Challenge 125 - Abandon

[Littlejohn]

Abandon -

verb
1. to leave completely and finally; forsake utterly; desert: to abandon one's farm; to abandon a child; to abandon a sinking ship.
2. to give up; discontinue; withdraw from: to abandon a research project; to abandon hopes for a stage career.
3. to give up the control of: to abandon a city to an enemy army.
4. to yield (oneself) without restraint or moderation; give (oneself) over to natural impulses, usually without self-control: to abandon oneself to grief.
5. Law. to cast away, leave, or desert, as property or a child.
6. Insurance. to relinquish (insured property) to the underwriter in case of partial loss, thus enabling the insured to claim a total loss.
7. Obsolete. to banish.

noun
a complete surrender to natural impulses without restraint or moderation; freedom from inhibition or conventionality: to dance with reckless abandon.


This challenge will end April 19

[Surf]

The door was no problem; it slid aside
And as we slipped into the room, my hands
Carved rough with the day,
Pressed through that timbered brown blouse
And, hewn in anticipation, grazed her skin.
As my fingers felt her,
skin prickled against my cold touch
Like the broken edge of a stone.
Warmed and continuous, flowing and illusionary
My palm swallowed her hips as clothes became less apparent
Naked and truthful, we lied to each other
This was universal
A moment wrapped in time, held close
by the dripping hands of an arrogant clock
This moment; this singular space of an hour’s half
Spent a vast time lingering on a shared gaze,
And a breathe between us
Like the rain drop breaks the spider’s web
held still in the cold bedroom air.

A candle’s wick, burning quiet, was the only light
The slow undress became encapsulating and wasting
So it was rushed
In the coarse glow, skin,
the colour of whatever surface would reflect the light,
the evolving myriad of shades glowing on her body.
Never her own
She wore the borrowed light to hide herself.
I drew circles on her chest with a touch
and as she watched, I drew dreams.
She swung my neck around, held me beneath her,
pressed me further into the bed
As she slid me into her, she kept her eyes closed.
I was left on my own; she divorced herself from the room
and she pressed me further

Into the bed, we fell, forgiving each other,
Trespasses, as we forgave those who trespassed against us
And abandoned ourselves to hyperbole
And exaggeration.
A tasteless romance novel brought us under her arms:
We found ourselves characters
and acted our parts

Sheets were unmade, and the bed made warmer
As she and I relinquished ourselves,
as truth fell out the side of the bed, like the discarded clothes,
as we were each other’s.
I grabbed hold of her thigh
Held tightly
Felt the muscle pulsate and tighten underneath
My fingers played upwards as I graced hips and ribs
And smoothed a hand over her breast,
Feeling her heart beat faster as she built to a crescendo
From her chest I ran a hand out to meet hers,
Her arm, next to my head like a tower, keeping her
inches from my face, with her clasped eyes and quick sharp breath.
And she holds me still like a broken bullet, my thoughts fill the room
I feel my self rising inside her she beats faster and faster the old record player in the corner kicks up a higher tempo track she seems to be inspired yes she keep going feeling it in herself the renewed vigour of the scratched jazz album yes screaming obscenities from her mouth like lyrics to the tune of shared flesh yes the chorus kicked in she rears from my face spilt my hands from hers placed the on my chest so better to balance herself deeper breaths yes breathe quicker her own breaths faster than I had breathed in years breaths deeper more relieving and more honest and more painful at once the very thing that keeps me conscious her eyes still shut she builds me up scratching my chest I feeling fuck my skin sucking at a loose fingertip yes that rises to meet her waiting for me to fall back into the bed she pushes me faster and I rise to meet her before falling back into the sheets as I finish. No.
And then she slid off me mechanical,
fell next to me in the bed and whispered
something of nothing into my ear, as the air tasted salty
like sweat, as the jazz trailed away.
I peeled off and fell asleep next to her
The darkness reassuring as her breathing slowed.

A hour later, the candle burnt out.
We drove ourselves from the bed and she lit an electric lamp.
And in the strong light, she stood before me,
dressing her self and making her face
I caught her glance in half of a cracked mirror
As she fingered mascara onto her eyes.
Her pupils were like cigarette burns,
Marinated in a whiskey stare.
And I could smell it on her breath.
She’d drowned the day’s love in cheap scotch
Filtered out the kisses and the dreams of a little girl
Her prince, to buy her off the street and ask for nothing.
Not me.

[FA]

i want to enter says me

[burton.and.gas]

We like being heartless.

Wrapped up like a golfer's
abondoned caddy
we listen to our mediocre thoughts
siung by someone else.
Oh the emotion that
we've felt before
the fact it's familiar
makes it good.

I bet you've never heard
of the elephant by the sea
sitting with his electronic shell
so the world can't touch him
the elephant is me.
The elephant is me.

I hope you don't
understand this
I hope it goes beyond
what you know
I hope i never see
you in the front row
because i don't like
crying at my shows

The heartless might survive
that's not why were heartless
in effect we are not burdens
unlike how much you weigh.

[Crowley5150]

Easier Done

----------------------------------

Dreams Subside, delicately over time
Eyes cloud to a vast, opaque grey
Beholder.... be still,
Are my eyes just as willing
to lie, still yet claim the truth.

Shapes of mind, what states are to follow?
I am! so therefore I'll think
Detaching creeps slow,
as time keeps on flowing
unseen... my guarded abandon.

Signals they show, forever too slow.
No notice... it's easier done.

Someone may hear, in time becomes clear,
but no notice... it’s easier done.

[Bigbadbob]

For Sake of Change

How about we find our own vision
Open a new door and go through transition
Not just a whim a complete revision
Sever everything we use to believe in

How about we invoke a mission
Give a little something back to conviction
And if we fail its only juxtaposition
From (the) center there’s no circles or need for decision

And if we should take a long hard fall
another dent wont show at all

It’s too hard,
I’ll bet that’s what they’ll say
Change for sake of change
Is flying in the face
This kind of thing
is easier to say than do…

I know you never thought I’d turn another way
The lack of inspiration makes it hard to stay
You know that I’m feeling a little less than human
Abondoned by emotion that once drew us both in
Confused by all the lines that other people drew in

And if we should take a long hard fall
another dent wont show at all

[bowl of oranges]

A 99 cone with a flake.

Often she found her self wondering,
just why or how, she had become something else,
something more than just flesh, more than just bones.
It's a funny thing when you become someones world.

A tropical lushous world, one in which, pain and fear
and all manor of wrong doings paled and were abandoned
and replaced with things much more fitting of perfection.
This is how he sees the world, how he sees her.

With a skewed view, he sees only perfection,
like a child sees a 99 cone with a flake,
on a scorching summers outing to the beach.
Even as it drips and disintergrates, he asks for no more.
No more than a moment of sheer refreshment,
followed by the licking of contented lips.

Well i guess she gives him that,
that irrisistable moment of joy, of love,
therfore she must qualify for perfection.
She must make him more than he is,
not with the literal addition of pounds to the waist,
with hearty meals on winters nights.

Just give him the fibre, to become a better man.
I swear he'll do you proud.

19/4/07

[FA]

Avenue
JustinBHughes
4.11.2007

the art of her footsteps,
linger like the sun’s aroma,
floating like a leaf, until
they shake hands with
the earth again.

she would abandon the dripping water,
from the rusty faucet’s neck,
throwing aside her personal hell,
to smolder with me in the smoke.

and we’d wonder, thinking if
the church was still over the hill,
where the faithful window sits unscathed,
waiting for a beggar’s breath.

[wartree]

My father always said:
The end of the world ends in the ending of the Bus line
The people of the other side, the folks from the village behind
Folks from west didn’t know where it ends, our ending is their beguinning, the only common was the anual fest
Bus driver came from above, of the ignorance that he took every day
Allegreto was the rythm, the spirit, of those people, who lived in a sadly, comformist way...

Seems like a desert village
Old people are the ones that persist
Exodus killed the young in this forsaken, unevolved place
And you see those eyes
Above the chair right on the head
Contempling the life
The rust falls over this lights
Lights only have came to this place,
Thirty years ago, in a slow pace
It seems so nice when you have a oil lamp
In nocturn life
Nice it is, it was during centuries
Should i stay or exceed the lip
The verdict, is nobody lives here
Everybody abandoned it

[DFelon204409]

We abandoned thousands of cans
on the side of the road.
You finally stood up and greeted the desert
when we made it to Boom Town,
a perverse inbetween.
We struggled to find the space
between our legs,
as we pressed into the backseat.

Hundreds of aging pages fluttered out over the steppe
smoothly grazing against the willowing tips
of the wheat shoots and tan looks
of dying labradors. Millions of them
live across the long torso of this country.

Cream colored hair on the back of their necks
looked at us as we unclicked our seatbelts
to lie down and look up at the looming mesa.
It arched up into a flat, dusted top.
There was so much wind up there
and in our hair when the car flipped
and we lept out of our teal convertible.
Billions of molecules, pushing themselves
into us from all around and then
the inexorable friction of the ground.

Somewhere between the desert and the savannah,
a tribesman in a gravelly feathered shawl
played a dull, soft thumb piano,
its metallophone breathing ate us up
like one big breath of sand.

[FA]

so...is ur piece parts of all of ours? dogs, deserts, sex and whatnots? lol