I am playing with knives
again
sharpening them
lovingly
against brown leather strap
admiring the way
hair splits cleanly
upon the well-honed edge
(Christine E. Ray)

Listen!
Sounds like a violin–
fine strings ‘gainst steel bow
I play concerto
splitting hairs
(Kindra M. Austin)

I’m trimming those frayed ends
sharpening those
pointy convictions
giving them a sharp edge
a serrated opinion,
ready to pierce you
where it hurts you more
(Megha Sood)

Cold steel on skin,
I blossom,
stare down the line
take aim
at friend, foe and fortune
with my throwing knives;
multiply and divide,
split and survive.
(Kristiana Reed)

I like a razor
but xyraphi sings to me
of shreds, edges, ends
sweeter than any cutlery.
An x is an eraser,
that’s why I draw it long
to keep it clean and short
and shave me complication.
Oh, how…

Sudden Denouement Publishing is thrilled to announce that Nicole Lyons stunning third book of poetry, Blossom and Bone, has been officially released.

Praise for Blossom and Bone:

“A beautifully crafted work of art that will punch you in the
face with its gritty realism before soothing your wounds with
elegant prose, thought provoking lines, and sublime imagery.”
– Samuel Decker Thompson, author of Our Fucked Up Hearts

“Lyons is connecting on a primal level here, all the while brilliantly
splitting herself along dual lines. She draws an effortless
parallel between desire to live and acceptance she cannot beat
death.”
– Nicholas Gagnier, author of Leonard The Liar

“I knew from the first page that Blossom and Bone would rekindle
the love affair I had with ‘HUSH’ and ‘I am a World of
Uncertainties Disguised as a Girl’. Lyons words lasso and then
cajole your heart. Old or new…

Life passes, unfettered by the loss in us
I want to touch the echo of you with hands
time has counted twice
Morning’s claw does rive mine empty mind
From dreams more full
And coloured than time aware.
arid fantasy does drift away
to morning dew upon lip of leaf,
to glisten in rays of layered gold
We are creatures on a strange ship
In a curious place. See – the island lies,
All life and shade, its green banks 
Like shiny apples on a ghostly tree.
behold the Fleece hangs dimly
upon crippled limbs, brittle coppers
casting what little light they may
comforts aplenty beseech us to shore
It had once known splendour, too.
The jewelled hands of kings did brush
It’s ‘chanted thread. 
And so it seems, we none of us
Have waged with Time and won.
A parade of somber gaiety
These feeble celebrations deem us…