give blood


They had kind faces I was pleased to trust,

Pleased to give. (Cold water, cold water – cold

In the warm room where everything is blue

Or very red.) Blue plastic seats like hard

Curved clam shells, bodies in soft tunics like

Nursery walls. A cherry face, wispy

Grey curls: ‘I tell you, my dear,’ she muses

O’er my punctured flesh. ‘I didn’t know what

Day it was this morning!’ I saw my face

In the glossy ladybird sat on my

Fingertip. That was a strange joy – so quick

And full and soon to fly. My dear life’s blood

In nine minutes drained; my neighbour in five.

Fast blood was hers, like sharks. But slow or speed

Both new life give, old love save, as we bleed.

to the lake at Coombe Abbey


I ask, if thou might know, to tell me plain

From whence did man so cloak from that disdain

Past which we seldom reach – to welcome see

With bright eyes the celestial shape of thee.

Of such, there is no answer in my breast.

Inclined, I do admit, to think it jest

And thus await the snatching of the rug,

Its green-gold grandeur vanquished with one tug.

But oh! The whisper’s true, the heat and breeze

Does brush my skin. The shimm’ring bended trees

Do stroke the glassy blue; the regal swan

And goose find rest. The sparrow here, then gone.

But ‘tis the heron, mighty Zeus of Coombe

Whose wings like bellows o’er thy face do loom.


Just Released! Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

sudden denouement’s first anthology is out now! a lovely collection of writing from creative minds across the globe.

Sudden Denouement Collective

The Sudden Denoument Literary Collective is thrilled to announce the release of Anthology Volume I: Writings for the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective!  This long-awaited anthology is a thoughtfully curated compendium of the best writing published online by the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective from its launch in August of 2016 through April 2018. It includes 138 pieces of cutting-edge poetry, prose and short fiction written by 29 diverse writers from England, Romania, Japan, India, Finland, the United States and Canada. Thirty-one of the 138 pieces were written exclusively for the Anthology. This volume captures the astonishing raw power of these individual and united poetic voices.

Now available on and

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peregrine eggs

Wingèd machine, grey as winter dawn, does
Edge over old royal bones. Both tired,
Hallowed – still as morning. See – one stirs,
Eager black pearl eyes awake with joy
Attend the morrow’s young; as do sleepy
Red ones. Four shapes were ne’er so brimming with
Death and life – bloody streaks of sweet struggle,
Yearnful presses at life’s door like beggars
On the midnight street. It is dark in here,
Under this skin of yours. But they want out –
Come, small creature, into the cold where we
Are lost on you, as pale summer roses,
Like apple blossom, pink and trembling – down
Like white confetti, white as innocence.

I had a bath Slave

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I had a bath Slave. Sweet, good-tempered Fi,
With skin as Butter in the English heat.
Her touch as feathered down; ‘tis odd my heart
Did swell than times I would my husband meet.

The still warm waters of the gild goddess
Did often cleanse me of mine wrongful blush.
Dawn’s young light would find me as I wept,
And begged and prayed these songs of love might hush.

I scratched her name on lead. Up came the breath
To meet my plea and down it went, my sin.
Her blood would spill as water does,
Clear as diamond, lifeless, dull as tin.

‘Tis better for to hear Minerva speak
Than after fruitless love to desperate seek.