Challenge 88 "Mordant"

[DFelon204409]

mor·dant
Pronunciation Key (môrdnt)

adj.
1. Bitingly sarcastic: mordant satire.
2. Incisive and trenchant: an inquisitor's mordant questioning.
3. Bitingly painful.
4. Serving to fix colors in dyeing.

n.
1. A reagent, such as tannic acid, that fixes dyes to cells, tissues, or textiles or other materials.
2. A corrosive substance, such as an acid, used in etching.

tr.v.
1. To treat with a mordant.

Supplemental Info
adj : harshly ironic or sinister; "black humor"; "a grim joke"; "grim laughter"; "fun ranging from slapstick clowning ... to savage mordant wit" [syn: black, grim] n : a substance used to treat leather or other materials before dyeing; aids in dyeing process

[kevbud187]

Double Tap

There once was a twenty something
Who tied the knot with a greybeard
She had a priceless diamond ring
And the next day he disappeared
The news would lament he was dead
He was shot twice, killed in cold blood
Not mourning she laughed instead
And she’d already picked the coffin wood

Double tap‘ll do it I know!
Who cares if it’s moral?
One down one to go
And it’s in the barrel

Manifest your mordant smile
On your big pitch black lips
As you walk down the funeral aisle
Behind your veil you’ve got no regrets
And with the will in your pocket
And hand on the safe he left you
They can barely close his casket
And you’re wondering what to do

Double tap‘ll do it I know!
Now your fortune is legit
One down one to go
And it’s in the casket

Take a bath in gold or platinum
Spend it all on clothes and shoes
Buy every painting from a museum
Everything to gain everything to lose
She never shared, tipped or donated
Living the life of a noblesse
She died lonely and much hated
And her funeral pews were soulless

[DFelon204409]

Disclaimer: If you haven't heard a Kayo Dot or Godspeed You! Black Emperor song in which the lyrics are nearly all spoken word, then don't complain about the flow or how you don't think this would work as a song. It would. Those bands prove that.

Inheritance

Grandpa loomed in portrait form
Casting his mordant smile across the living room.
"Your grandfather traveled with the Taylor Olympics
from 1953-1991 every four years.
During this time he acquired an unbelievable wealth
in local goods and spiritual monuments," my Gramm said.
"Your heirlooms will be those he has selected
by virtue of your traits and education.
Your 'triumphs and tragedies' he said.
'What makes you a man.'"

i. The Visage of Shaka Honta
This ebony mask served as both a guard
And terror for the Ungala tribe of Southern Zaire.
It's wearer was said to be a Shaka Honta, or,
A personal shaman to the god of the underworld.
Every six years, in a seance with the dead,
The Shaka Honta must proclaim a new one.
If the gods deem the decision to be poor,
The Ungala will feel the Curse of Six Year,
Specifically sterility of women and impotence of men.
If the decision is wise, the gods bless all children
With unusual brightness and robustness.
In a particularly strenuous seance, there was an interruption
By a group of young travelers,
Eager to understand the land.
This encroachment infuriated the Shaka Honta
So he challenged the youngest traveler to a fight.
Wearing the horned, tusked mask, the Shaka Honta
Charged the traveler, only to find the traveler swifter than he.
The traveler pinned the Shaka Honta onto a patch of fennel
And smothered him in his own ceremonial mask.
Wordlessly, he took the mask and the travelers left
In search of shelter and a moment of relief.

ii. The Mead Banjo of Red Bangle
This maplewood banjo draws attention
By its unusually ruddy complexion
And warm, almost soggy tone.
Its primary owner was an infamous New Orleans barfly,
Red Bangle, whose solitary songs nearly always featured
Hopeless romanticism, foolish bullheadedness,
And unyielding alcoholism.
True to his narratives, Red drank, womanized,
And never backed out of a dare.
Once a man bet him a bag of coins that he
Wouldn't fill his banjo's sound hole with beer
And finish. Red did.
In the most notable bet, a wondering collector
Challenged Red to a drinking contest
Out in a part of the bayou that was rumored to be haunted.
They both took two bottles of whiskey and a chair
To the edge of a particular bog where they wouldn't be bothered.
Red also brought his banjo, and the collector
Brought a resonator guitar.
They played and drank for hours
Until they had played all the songs they knew
And nearly finished their bottles of whiskey.
Suddenly, an apparition materialized between the two,
Amber and mysterious it wisped out at them.
Red, in a drunken fit, threw his body away from the ghost,
And tilted his chair back.
It wobbled and dropped Red into the bog.
The collector stood unsurely and offered a hand
To the slowly struggling Red.
Red looked at the collector and gave him
His banjo, whose body had been warped
By beer, whiskey, and bogwater.
Red let his body sink into the muck,
Leaving the collector to stumble out of the fen
With the waterlogged but intact banjo.

iii. The Hari Kiri Dagger of Mitsuda Kunaki
Propped on a rosewood stand, this relic represents
The last attempt to maintain the honor of the Yuna Samurai.
While traditional hari kiri had been used
To segue between the physical and spiritual realms,
The Yuna believed their enemies struck
Even beyond the grave,
And that their blades would be
Their honor and protection in the afterlife.
Victim to the spread of a viral infection
That leaks bile through the intestines,
Known to the primitives as the Vice,
The Yuna died off in the reclusion
Of their mountain hideout.
Mitsuda Kunaki, the final Yuna chose
To excise his own gallbladder with his blade
Rather than fall to a cowardly enemy.
The whole process lasted under an hour,
Not enough time for the currier
To arrive with a possible antidote.
The courier took the dagger back to
A local village where decades later he gave it
To a majestically aging white man
Who reminded him of his dead father.

I carefully put the collection into a shipping trunk
And remembered one of my last trips to Cape Cod.
Everybody had left the cottage except for Grandpa and me.
He called me up from my eighth grade summer reading
And revealed a box of authentic Cuban cigars under his blanket.
"Take these upstairs to the loft and enjoy it."
I climbed the ladder to the loft and spread out the cigars
One by one on the wood paneled floor.
I lit one with pilfered kitchen matches and inhaled deeply.
My lungs rejected the smoke and coughed it
Back into the musty loft air, that now
Represented a competition between the smell
Of mothballs and burning leaves.
I smoked until I became violently ill
And vomited up the oysters I had had at lunch.
All sorts of digusting smells saturated the room
And I passed out in my own mess,
Grandpa's attempt at catalyzing adolescence.
After waking up I came downstairs
To find the family back and dinner in progress.
Grandpa smiled at me and told the family,
"I guess the young man is ready to join us for lobster."

[pixiesfanyo]

I.D.

Hand tremors divorce
Jim Crow's southern tenure
As livid lips taunt lapses
That laceration ensures

Darkness expires

Mouthfuls of glass
Or necklaces of rope
Mordant suffocations
Are what these walls grope

Tapeworm conspires

Assassination coats
These immaculate dreams
Of a little girl
In Africa

[toddcotham]

A Suicide Story

A shadow flickers on the wall
the quixotic ideal, her eyes recall
her thoughts, her sins as her hand starts to write
her words become truth in the candlelight
her story unfolds in the candlelight

she creates him

her dreams flow rhythmically, thoughts blood to ink
a mindless killer, her fateful fulfiller
she knows he is coming, she's written him there
with swan song decided, she outlines the prayer

Our father who art in heaven...
she sends him up

her pen spills cursive, she unlocks the door
her inspiration, his invitation
unwavering nerve, she's denied him a soul
mordant and sharp in pursuit of control

they meet

her pen rests idle, she allows him some time
building suspense, she voids her defense
she picks up the pen as he opens the door
writing each step as he crosses the floor

they become one

A shadow creeps across the wall
the words she writes cause blade to fall
one flame put out, one still burning bright
as blood blackballs ink in the candlelight
consummatum est in the candlelight

Radioactive Prophylactic

I still remember;
Crawling limp through corridors
In dead December's
Cold and dreaded grapplings.
Its mordant ties
Bore us unto barren floors,
Its foreign sighs
Spoke what we feared asking.

What can I say?
I didn't want to watch her leave,
But I did it anyway.
I knew what pills and beds would bring,
The lifeless obituaries.
In the presence of her hemorrhaging,
My body failed to stay.

I tied them then;
Taut ropes brought blood to boil.
I heard the words
Of nurses, interspersed with "ultrasound".
I'd drown her now;
My fingers would rake clotting soil
I'd bury her now,
With the hands that I had bound.

What can I say?
I wished that I could watch her leaves
Fall, withering away.
But Winter called throughout the halls,
The hospital's reveilles.
When Spring would come her blood would run
For the roses on her grave.

And Summer had laughed
In the sun's horrid haze,
While my eyes were apt
To adore her X-rays:
How the transparence showed
That the bones had no holes,
How the negative showed
No constraints on her soul.

[RunAmokRampant]

Waves Of Delta

The bees in my head wake and flutter,
wheel in circles around my mind stinging,
like they're shuffling the inside out.
They will die to force me awake,
to remember the prospect of another day.

Lucid dreams, temperamental sleeper
Away from the gripe of consciousness

Clutching it from the paralysis of morning
Blinking in fustration of the open curtains
Filters through the light for an indecent bat
A picture book story of a hypersomniac
I shut those curtains - give me some sleep

My brain is my hive, my cave,
My nightmare to share.
A vampire routine

My eyelids droop over from the fatigue
Anchored down with delta waves
It just lets me surf my caressing dreams

And it's how I want it to remain

[super deluxe]

Seraphim circle the head of a pin
Their glinting designs often mistaken
For the spark in your eyes
When tropical nights blow blue
Reading the grit you never possessed
Scraping up pebbles
To return empty-handed
With a mouth full of vinegar

Give me your hand
White knuckles trembling
I’ll dislocate your dreams
To their basest beginnings

Myrrh is on the inhale
Cloying and whispering of yesterday
If you learned pride from your mother
You would rage and whimper
Instead of your noncommittal sigh
Of mediocrity in motion
A mordant silence
That speaks for itself

Give me your hand
Nervous sweat dripping
I’ll dislocate your dreams
And give them new meaning

Passion of rotting fruit
Desire so strong it tastes of sulfur

Give me your hand

Give me your hand

[bowl of oranges]

A message red with a golden glow

The words fell like shards of ice do,
yet they didn't aim to cut,
just to prick at us, to remind us,
to keep us on our honest toes.
And all around us the frost did settle,
as we studied out our thoughts.

A growing cold, can chill our souls,
will i ever fear, no.

The sun can save.

So we lit the fire in our hearts,
and there we shared a hearty smile,
to help steer the ship, through the mist.

Such deeds save us from mordant climbs.

So the sun will save, as will the fire,
sound advice from a kind face,
we'll carry on, in most mortal life,
we won't hurry for life's no race.
And upmost i'll do, as i know your name,
my door shall always be ajar for you.

The sound of you voice soared,
as the wild fowls do so oft,
a simple signal of harsh times to come,
you'll come with for one and all,
and with your message red, you'll glow golden.
It's a beacon that beams and wails.

And like a lone lighthouse, we can sit and warn.
just to help each other home.

Michael Watts - 22.05.05

[A_Perfect_Sonnet]

revoked entry.

I'll try and write another song, but I might not be able to.

[SeasonOfTheMad]

Lost At Sea

The boy has grown into a man,
but on his own he can not stand,
mordant laughs and pointed words
needles to pipes they all turn to swords.
The wheel rolled on and on it rolled,
The lines and holes his story told.
The guilt, the fear, his end is near,
And if he falls, we’ll cheer with tears
it cost a foot in the grave!
but to no man will he be a slave.
And no words convince him he can still be saved.

the boy is lost at sea,
floating atop the endless green.
dear god we pray and plead,
to save this boy from misery.

But why, oh why, does little boy cry
his tears come forth from whats inside,
Which he creates, whats in his mind,
I hope to god that peace will find,
its way into our brother’s soul,
we see inside his shell, his glow,
where meadows of shining emeralds grew,
no boundaries or limits, so false but so true
too high and too fast and too high he flew
until his wings burned red to blue,
and black and gray consumed them all,
and into the ocean he fell…

the boy is lost at sea!
He floats atop the endless green!
We scream and swim for he,
but his back is turned and he can’t see.

The man is lost at sea,
His light is drowned by endless green,
We tried to reach but he,
Wouldn’t look back to her or me.

Will he be...
Forever lost at sea...
Our search party...
Has grown weary

[xKONRADx]

If i were anorexic, would she take the blame?


blanketed below me- i can imagine bones pertruding from her skin
fidget through the cupboard
spilling her perfume on the floor
concentrated concern; just two drops left in the bottle

WARNING: May herniate the mind when destroying apathy.

nearly an hour ago i would have thought twice
but it was MY choice that led to her lying for the last time
its a mordant mint, a shallow stimuli...
seven, twenty two, forty eight minutes
and i dont feel any different

sealing shut my eyelids
i call on her song
but still cant drift on

below my feet though
the floor began to flow
and i followed the current out my front door
grassy ripples soon met their end
leaving just dust and death ahead

attempting to force these images out of my mind
i realized that i was blind
to any force a pill could take,
or any toxic action to reawake
my love, our past, her face

this is where i blinked

i was holding her hand
as we walked though the sand
with her cool soft skin as something i could grip
dust and death still remained the destination of my trip
but it was something i could handle

something i wouldnt mind at all

[ATC]

IN SEARCH OF THE ALPHABET

I'm addicted to this barcode
Fleshed out without a seam
I waver in its depths
and flicker without a sound
With every elaborate motion
the portrait delights in movement
And forgets how to speak

A statement for two

I'm living with a polygraph
Hooked up to the light
Everyone's beautiful in the dark
Everyone's the same when its dark

I'm tracing out circles
floating on water chimes
Try as I might, I'm inaudible
To dogs and pigs alike
They love the smell
Right before we're too pretty
to tell right from wrong
I'm inaudible
To dogs and pigs alike

Its noon someplace
This mordant is melting the sun.
Something must be done.
Something must be done.

The world falls silent tonight.

[WhatILivefoR]

Checkmate

Someone needs to drink of death.
If it must be me, please liberate vague language.
I am so close... So close to the rocks
I can feel them breathing over the edge;
hear their cold exhales of dusty layers;
the blanket that will see me utilized
enclosing, and choking; covering my eyes.

How possible is he, to be this blind?
Verily blind to be verily sputtered.
It’s unobserved as he shoves me off
the cliff; with hands strained and forced out,
a face escalating with concentration.
Swelling with the blood of his heart.
Darkly, like the mordant flesh that holds him.
Whilst here I die upon the rocks serrated;
Myself split open and displayed to its full,
Yet immaterial, Yet scathing, yet again potential.

Indeed he does perceive this. His sweet avarice
denying what he greedily thirsts for; the spindle
with curdled eyes, the milk of his thoughts-
through groaning day and abrasive cradle-
for what day is there left for me here?
nothing but those sheets of the night-
binding, and blinding; covering my eyes.

Drink of this death for me, would you?
Just a sip; should it quench both our thirsts.
But here’s blood to jacket your flesh in the winter
and gravel to paint reflections with myself.
Never should these questions amend
to turn these teeth loose. Never shall I speak again.
No one will thus remember me, for I wither
inside earthly voices and recanting sediment…
I make no mark upon the minds of this world,
Only upon the shingles to which you handed my life.

[Corupt2057]

lachrymose > formal or literary 1 tearful. 2 inducing tears; sad. 3 showing sadness.

quid pro quo > a favor or advantage given in return for something.
-ORIGIN Latin, 'something for something'.

The Dove Crows

Holding the tears back with another fake smile
She keeps closing it up inside and won't let it out
Taking it all in with the yawn she always stifles
Bottling it up and hiding it behind polite gestures

She ran away with the heart of the one she loved
And can't stop thinking about the memories she holds
While singing her sad sad song to a pair of turtle doves
Dancing in the light of the gingerly rising sun

She takes out her losses and remembrances
Aiming at the pigeon but killing the dove
Wasn't exactly fair but it was close enough
She's left with a matter covered in blood

The dove crows.. lachrymose
A piercing coo.. evermore
And the dove crows..

Now there’s a broken heart soaring in the dawn
Searching the dance floor of her saddening song
Tearing through the darkness of cruel inhibition
Flapping into insanity is now her soul destination

A bittersweet memory of tangible thoughts
Provoked the reasoning this happiness was lost
There is revenge for taking what wasn't yours
The path is painful; she'll pay the cost

The little birdie rest on the windows to her soul
You can see her reflection in the bird's cold dry eyes
A shock expression of a glazed over look
And the color fading from the iris in her eyes

The dove crows.. quid pro quo
A mordant coo.. nevermore
Will the dove crow..

[jurialmunkey]

...thrown down a well for every second that you breathe a step out of line
and for each magical dream that you ever had...

these fleeting shadows dance upon their perches reaching for
reticent renaissance paintings / sickly circle round my dear
fellow crows
this infantile corpse is a good feast for three
its my corpse / my corpse / mine

stuff a heart / in my lung / and / gurgle blood
it’s the sweetest taste that I could hear
caustic mordant words bite from tongues
it’s the only words that I could bear
and captured inside a moment / trash their majestical
magic moments / build a well
club my head...

old loves float in droves and drown down there
these walls are inclined to the wrecking ball swings
club my head / build a well
suggest a song for the sparrow’s
dying harmony...
nothing words / petty cure
speak a quiet shriek

...thrown down a well for every second that you breathe a step out of line
for each magical dream that you ever had...

stop a second / to flip the page
this caliginous air cuts at breath
[and its grey terracotta tilings kill all the sunlit escapes]
stop a moment / to start regain
[any grey sensibility this blank blackness provides]

old loves float in droves and drown down there
the walls are inclined to the wrecking ball swings...


...

[CSD & the Soul Machines]

~Graffiti Kiss~

An unused plane ticket collects dust
Been together three Septembers
Hopes of "I do" echo away
In the tin cans tied to the bumper

For every Titanic, there's an iceburg
And there's no exception in this case
I sent every letter you wrote flying
Away in paper airplanes

A place to stay and whisper mordant promises
Burnt sheets, with down feather confetti
One down, and the list is plenty long
Musn't stay too long, my bags are packed and ready

[k.s.e.]

It pieces together
contradicted just as before
a circle, ever bending
but the structure, always the same

Repetition of a scene
in form of emotion, a haze
your name, a fire ignited
in a perfected circle
if i ever had the chance..
..so much more than a scar to me

From the mordant beginning
to our extinguished medium
your voice, spellbinding
captured in for what it's inspired
a threnody for what you could be
so everlasting to me...

And I'm waiting for us to lay awake
cause i'll be afraid to forget
what you've done for me

Your eyes, dreamed of
in a fog, dimmed by candle light
to define your clarity
if only i was aware
of your reasons for not realizing
what i could do to your stare

And it kindles just like before
but it's only what's passed to remember
to see those photographed eyes
in anticipation...
but never for me...

[Tyrion]

This is my first time doing a lyrical challenges, so I would like for everyone voting to give some criticism. It's largely basic, I understand, and probably doesn't compare with most of the other poems here. But, I may as well post it to improve my writing.

For You

Going down town tonight to have some fun
I’ll bring you back a barrel and a rather large gun
Leave me alone for only a night
Trying to loosen my soul; it’s really too tight

Walked into the bar, said hello to everyone there
Past the drinks and the sparkles; recede into the lair
Holy ghosts and many poor folk are stranded here today
Pull the trigger and have some fun, nothing more to say

Woke up and hitched a ride to loosen the ties
Who did I find with only a mordant surprise
Without a doubt, you had been waiting there
Tossed me out without hardly, hardly a care!

Going down town tonight to have some fun
I’d bring you back a barrel and a rather large gun
But you left me alone for more than a night
Tried to loosen your soul; now I’m out of sight.

Peace in the Land?

There's the loud and the boistorious
without wisdom in words
then the wise and indifferent
inaudible in this insanity
can the loud learn?
is it the wise turn?

There's the extreme and irrational
without cause or care
then the serious and experienced
so sincere they're unseen
Can the extreme learn
Can the serious yearn

-chorus
when the people with power go passive
because the might of the loads to massive
when you leave that mordant feeling dormant
when you crawl into your shell
when the agitators get agressive
tell people how they should live
when we leave clarity to be rarity
when we let the world go to hell

Can't someone take a stand?
whoose voice will carry
with their choice in sincerity
or is it to late for this piece of land...
to have a peace in the land?

-chorus