Challenge 98 - Recoil

[pixiesfanyo]

re·coil
intr.v. re·coiled, re·coil·ing, re·coils

1. To spring back, as upon firing.
2. To shrink back, as in fear or repugnance.
3. To fall back; return: “Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent” (Arthur Conan Doyle).


n. (also rkoil)

1. The backward action of a firearm upon firing.
2. The act or state of recoiling; reaction.

dope. you know the drill.

I haven't won a challenge in like 20 challenges. That's kind of ridiculous.

[hockeycanuck]

Nice

[A_Perfect_Sonnet]

Hrmmm.

[Dancin' Man]

aiight sun.

[xKONRADx]

Awwww ****, it's the Faction.

[RunAmokRampant]

I'll just sneak one in

Cherry BomB

I watch small children run off into the bushland at the end of the street. A few moments later I hear large pipe bombs rack the peace and
shaking my head, it reminded me of similar experimentation. "It's all in
good fun", we used to say when we were caught by our parents.
Although still holding disapprovement, they let us continue to play hand
in hand with man's greatest invention. Man's greatest past-time pint
sized in our sweaty little fingers. My smile of this mind memorabilia remained till the evening news.

. . . ."Suicide bombers strike again, killing dozens of innocents". . . . .

We've heard it all before unfortunately.
Those children playing with cherry bombs with laughter in their eyes.
Those mourners on the idiot box playing with grief unwillingly,
with sadness elicited. My smile recoils and my tongue lashes out
obscenities to those who've been misled and left everyone else for dead.
But the television won't reply or state it's opinion so off it goes and off goes another cherry bomb. I hear wild laughter from the children. My point starts here. . . . unfortunately in our own homes.

The truth can only exist when we act upon it,
And not to proclaim it from the backseat.
Your back garden is bigger than you think.
Do something bystander, do something.

[ITRIEDVOODOOONCE]

We'd rather all spill our guts
they be lying dead on the floor
Broken barrels still hit their target
if they are as close as we were

Well Im sorry this love song has a sarcastic tone
But its the only thing to fit this key

So as we clip each others wings
We will fall into a theater
Where we look for flaws in family films
Softly smile as we pull rustic weapons
Nestalgia in the archaic recoil
Now dry your tears
It was an honorable discharge
So like fathers before
And the sons right after
We will march in step
And drown in unheard laughter

[ATC]

Vero

It rains in Guatemala. The defunct I
And the elegant you; The butterfly sneeze
The timbers creak on gilded shallows.
You forgot to mention the shortened night.

It lasts in Israel. You have my guitar
Strings flowing on your finger.
The music answers in prayer, double rhymes
Te Amo, Te Amo.

It lingers in Vancouver. The recoil of springs
Awaken the neighbors. The sound of soft
Breath is nothing old, sated.
A wink in time.

It distils on the Sunshine Coast. The punctuated
Nuzzle over lavender oceans until we are clay.
Because we were clay.

[Solar]

Whatever Floats Your Heartache
It's a gilded enamel of waking, alone and,
Naked and numb without cover today.
Sweat still clings to every curve of your beautiful body.
Every curve but the one exposed.
Nipples hard from embossed frost obscured from the window,
That spider like webs made of crystalised innocence.
Opaque with a sense of my biggest mistake,
Emerald eyes struggle to hold back the flow.

Touch my hand and I recoil,
Hold my face and I'm hit with a bullet of memory.
Look at what you've done to me.
Take me back, take me back,
To the days where the sex was guilt free.

Sunlight doesn't suite you anymore.
I think it's best to remain in this nebulous mausoleum.
I'd rather be seen alone on the streets,
Then be noticed alone in your company.
And that's why- I don't bother with small talk anymore.
Just down to the sheets amongst tangled feet.
Where we play our role unseen and discreet,
Unseen, unknown and exposed.

Touch my hand and I recoil,
Hold my face and I'm hit with a bullet of memory.
Look at what you've done to me.
Take me back, take me back,
To the days where the sex was guilt free.

Ulterior motive for such accommodation,
Illustrated lust in a too-small sweater,
The perfect chaste example for all of the nation,
A pity for supporters I know you better.

Touch my hand and I recoil,
Hold my face and I'm hit with a bullet of memory.
Look at what you've done to me.
Take me back, take me back,
To the days where the sex was guilt free.

[bowl of oranges]

Yes.

[Littlejohn]

You say what I lack
I make up in inginuity
But that can't counteract
my mistrust or insecurities
Forgive this trite cliché
A bullet to my chest
While you feel the gun recoil
Trigger happy; still depressed

Well, this page turns to dust
and I'm still irresolute
on how I should string
these words together for you
I'll try and keep in mind
You're short attention span
and the way you try and run
from any problem that you can
Like when your parents split
and you buried yourself in books
And when you felt alone
all those perscription that you took
Maybe you don't remember
just how bad that hurt

In case you did forget
I'll take a snapshot for you,
frame it with irony,
and hang it on your wall
So when you wake up
It will be there to greet you
like a snow-capped mountain
that you misplaced in the fog

These words my be a little obscure
I'll leave them open to interpretation
I'm just struggling to find a cure
and I think it's become my new fixation
Don't pass judgement on me
I'm just trying to forget your name..

(Ugh. I'm so lame. I apologize.)

[Disco Dragon]

Would I Miss Not Missing You?

You put the “lie” in “believe me, darling”
But I’m devoted to my cowardice
So I’ll put the knife back in the fridge, sugar
I hope you won’t take it out
Just like that blade, aren’t you?
So cold and steady
And permanent
My spine can attest to that

You ask me if I miss you
Yet you never leave…

You have me lying on my back, spellbound
By the shadows of the fan blades
I feel their friendship on my face, it’s brisk
But this camaraderie will slowly come to a stop
You’ll make sure of that, won’t you?
Turn off my only friend
Quite a change
From all the others you turned on

You ask me if I miss you
If I say “yes” will you leave?
And if the question was “do I love you”?
And I gave a different response

I want to be blunt
But you’re too sharp
A dagger in my livelihood
That should sever this relationship
Or at least cut out the bad parts
Leave me porous
Leave me bloody
Just leave me…

[cytoplasmicglob]

(sits)

[DFelon204409]

Somebody force me to do this.

[Lowridenn]

Her pirouettes shoot shivers through
my half beating heart as this caffeine fix fails
and my eyes fall silently shut.
Slipping away to that café in Rome
[where our first meeting found itself staring
at the ceiling of my hotel suite]
I dream that I never got that call;
that I never had to take the three am to Boston;
that our bodies could remain recoiled
in the position of passion for a moment longer.

But, alas, the moment fades,
bright lights awaken dreary eyelids and the dust of sleep is
washed away by the fresh air of the Mass Pike.

[theredwonder]

Ignore the scent of open pores
Responsive veins that line the neck
Beauty recoils at a glance
A crude facade when you look next

Dismiss the fissure in a smile
Admire fidelity of the eyes
Despite their indecisive milieu
A depth of sanctuary they provide

Stain glass windows to the soul
Crystal orbs manifest your passion
My palm may trace the lines on yours
But our future’s in the eyes

Betrayed by rising of the chest
A vacant ascension to mark your breath
Provides an outline of your heart
But adds no lucid drift or depth

Words are but vessels for your mind
Christened with fragments of the soul
Betraying love’s capricious promises
Promoting paper years as gold

Stain glass windows to the soul
Crystal orbs manifest your passion
My palm may trace the lines on yours
But our future’s in the eyes

[Sundancekid]

so wats the challenge me no understand

[xKONRADx]

necrotizing fasciitis

you hit me like a shopping cart recoil
collision in an empty parking lot
sparse retreat from reality
in-vitro
from the left to the right
average mass leaves the momentum combined
clouded- cutlass, endeavor, pathfinder, whatever
the shopping cart is blazing orange
iron wrought puddle on the floor

oh Mary-Kate won't you love me now?