Preyed

 

Whispers penetrate flesh walls,
secrets resound like a melody
within the temple of mind.

A church choir of boys
sing Latin,
a tongue they never understood,
yet made beautiful in spite.

An angelic host of innocence,
perched in perfect rows;
perverse men licking dry lips
conduct harmony, as
chorus echoes in rounds
confined by marble stone
laid by hypocritical hands.

In time holy walls stand,
coffers full and overflowing
while souls remain empty.

Yet pride crumbles the benevolent,
corrupt tongues stumble awkwardly
over the dulled ivory teeth of time.

Stained glass fragments let in truth,
rays of light stream through darkness
reflecting a shattered faith sanctuary
built upon broken bones of man.

 

©Sabrina Escorcio
September 2017

Photo Credit, Sam Webber illustration for “the Priest That Preyed” – New York Times

 

Christine E Ray’s Composition of a Woman, out now!

Front cover cropped

Composition of a Woman is currently available on Amazon.comAmazon.ca (Canada) and Amazon Europe ( Amazon.co.ukAmazon.deAmazon.fr,Amazon.it, and Amazon.es.)

It should be available of Book Depository and Barnes & Noble soon.

Signed copies of Composition of a Woman are also available on the Sudden Denouement Etsy site.

Watch this incredible video by Dena Daigle for taste of Christine E Ray’s gorgeous work and unmatched talent:

Ode to a Black Eye- Christine Ray

hand-1832921_960_720.jpg

I can’t remember now

If it was your left eye or your right

Just how puffy it was

Almost swollen shut

Black and purple

Against your pale skin

The white of your eye

Hemorrhaged

From the force of the blow

 

I don’t remember

If we asked what

Had happened

Or if we just knew

I do remember

Being in Mrs. Merten’s

English class

People whispering

Into each other’s ears

Wondering what you had done

To deserve this black eye

Had you pushed John-John

To the limit?

Flirted with another guy?

Had you been mouthy?

They wondered

A bitch?

 

You could be mouthy

You could be a bitch

In the way that only a teenage

Girl can be

I hit you once myself

At a middle school dance

After you said something

Cruel and hurtful to me

Pushing a button

That only an old friend

A good friend

Knows exists

You laughed at me then

I remember wishing I had

Slapped you harder

 

I watched the swelling

Gradually recede

The colors fade to yellow

And green

Unsettled day after day

Sitting in the back of the room

That black eye

Has haunted me for years

My silence has haunted

Me for years

I should have told you

That no woman

Ever deserves that

I should have told you

To dump his sorry ass

That he didn’t deserve you

But I didn’t

 

It wasn’t until

I left our small

Blue collar, provincial

Massachusetts hometown

And went to college

That I learned to call

This exactly what this was

Domestic Violence


Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and is a member of Sudden Denouement.  She is also curator at Blood Into Ink and barista at Go Dog Go Cafe.  She is an aspiring badass

 

Never Going Back to Wonderland- Hannah Munroe

untitled
Goodbye to white rabbits
Goodbye to men in masks who tell riddles
I am old now and too tired to try and solve the puzzle
Goodbye to queens who dare to meddle in affairs of the heart –
that is the loneliest game of all
Goodbye to friends in hats, for all the fun we had
Sugar never could mask the bitter taste of friendship
Wake up the voices from above call to me
Wake up! Wake up!
It’s time to leave the dream behind for little girls may be lost in the clouds but I am a lady now
Time has been chasing me down for years
Time is a man you know, of course that which holds me prisoner would be
Wake up!
The tea was drugged, the flowers and the trees and even the mushrooms all poisoned
Kept me complacent kept me happy kept thinking I had found a loving home
But wonderland is not a place for grown ups
I see that now
I got old and saw the forest for the trees
Everyone here is lost
There is no place for me
The flowers used to sing to me everyday now they don’t know what to say
It was fun and games until I needed things
Love for starters, or anything real
Being upside down and spinning around was so fun I loved to feel the blood rush to my head
But I can never come back here again
So goodbye, Wonderland
I lost my heart to you and now the tweedles play dodgeball with it every day


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.

I made you up- Srishti Dutta Chowdhury

omnetepe

[Poem by Srishti Dutta Chowdhury, painting of Ometepe]

your hand is a syringe snuck up my nerve tonight. the sky is dust. the spit is your root canal lodged in my spine. there is a nip in the air. old letters  mock the din of the door. a fishbone in my throat, your name. the word dislodged dissolve my eyes into salt. i write in peace. the map unfolds-this is not how i wanted to go- a pick between my left eye keeps it open. i see clear, i see nothing. i own my outrageous love at blind stations. the windows flap shut. there is someone i do not see. i could lie down here. i could lie. i could. i.

what is, is. what will be, will not.

god sobs in my arms. call me ishmael tonight.


Srishti Dutta Chowdhury is the Charles Wallace Scholar for Creative Writing in the University of Edinburgh (2016) and a Masters student of Comparative Literature at Jadavpur University. She has been just finished editing a chapbook that will be sent for publication shortly. She has been published at TFQM, Visual Verse, Coldnoon Travel Poetics, Bangalore Review, Muse India, the Norwich Radical, Kindle, etc. Besides poetry, she is also an avid translator and food photographer.Instagram @whatkatyatenext

 

 

 

Your Writing Wanted: Whisper and the Roar

Are you a writer of poetry, prose, essay or short fiction?  Do you consider yourself a feminist?  We want your writing for Whisper and the Roar.

The theme of submitted work does not need to be feminist, but the writer must be.

Submission Guidelines for Whisper and the Roar:

  • Send up to 3 pieces of original writing in either PDF or Word document attached to an email that includes your real name as well as the name you publish your writing under.  Although we prefer previously unpublished work, we will consider published work as long as it has ONLY been published on a blog. No e-zines, e-mags, e-presses, e-books, printed works.
  • Include a brief bio in the body of the email that includes a link to your website/where you write/where you want people to go if they’re interested in more of your writing.
  • Understand that you will not be paid for your submission. We are a small collective, and can only offer support in building your platform and showing your work to our own audience.
  • Understand we do not own the rights to your work, the rights are yours and yours only. We only publish your piece once, with the potential to reblog.
  • Allow up to 2-4 weeks for a response.
  • Send submissions to: christine.e.ray@gmail.com

 

Whisper and the Roar is a sister site of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Never Going Back to Wonderland by Hannah Munroe

untitled

[Never Going Back to Wonderland by Hannah Munroe]
Goodbye to white rabbits
Goodbye to men in masks who tell riddles
I am old now and too tired to try and solve the puzzle
Goodbye to queens who dare to meddle in affairs of the heart –
that is the loneliest game of all
Goodbye to friends in hats, for all the fun we had
Sugar never could mask the bitter taste of friendship
Wake up the voices from above call to me
Wake up! Wake up!
It’s time to leave the dream behind for little girls may be lost in the clouds but I am a lady now
Time has been chasing me down for years
Time is a man you know, of course that which holds me prisoner would be
Wake up!
The tea was drugged, the flowers and the trees and even the mushrooms all poisoned
Kept me complacent kept me happy kept thinking I had found a loving home
But wonderland is not a place for grown ups
I see that now
I got old and saw the forest for the trees
Everyone here is lost
There is no place for me
The flowers used to sing to me everyday now they don’t know what to say
It was fun and games until I needed things
Love for starters, or anything real
Being upside down and spinning around was so fun I loved to feel the blood rush to my head
But I can never come back here again
So goodbye, Wonderland
I lost my heart to you and now the tweedles play dodgeball with it every day