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Steele Jan 2015
I don't know what you think of the word "wicked";
but where I come from it's a funny thing. It doesn't mean evil or sad.
We say "That's wicked cool." It's meaning rings the same as, "That's the ticket!"
Wicked means more; and more hope can't be all that bad.

I guess what I'm saying is, you're "Wicked" nice.
Despite your talent, your wall is full of other people's "Hope".
Vanity is certainly not your choicest vice.
Empathy, perhaps, would better fit the scope.

Your story's still being written down; I'm not sure where that path will stray.
I don't know if it will end in fire or ice- or if either would suffice-
but were Robert Frost here, (and from my home town) he'd say
"I've heard the name. That chick's wicked dope."
Thanks for being Wicked Cool, Wicked Hope
I've been meaning to thank Wicked Hope for being such a caring and kind member of the community, particularly in regards to all the encouragement and empathy she's given me over the past week. Since the challenge is out, it might as well be a public thank you.

In the famous words of Ron Burgundy, "Stay Classy"

Ember Evanescent Jan 2015
Joe Cole.
Because he is a funny guy, stands up for what he believes in, knows how to deal with Thee Artiste and is a REALLY amazing poet. Nice person too. Lovely soul.


Love Ember

For Kollitiki Vradypodes' challenge
I pasted the link below for details
Hope I did it right
Lexi Dvorak Oct 2014
As I reflect on my past,
I realize many things have passed.

Flowers have bloomed,
Yet I can't ever "find the room",
To watch them as they bloom.

People have graced me,
With their beautiful personalities,
And yet I never find the time,
To allow their personalities to overwhelm me.

I wish I could reflect on my past
And say many good times have passed,
But sadly there is more good then there is bad,
I wish there was more happy then there is sad.

But alas I cannot change where my pieces have landed,
But I can't fix my past either,
So I shall allow the past to remain in the past.

So if you ask me to reflect,
I will not reflect but honestly say,
The past is just another fallen day.
Lexi Dvorak Oct 2014
It has come over me,
Like a wave washes over a beach.

Is beauty,
No destruction.
No havoc.

Is rare to see lately,
With all these wars raging around me.

So tranquillity,
Will you ever come back to me?
Phosphorimental Sep 2014
I remember a time when I
didn't have to remember a time

When butter only came in sticks.
And the trash men came every morning
When a Chevy was just a Chevy...
And my dad parked it for free
and the cops would give us a warning

Memories when freedom smelled like barbecue
and my fingers tasted like Old Bay
we crunched corn on the cob
and sat with lit faces beneath fireworks,
not watching, waiting, miles away

When it wasn't who had the bigger yard,
but which yards could be conjoined to make
the biggest football field
and our parents voices,
not cell phones, called us
to gather around the supper meals

I remember when
lawyers were great
because we hardly ever needed them
When we feared dying more than being poor
When we called them jobs,
not income back then.

I remember when an endless ringing phone
or even a haunting busy tone
required no further investigation...
because at least you knew
she was ... home

...When love meant you don't have to stop looking,
"just keep looking at me."
Because romantic love didn't grow in diversions
like weeds in fertile soils of commiseration
I remember you looking at me

I remember when you could hear me
draw a tranquil breath
between each  spoken rhyme
…rather than me listening alone
to memories tapped
into liquid -
                     crystal -
                                    diode -
Joe Cole Challenge... memories, tranquility, freedom
Firefly Sep 2014
The stone, cold sidewalk lay below,
It's getting closer,
I bid the last breath to blow,
Flames, heart-racing,blue-black,windless night.
Tears forming, evaporating.....evaporating.....ditto,
Depression made clear,
Behind eyes,the devil's motto.
Confusion at my right hand,clarity disappears.
Firefighter's water,
My beloved abode no more,
Tears of men,hellfire licking the walls.
I stood,staring from afar,
Drowning in the torment that has come to call,
The world hushed,my vision torn to fragments,
Heat of salty tears.
Everything frozen in time,
My fears forever mine.
Confusion lays unsettled in the bowels of the soul,
Wreathing thick murrain,
Screaming at the misery of the brain.
I was startled,whimpering with bewilderment,
Everything before me in a trance-like state,
Then began awaking.
The men with sweet water,dear,
Starting surging backwards,
Their faces devoid of thought,without fear.
Like rewinding a record,
Time flew backward,
I stumbling,stunned,steel-cold.
I'm unable to move.
Then suddenly I stood up,
Walked unwillingly to the fiery effulgence,
Led by a teasing indecision,an untouched mystery,
Depleted of resilience.

The world stood still once more,
Froze me in place,
I fell into dementia's eye,
Nothing beclouding the gore.
Then regenerating,
Time modulating from cinders,beautiful phoenix,
Reality it began disseminating,
Blurry images flood my sight,
Blood,anger,depression rites,
Recapitulations,I beg for light.

My husband stood before me,weaving misery and woe,
Cursing me,making me small,
Shoving me under,way down low,
He stands as cold as ice,
Yet he burns inside,
He swings,hits,spits,
A love forgotten,
Dead inside.
He cuts me with the knife,
Watches my blood run,
My reality decaying,he's having fun.

Deep in the bathroom tub,
I lay fighting back shivers,
Making in the water red ripples,
Release my body's crave,
I uncovered in my mind a mystical grave.
Such dementia to see him flailing in my hands!

The daydreamed lust seemed inconceivable,
For the fiend still lives.
On our bed I saw him lay,
I remember how me met,
I fell into his arms,
Addicting,like to a powerful drug.
Conceived for evil,hmm,I might've found my way,
The idea came quickly,
I marveled at the absence of my active conscience.
I now creeped down the stairs,slithered!
Choking on hysterics,
On my spine angst lingered.
The kitchen door swung open,I stepped in,
Looking for th'inevitable tools,
Fury flared,kerosene and match I fumbled,
Feeling the arctic love as it crumbled.

So quickly I flew up the stairs,
My,my,my someone's anxious!
Ready to sear him,ignite his cold,fringe his hairs!
I fed my pain with venom-bitter hatred,
Stood ready to fry the *******,
My anticipation was sacred.
I stood before his bed,
Banishing the now present,dark,heavy,penetrating conscience,
The dream inside instead,I fed.
The mind picked up outside,
Midnight blows in through the window,
Dances 'round the room.
The kerosene I quickly threw,
Exiling any regret,
Ready to add the final ingredient to my dark,dangerous brew.
I striked,threw,watched the match,
Spinning through the air,
Waiting for the flames to hatch.
He awoke with the arrival of the fire,
Dark screams I like,
My cold desire.
Mariticide committed,
I tried not to laugh,
Joy was a pain,
Then my shrill scream was echoed by his bones,
Everything fell,the chains of the brain.
I smiled,now a black widow out of her cage,
Beaming at the empty hole of mis'ry,
Finally made satiable,the sin's wage.
Freedom came then,
Shattering,a worthy phenomenon,
It came into my crazy world,
Like a cool and cleansing rain.
Irate Watcher Sep 2014
At home,

you taught me
how to crack an egg;
how to separate
the yolk from the white,
and put the rest in the fridge —
yellow pools for pudding.
Though, we never made pudding.
You taught me
how to beat stains,
how to separate
reds from whites,
to wash delicates and brights
in cold water.
You hung both to dry.
You taught me
how to drink wine,
that reds are bitter
than whites
with meat.

At school,

they taught me
subjects as periods,
how to learn
math and english,
because they're different.
Who was I good at both?
They told me
the direction I'd go,
how to tell left from right.
I still get lost sometimes.
They read me
the places I'd go,
how to separate
fact from opinion,
the world we live in.

At work,

they taught me
a business mind,
how to define
plans from ideas,
as if ideas
are not future plans.
They taught me
to manage time,
how to separate
work and life,
Still, I struggle
to juggle those words.

Hold my hand poetry,
the architecture of words,
cause my soul is caught
my mind separating words,
and I can't seem to
piece them together again.
Cartesian problems
Ady Sep 2014
There is man in the first floor of the building,
we lend him our eyes because he'd got no use for our ears.
He tells life with vivid motions, stories through fingers and expressions;
he's got a joy for life and it's apparent from his actions.
He puts me to shame as I try to convey life with all this intricate words;
I say meretricious, he waves his hand away
I say despondent, he shakes his head in dismay
I say exuberance, but all he has to do is smile.

There's a savant in the first floor of the building.
He's merry and jolly,
reminding everyone with a gentle smile that
sometimes words are not enough, reminding us that
although the pen is mightier than the sword
actions speak louder than words.
This is for Joe Coles "Write for me part IX"
Also, this is a piece insipired by a real person and he's brilliant and now he'll be immortalized here.
Ady Sep 2014
It dances in the darkened corners of galaxies,
sleeps amongst collections of brilliant stars.
Sways with the tug and push of merry tides
bringing sweet little shells for someone to find.

Ever patient awaiting its turn in the medleys of planets,
a persistent idea over the linear logic of time.
Its lashes are made of stardust and its aspirations bud with time,
it dreams of the waking world when all is still and silent,
stirs in ebony blankets,
willing the sunlight to dawn and sift to illuminate its opalescent

It skirts the boundaries of a seeking mind,
giving furtive glances of its outline
seducing a victim to fill in the lines.

A tool for an artists' oeuvre.
This is for Joe Cole's creativity challenge which was extremely fun!
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