Purging The Disdain Of Disability and Disorder, Even If I Die

Introducing Creative Writing Of A Baltimorean

Creative Writing Of A Baltimorean

 

 burning-tree

Burn the people who hate you

burn them all

Their homes are dens of witches

Cut them off

Their children are the offspring of robots

Mangle every wire

Force fed through tyranny

lies, manipulations, and coagulation

of non-stop greed

but with fire and will

our people, hiding in the midst of crusades

will be freed

Burn the books

that say we are not good enough

The words are poison from vipers

united to drown out our sounds

Their institutions are whore houses

where big bosses come to play

We are children, we are adults

and we can live just as you claim “life” should be

In the dark they will be drowned

They don’t know what we do in the dark

the blueprint is just being laid

They don’t know what we say in the dark

with the muses we communicate

But in time, when the clock strikes…

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midnight

Lois E. Linkens

lois e. linkens

tumblr_lhhklaU5wN1qat5yeo1_500.jpeg

Darkness has cloaked the city in its weary weight. Children gently snore, leaving exhausted mothers and fathers thankful for a little peace and quiet. They try not to think of the morning squeals that will arrive all too soon.

Busy workers have laid down their tools and returned to the temptation of sleep. Thin pillows ease their aching heads, ringing with the screech of machinery. Shops are closed, shutters drawn and locks turned. The market is packed up, with only a few shavings and wrappers fluttering across the cobbled square to remind passer-bys that it was ever even there. The trains stop running at eleven, and only the station guard sits, in his dim-lit cabin, yawning at his newspaper. He looks up as a shadow passes his window, but it is gone too quickly for him to care. Had it rattled on the station gates or clattered on his window…

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Sudden Denouement/Secret First Draft Divergent Literature Writing Contest– Submissions Accepted March 1st Through March 31st

SPREAD THE WORD:

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and Secret First Draft are holding a joint Writing Contest in the month of March to elicit new writers for the Collective.

Writing Prompt: March Madness

Unpublished/Original work

Each entry should be more than 50 words but less than 500

Each writer may submit 1 to 3 (maximum) pieces of writing for consideration

Submissions will be accepted: 3/1/2017 through 3/31/2017

Full prize information to be announced soon!

1st Place Winner will be granted membership in the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

2nd, 3rd and 4th Place Runners-ups will be granted membership in the Secret First Draft Collective.

Send your submissions with your name, your pen name (if applicable), the address for your blog and a short biography (1 to 3 sentences to): Suddendenouement@gmail.com

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and its sister sites Secret First Draft and The Whisper and The Roar are forums for divergent literature that we hope excite and challenge you.

The top three posts will be published on Sudden Denouement and the top five posts will be published on Secret First Draft.

Finalists will be contacted by Sudden Denouement no later than May 15, 2017.c4sbyr8ucaexjfc

I Taught You Death

ohellino

ohellino

I taught you to kill yourself often
That becoming involved death
And die before you really do
I taught you not to soften
That deep thoughts still with deep breath
And nothing really is all that true
I taught you to feel awful about life
To wipe the smile off your face
With the blade of a sharp knife
And stab
Stab
Stab the mattress as if it’s your pain
Nothing
Nothing
But lunacy remains
I taught you to perceive an end of all
The demise that wrecks it
To sit
And bawl before the door to the exit

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Damp Basement Air

Georgia Park/Private Bad Thoughts

I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed.

I have entered into
the dark underworld
of fetishism
tripped and stumbled in
on his say so
his softly writ commands
demanded my attention

and now there are ropes
and ribbons
hanging from the ceiling
i am peering over
my shoulder, scared
until there he is,
coming to meet me

and i have to smile
because even in the dark
it’s clear to me
that i’ve never seen a thing
so lovely as what he
has to say to me

he leads me by the hand,
away from everything
i tell my friends
if im not home by morning
call the police
and they swear by it
because they can see
that this is serious

but i notice
in the damp basement air,
there are red hearts
fluttering softly
here and there

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