Via Dolorosa- Bishop Hermes                                               

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Via Dolorosa- Bishop Hermes

Walk do we sluggishly
Dragging our mistakes shortcomings regrets
Ever so slow and closely behind
Pleading that it will not
Come along side or skip ahead
Our crosses displaying the horrendous
For the multitudes to see and scoff at
They drat through there clenched teeth
Not understanding they will soon
Too be on exhibit
But what will our Golgotha render us
Who won’t break then fad away
Our crosses will transfigure
The grotesque into the beauteous
If we embrace them without buffering
And find our hope as we travel down
The way of suffering

© Bishop Hermes 2017

[Bishop Hermes is an poet/musician who resides in the Houston area. He has wonderful poetic sensibilities, and we are honored by his participation.]

the heart asks pleasure – samantha lucero

when you become a parent,
you become less 

a p p a r e n t.

until i disappear completely,
i can weep into the liquid face of a mirror
and speculate about who used to dwell in
my iron & carbon skull, before i was
the me that faded.

i held onto me like a movie ticket
in the back of my wallet
the one we all keep
that just becomes a tomb
like a placeholder in our hearts
for a special day we end up
forgetting.

i’m perfunctory now, roiling,
knocked up by rainstorms
and lightning writhing down like a noose
on his red beard, drinking snake oil

maybe the world’s a cat’s eye and i am shattered faith
my shoulders a hewn epitaph of hopes
am i lucid dreaming, i never fell asleep.
these days, i lie down in a trance
and never wake up.


[ Samantha Lucero is the phantom haunting six red seeds. ]

Dawn – Howl Davies

[A note from Howl: Inspired by a piece of autobiographical haikus by Christine Ray of Brave & Reckless. She reminded me how fun haikus were, and how they’re a great solution to a full on creative block.]

I admire the way
the dawn rolls and recreates
adjacently blind

To the half-drunk boys
and the half-heartbroken girls,
trying to forget

The gristly encore
it’s delayed in its showing
yet it comes around

Not before a glimpse
of the spotlight matinee,
le Cirque du Soleil,

Cleansing rituals
to please the gods of the day
to polish the soul

Justification
belongs in daylight, just as
transgressions, the night

And dawn pulls the rope
lifting curtains for each act
blind, deaf, and silent.


 

[Howl Davies is the ringleader at The Sounds Inside.]

Guest Blogger – Liz McLeod, “Fragility”

Fragile egos,
Crushed like eggshells
Dropped on the floor,
Spilling their insides.

A simple challenge,
A contrary word
Meant for discussion,
Or clarification.

Instead it is viewed
As a knock to the expert,
A refusal to submit
On terms they require.

This is not equality.
This isn’t understanding.
This is a simple wish
To bend another to your will.

Willow-strong, pliant
I will bend to a point.
But then I bounce back
To continue my growth.

Why is every question
Such a threat to so many?
Why is there only
The expectation of bowing?

Are we always so fragile,
We can’t accept and relish
Being pushed and nudged,
With another’s experiences?

I can sit on the floor
At another’s feet, if and only if,
My past is acknowledged,
As it can only reflect on my future.

I am human, humans learn.
My learning has been fraught
With challenges, frustrations, loss.
Issues abound, but so do gifts.

My gifts are discernment,
A very good ear,
Passion, interest in life,
A relatively quick mind.

I have a caring heart,
An appreciation for beauty,
A love of learning more.
I could have made you curl your toes.

I can listen to your past,
Can you listen to mine?
Can we acknowledge each other
And the paths we have traversed?

Or are we doomed to continue
The age-old dance
Of loneliness and isolation,
Wrapped in our cocoons of pity?

I don’t want that,
So, I will seek elsewhere.
I will ask questions,
Expecting thoughtful answers.

I want to constantly question,
Continuously search and understand.
I want to acknowledge and seek
Good and bad, up and down, here and then.

If that is such a challenge,
Then you are right…
We are not for each other
In any form whatsoever.


 

[ Liz Mcleod is a science fiction and fantasy author as well as a poet, living in the great and beautiful mountains of Asheville, North Carolina. You can find more of her writing HERE! ]

The next addiction – Bishop Hermes

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The next addiction – Bishop Hermes

Oh that we create addictions

for ourselves and for others

blissful euthanasias we so leisurely strive for

oh create another so that i may

add yet one more habit to my repertoire

we deform to preserve life

as it lackadaisically slips through our hands

and we endeavor not to become statistics

yet most die to be another one

the impatience is killing me

how long shall i wait for my next addiction

[Bishop Hermes is an exceptional poet/musician who came to Sudden Denouement with strong recommendation from Sperantia Zavala. We are excited to have him contributing and feel strongly about his poetic vision and look forward to a fruitful collaboration.]

Oscar Wilde Is Back/David Lohrey

At all costs, be nice.

Your job is to make people feel good.

You’re a defender of the status quo.

You agree with Stalin:

everyone should be happy.

The first to stop smiling gets the axe.

The first to stop clapping, disappears.

What’s all this doom and gloom?

The Democrats are the party of good cheer.

The Republicans represent darkness.

Oscar Wilde – were he alive – would be

easy to place; he never had anything nice to say.

We know what he represented. We

don’t need to read his stories.

His books don’t deserve reprinting.

Take them out of circulation. I’ve got it:

let’s distribute the works of a dedicated progressive

instead: Obama’s memoirs along with the yellow pages.

We’ll make them mandatory reading, like

Slaughter-House Five for incoming freshmen.

We’ll not only not read Oscar Wilde, we’ll

arrest those who try to keep him in print.

We’ll listen in on their conversations. We’ll

have anyone who looks unhappy picked up,

anyone who’s not delighted, arrested. Progressives

are happy. We’ll make sadness against the law,

beginning with Mr. Wilde, who was a notorious complainer.

He demanded a dialogue when we know

happy people prefer to talk to themselves.

Saul Bellow said that: an unbroken record,

an incantation of jolly thoughts, a forced smile,

or even a perpetual dance fits democracy best.

Wilde dared to ask for open

discussion. He wanted the young

to think and debate; he spoke

like a Sophist; every student of Plato knows there’s

only one truth. Our professors know a thing or two,

beginning with the desire to see Wilde banned.

Let’s drive him off. Hell, we’ll

put him in prison, once we

deprive him of a living. The

editors at Simon & Schuster should

be picked up, too. At least they deserve

to be boycotted and picketed – driven out of business,

for daring to give freedom a greenlight, for

giving that faggot an open mic.

He says he’d be happier in prison anyway, so let’s do

him the favor. We’ll make dialogue against the law,

not just a forbidden custom, like masturbation. We’ll censor

discordant voices. We’ll start with that loudmouth from England.

We’ll get him off television and run reruns of Downton

Abbey for Anglophiles, something wholesome about

heterosexual families, not a vile-mouthed homo spouting trash,

like his hatred of conformity and political correctness.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?


[David Lohrey was born on the Hudson River but grew up on the Mississippi in Memphis. He currently teaches in Tokyo. He has reviewed books for The Los Angeles Times and The Orange County Register, has been a member of the Dramatists Guild in New York, and is currently writing a memoir of his years living on the Persian Gulf. Also, he’s freakin’ awesome.]

These Days – Georgia Park

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These Days – Georgia Park (Private Bad Thoughts, Whisper and the Roar)

I could recount a thousand times

my heart blackened

before it went red again-

when he told me

what happened to him,

when she didn’t

say anything,

when my head

busted open,

When I

stopped speaking-

but you know,

these days, it’s easier

to look at paintings

and write poetry

than to remember

anything

and did you know

I stopped sleeping

and that people say

nice things to me,

show me good things

and do you know

I just

     keep leaving
[Georgia Park is a poet! She is writes for Private Bad Thoughts, Whisper and the Roar, and Sudden Denouement. Whisper and the Roar is literary collective that Park created to provide a voice for feminist poets. Please take a look at her work and contact her for submissions.]