Composition of a Woman – Christine E. Ray (Where to Purchase)

Where to Purchase!

Composition of a Woman is currently available on (Canada) and Amazon Europe (,, and

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

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

[Please join me and the rest of the writers at Sudden Denouement in supporting and celebrating Christine in the culmination of so much hard work! We wish you all the best for this collection and are proud to know and work with you.]



It is mid-afternoon at the Hansen’s.
Cups of tea grow chill, the window’s open
Breeze is bracing on Alvide’s pale white neck.
All is quiet, save the deft scratch and screck
Of brush on paper, blossoms spread by hand.
Let us see, her sisters think, but utter nought –
‘Tis not an education simply bought
For ladies such as Alvide. Constantin
Is off at school. Paints, silent
In the old house with the old men. He meant
To write, but busy is the artist’s day,
To sister Alvide’s knowledge and dismay.
Let us see, her sisters plead. Young hearts bleed,
That eyes would ne’er her talents see nor heed.

There Were Things I Did Not Know – Lois E. Linkens

my latest piece on Whisper and the Roar, as part of the ‘I Knew My…’ collaborative series!

Whisper and the Roar


There were things I did not know (could not know).
There were words I was yet to write, a still
Small voice, yet to claim. ‘Tis life’s greatest thrill,
To light an unknown match, and watch it glow.
I would do great things. I would swing my feet
O’er fences, walls, tall gates to walk amid
The places I had never seen, and bid
Farewell to my young self, to future meet.
Places that could hold me fast, scoop me out
And fill me with their beads, their jasmine ways.
Here comes tomorrow in its dusky haze.
I have seen the future; she’s ours to sprout.
Where so much is known today, I decree
To stay a great surprise, most so to me.

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Oracle – Eric Syrdal & Lois E. Linkens


Pariah! They say
with open eyes but shut mouths
I can hear the gnawing between my bones
it rests like poison honey on their tongues
like a promise, the vanishing point of a dark road
anathema laid upon my brow while I was sleeping
in this waking dream

 I see myself all sandy olive brown

A smudge in gold dust, damp but for dark leaves

Like feath’ry mother arms. I am restless,

A young Soul scraping bare

For love and comfort as children’s hands in

Honey jars. I crawl, dusty kneed and 

Heavy-headed t’wards the Gods.

 I stumble and fall
no arms to catch me in this concrete jungle
no high priestess in the high-rise penthouse
to cup my chin at this silicone confessional

The ground does wake,

Ears like white billowed sails — and hear they do,

A pearl voice soothes my blotchéd cheek. Good

Smoke, light and fresh as fruit fills this sunken soul.

Atë — Atë! Fair fallen goddess girl,

With sour brow and feet like deer. Curse her

Jet stone heart with tools of fear! 

But, how could the voice of a goddess speak through me?
how much longer should this exile be?
If I lay prostrate on this linoleum floor
what sacrifice can I offer, which a broken heart can afford?

Curse you, with your opal eyes —

My black grief ne’er shall be your wretched prize.


[Be sure to check out more of Eric’s work at My Sword and Shield. It was a pleasure to write this Grecian-inspired collaboration with him.]

She would the small Swift be-Lois E. Linkens

my newest post on Sudden Denouement:

Sudden Denouement Collective


It was a late night when the notion came;

Black and atrous in the dry car park.

Night was cruel – weekend smelled like beer and dark,

A mouth-organ’s growl ran as nuns in shame

Behind her heel, music and love like red

Syrup oozed through her white gold flesh. ‘Kind sweet

Abandon – here I sink my thirsting teeth

Into thy bitter lemon starlight, said

To tell us  – close and fragrant – of our gloom.

My word – how I am stuck in this life’s cement!’

She wants to watch the Osprey, awful claws and

Black-tipped wings abeat to topple Doom,

The horrible slicing of silver flesh —

Puccoon drops t’wards foamy throes, Death’s velvet

Smalt does seduce the coy in brilliance

She curiously craves. Still, as the Osprey fight,

She would the small Swift be; ‘Oh tireless Swift,

Who sleeps in flight, thy burnet body quick


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