saxophone tickling your ribs
atom-bomb-luvly feed me sin-soaked dead flowers on my grave
warm kisses moonlight smiles
her distant touch,
her long-dead-musings,
her love-gone-missing,
her hips arching in the afternoon lust-dance,
and your blue velvet beauty grinding away from me
in the gutter-love sunlight…


(Read the press release for Tony Nesca’s book “Junkyard Lucy” and more information about Screamin’ Skull press, Nicole I. Nesca, and Tony Nesca below!)

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