Challenge 103 - "Stem"

[DFelon204409]

stem1 P Pronunciation Key (stm)
n.
-The main ascending axis of a plant; a stalk or trunk.
-A slender stalk supporting or connecting another plant part, such as a leaf or flower.
-A banana stalk bearing several bunches of bananas.
-A connecting or supporting part, especially:
-The tube of a tobacco pipe.
-The slender upright support of a wineglass or goblet.
-The small projecting shaft with an expanded crown by which a watch is wound.
-The rounded rod in the center of certain locks about which the key fits and is turned.
-The shaft of a feather or hair.
-The upright stroke of a typeface or letter.
Music: The vertical line extending from the head of a note.
-The main line of descent of a family.
Linguistics: The main part of a word to which affixes are added.
Nautical: The curved upright beam at the fore of a vessel into which the hull timbers are scarfed to form the prow.
-The tubular glass structure mounting the filament or electrodes in an incandescent bulb or vacuum tube.

v. stemmed, stem·ming, stems
v. intr.
-To have or take origin or descent.

v. tr.
-To remove the stem of.
-To provide with a stem.
-To make headway against: managed to stem the rebellion.

Idiom:
from stem to stern
-From one end to another.

[sketchyjoe]

No Talk in the Tarnished Words

The battalion of saints, the bones brigade
Stem the current of burning chemicals
Hicktown articles of shattered faith
In last wish, what we want is free
Word attack, baby, let's play god
Spray paint riot squad turns everything grey
Sidewalk bombs leave no stone unturned
Mom 'n' pop democracy

Listen to the news and the nails from the sky
Johnny Paranoid, today's word is goodbye

I had too much to dream last night
Fantasy Express for the new poor
Modern day heroes and fighting boys
Black market baby with gunpoint affection
This year's prophet wild in the streets
Conquest for death, churchgoers' motives
Warfear and attitude adjustment
Prison walls and resurrection

Take a stand, grab a handful
When in Rome, do as the Vandals

Welcome to reality, into the void
Crushed by the wheels of industry
Stop the machine, watch it burn
Welcome to the dust ward
No one is ever coming home, time has come today
Hold your ground on the domestic battlefield
Can't take much more politics and passion
Lifetime problems cut off the cord

We're drivin' to hell and back
With clenched fists, eyes black

Things start moving, we're not in it to lose
Who will be the first seeing red
Hang 'em high, let the night roar
Aim tastes good, teaching you the fear
I am the establishment faction
A martyr in every home, running out of time
Our will be done when the tops comes off
Life's process, listen to this, see it clear

Waiting for the bomb blast
Back against the wall with the world up my ass

No one can make me play along with this
Kill from the heart, another lesson
Kill the dreamer's dream horrorshow
Raise the curtain to the cracks in the wall
Running for cover, inside looking out
In last hymn, no one gets out alive
Gods, guns, guts, love and war
Standing united when I fall

Whatever happened now or never
From where the sun now stands, I shall fight no more forever

Scorched earth policy
The calm before the storm
Here's your warning

[TojesDolan]

MightMightMight

Tojes writes, tojes plays.

[silenceevolves]

In my front yard,
the grass grows and slowly sways
around a dead tree and a driveway.

In my front yard,
a stem grows above wry roots
with two leaves and a beautiful bloom.

But should something so flawless be picked
and risk a loss that would leave nothing left?
Or should something so flawless be kept
there to grow and be loved by the masses?

[Bigbadbob]

PUNISHED BY TIME

Urgency threatens with its piercing…pushy
Piggish style…
Resignedly, I brace against the hour
Catching rain drops from the leaves
No longer to linger in august

Of all the images relived
Half in smiles, cold anguish stuns
Wistful sigh, bereaved heart, abated spirit
In perpetual sleep, from silent lips…
You say goodbye

Sinew mocks in its brooding…moody
Senescent decline
Naïvely, we flaunted our existence
The stem from womb to grave
No longer to peel the days like fruit

Remnants of sun ribbon the river
half in red, black water runs.
Third night, ninth moon, lonely hour
in pearled dew, punished by time
I say goodbye

[jurialmunkey]

How the Violence between Two People Relates To Their Love

It all starts with an audio ride down to the depth of your knees,
Scraping the cold concrete, the gold of a crack pipe’s butane
Eats away, rots away, this tinnitus won’t go away...
Scrambling like thieves in dress coats of something we believe.
Ear-splitting reveries of a misled self-accepting;
The only message:
Is a sex-fuelled knife in the back of a glass-shattering angel that
Screams for torture;
He can’t see what she brings this fortune for.
Oh…
Miss Fortune,
Oh… No
One can save her!!

From the…
Bird’s in the nest and the bride’s in the nest and the pride’s in a
Delusion-filled, soft-regurgitation to purge the violent vomit
Off your chest in a fist full;
Clenched around the oesophagus;
Can’t breathe lung-filled air in your throat,
Oxygen deprived from;
A tongue tied stem of igno-arrogance filling a gastrulated prance
Necessitates his needs,
Evened behind the high frequency wash.
Oh…
Jewish Jesus,
Oh… No
Not her messiah!!

Sadistic storms extrapolate their mental love and psycho-analysis
In the beating of the heart and tantrum develops, for a world bent to
A willing mind abused with over-use of a spoilt expectation.
Knock down the nest. Long-winded drawn out lust sucks out
Is this all that you are? [But I’m one part of everything!!]
No…You’re not listening. Certainly not anything…
Just a hand-full of a scattered hand-full of the one hundred thousands
Melting colours translucent upon the sugared milk: blood.

Melting glaciers, ice, and the unseen manipulation
Failing nourishment, they pout for surface sweetness.
This calcium fallacy will make bones strong.
Just like an injection of domesticated love.
100% homelike the saloon door is splintered.
No-one can save her.
And you're still not listening.
Not a Messaih...

[Tainted_Soul]

Break my vision in groggy slow-motion
As dreams are torn away by morning
And a bitter-sweet wail of mourning
Rings out over a technicolor ocean
Psycho sheets like dungeon chains
shackled to my bed
like the blurry distinction between needle and thread
single minded obsession, like christmas tree trains
And now Sasha sits, lost on the moon
Lost even deeper in thought
But this cannot be! Because she smoked pot!
Her punishment better come soon
My painful pleasure, euphoric depression
stems from our disorganized retreat from anarchism
for there is nothing more cynical than optimism
our thorny crown handed down in royal succession
And if this "freedom of speech" should rise from the ashes
triumphant eternal
demon, infernal!
Beast! We shall sell it to the fascists
...yes, we shall sell you to the fascists...

[super deluxe]

arite

[RunAmokRampant]

When Amber Lights Become Sinister

There aren't many tales of flightless birds
to be told - excuse the pun.
Once they used to race with the feathered ones,
encapsulating the grace of a highly stemmed sail
blessed with a breezy south-easterly.

But also encapsulating the reflexes of road kill.

Sure some could take flight before the lights turned from
green to gold; hue and cry to fly.
They had become wing savvy.
But for others who had the burden of
waiting, the amber lights turned sinister,
and they hesitated. . .

Red is STOP
Green is GO
For Amber?
Is the gastank half full or half empty?

Father Jed says
that this analogy, Darwin's analogy,
is like jamming a square into a circular hole.
And trying in vain to justify the use of force.

Like firmament still but not stagnant,
Evolution is a world record.
But for Amber?
Sanding off the corners will help you.

[deathscreamingsheep]

I'll have a go at this I think.

Socialite's Aftermath

Let me send a message in a bottle:
Not written calligraphy nor scripted image,
But contained within volatile liquid washing
Like the movement of soft fabric across
the top of a pure crystal flute.

It's a familiar letter sure.
By the way you expertly receive it
Gripping the stem of a gaudy cup
I see you're practiced in the fine art.
How long until my report becomes clear?

There's a whole world of communication
Translating into foreign tongues.
Most of that goes on here, and you
certainly seem the centre of attention:
On stage under a glaze of adoration.

At least, that's what must have happened in retrospect
I'll bet you don't remember where those harsh bruises came from now.
The realities forced upon you by a silver glass
Will only sharpen with the coming onslaught of the day.
So sink back into my generous gift
And above all- just enjoy.

[ATC]

The road takes a turn

Cuts through traffic
following the lazy
curve of someone's arm,
the way her skin pinches
the smooth
transition
from austere muse
to useful stem
was never right
angled.

The bus moves slower
today. The world
is in no hurry,
the fingertips are
a distant dream
but I

am not complaining.

I like nothing better than
the swaying ease of the afternoon.

[Lowridenn]

- And 1492 was a year to dream. –

With these white wings I wished
To soar across the electromagnetic waves of visible light.
Those specific wavelengths that are bent into
The most beautiful blue; the same blue
Of those eyes I so often find myself falling into.
And yet they seem to shut every time I get close enough to taste them.

It was with these frail wings that I, Christopher, wished
To sail, stem forward, the ocean’s reflection in the sky;
The beloved crests and troughs that succeed in
Keeping me from falling into the water.
I never needed saving before.

And it was with these damn wax wings that I wished
To speak to you; to stare into those eyes
Long enough to swim in my own reflection.

Who knew my name was spelled I-C-A-R-U-S?

[pixiesfanyo]

oh y

[!aaa!]

This is really tricky. All i can come up with in my head is garbage.

[I Love Fat women]

maybe

when's it closing?

[DFelon204409]

Sometimes I don’t even write
Because I know everything that is contemporary
Is doomed to be adult contemporary
And then an oldie, withering away on dialysis.
Then dead.
I wanted to make something incendiary,
A flagrant foul, a head on a stick,
A trick ending that makes one woman
With coiffured, red hair yell,
“But it can’t be his wife!”
Something that I could only admire
Through the safety of x-ray film,
Or the reflection of my shield.
But it’s so hard to be inspired when your muse
Is some bumper sticker that reminds you
Of watching Disney movies.
Learning about human frailty from animals.
It reminds me of the time in sixth grade
When Mike Peroutka called me a fag,
Because he beat me at basketball, and I
Didn’t have armpit hair,
And still didn’t like Nirvana.
When I was seventeen I dumped my girlfriend
After disagreeing on whether John
Or Paul was the better singer
Even though Paul sucks.
No big deal, the world kept turning
Around me. We are all an axis
For somebody else’s rotation, so it’s a wonder that
We constantly set sail for the end of the world,
And marvel that we land right where we started:
Baby teeth, cartoons, puberty,
My final trip to Tahoe with my grandpa
Before he died. He spun too hard, for too long.
When I was eight he got me
A fire red Duo Sonic for Christmas.
A Duo Sonic is a Stratocaster but intended
For children with smaller hands.
I have grown tall enough to slam dunk.
My fingers are fucking stumps,
Stems, looking up.

[Disco Donkey]

Staggering along a crooked white line
While a steady light burns my retinas
My throat clenches tightly
Before expelling my innards like a ruptured can of soda
My eyes well up slightly
Dripping out my emotions like a broken faucet
Impatient for a plumber
This one forgot his wrench, but remembered his gun

I had this idea of all of the things
It would do for me

It would let me lock eyes with the Messiah
And he would teach me slight of hand
But it made me forget my name and call myself a liar
And trade two of my fingers for a gram

Pouring myself a last drink; one too dry for Ra
With my residual pinky wrapped around the stem
Weightlessness is fun
But only in doses small enough to keep my feet from sinking
Baited I have become
A giant fish without a fin to swim away from its end

All of the things
It was going to do for me…

I lock eyes with His
His wrists are bound with rope
“I forgot my name and was called a fake by my father’s people
And traded my life to give you hope
But friend, I die for you again
If it was by overdosing on cocaine”