I follow a fellow writer named MC Hunton over at her blog. She recently started challenging herself and fellow followers to do a writing piece based on a certain writing prompt every Monday . I finally got off my lazy butt and did one like I promised her I would. The writing prompt this week was entitled Monday Muse: Sound. You basically have to write anything having to do with a noise or silence that won’t go away. I believe the only rule was that you had to write for thirty minutes straight and just flow with it…..
So here it goes… the story is NOT done but I think I made a pretty good start. I will definitely try and finish it up soon I hope. Let me know what you think.
by Philip Wardlow
Momma would send me every morning to go fetch the water from the well that sat behind our house some fifty yards back near where the woods started. I hated that chore more than anything something awful.
I walked sleepily to the open back porch outside in my pajamas wearing just my slippers. The sun was still trying to sneak its head over the hill as the stars were still wide awake and dancing in a dark blue shy sky. This morning was especially chilly when I grabbed the bucket at the back door. I saw every breath I took float away like I was taking a smoke like my daddy used to do.
I stood there in the doorway staring out at the backyard all the way back to where the well was. I could tell it was just waiting for me like it always does. To me it looked a like a squat little frog made of wood and brick, staring at me. Even two of the bricks which made up the wall of it were placed just so and colored just so different from all the rest, that it made ‘em look like eyes staring back at me in the dim light of the morning night. I imagined a big tongue rolling out of the hole of the well just waiting to slurp me up all green, slimy and wet.
This morning there was a fog rolling all along the ground from account of the cold. It wasn’t too thick. Pieces of it slunk around the yard moving left to right out of the corn field to cross over and go past the chicken coop on the far side and continue on like it needed some place to be. I noticed that none of the fog got too close to the well. It seemed to want to have nothing to with it as it meandered across the yard.
I shivered and wondered if I would hear it again. I heard the sound all the time. Dear lord, I hope I don’t hear it again, I said in a silent prayer inside my head.
“Josephine, get your butt going with that water! It ain’t gonna get itself,” I heard my momma yell at me from inside the house.
I mustered my courage and walked across the dark yard toward the well with the water bucket wrapped in my arms tight to my chest.
The chicken coop was quiet as I passed by, the hens and Old mister Rudy the cranky old rooster hadn’t yet caught on to the fact of that it was a new day on hand just yet. They didn’t make a peep as I walked on by ‘em to the well.
The blue pines rose up rose and towered above, throwing me in shadow as I approached the well. It was always darkest in this part of the yard as the sun was still buried deep behind ‘em.
I sat the bucket on the edge of the well and secured the hook to the rope and sent it over the edge and started to slowly lower it down.
I looked out at the thick clump of dark trees behind the well. Anything could be in there. I began to imagine that something would wait for me on my walk to the house when my arms were heavy with a bucket full of water and take me from behind and drag me into the woods and my momma would never see me again. I thought a silly thought then. My teacher calling my name at roll call.
Josephine Stevens – she would call out twice to the classroom but I wouldn’t answer her. Because I just simply wouldn’t be anymore.
I found myself cranking the line to lower the bucket even faster….
Then I heard it….the noise.
….to be Continued…….:)
My Third Eye -
It’s been plucked.
Right out of my head.
There it is, pinched between
that raven’s beak.
It has been reclaimed it seems
since I never chose to use it.
An eye always closed.
grows dark and distant.
Best to give it to someone else.
Yet, I feel the pain of its
My mind, my spirit, my heart
has already dimmed.
I want it back.
I have learned my lesson.
I will use it, give it back…
give it back,
please give it back.
I will use it
just give it back.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
Come with Me -
I want to go with you in a field of flowers today,
so come away with me and we’ll play.
Grab your mitt, ball, and bat and
don’t forget to feed the cats.
Home plate will be the old tree stump, it’s still
serves as a reminder to our lives where
many a memory still reside.
First base will be the weeping willow where we have
dazed under on many a hot summer day in its shade.
Second base will be the corner of the old red barn where
we have ventured with our son and taught him how to explore
life just for fun.
Third base will be the edge at a bend in a forgotten stream
that has been flowing for years with all our dreams.
It still sparkles as the sun over high catches the ripples as
it flows by.
So come with me this day
For with you there’s always time to play.
By Philip Wardlow 2013
Originally posted on Fight for Rhinos:
Where would our rhinos, elephants, tigers, gorillas, and other animals be without rangers?
Putting their lives on the line each and every day…it’s not glamorous or prestigious, it’s tough.
Sometimes it’s downright deadly.
But without these brave men and women, extinction would be a reality. Poaching would run rampant, chaos would ensue.
Through darkness, heat, rain, and cold, these souls persevere.
Treading carefully through danger, they protect what we all cherish.
So today, on World Ranger Day, we salute them.
We acknowledge their efforts and dedication; we also remember the fallen, whose families made the greatest sacrifice.
Each day we pray for your safety and from the bottom of our hearts, we thank you!
Show your appreciation by participating in our campaign:
Originally posted on Fight for Rhinos:
Wealthy Asian businessmen , airport seizures of horn and ivory, silent apathy from politicians, ongoing heated trade debates…a ferocious circle surrounding and depleting our rhinos and elephants. Yet, at the center of it all, on the blood soaked savanna stand the rangers.
Under the blazing sun or in pouring rain, no weekends or holidays, for little pay and high stakes-they are the only real obstacle standing between the poachers and the rhinos.
Often outgunned and outnumbered, each day is war. In Kenya hundreds of rangers have been shot in the last 3 years, and 13 killed.
A recent report from the Kenyan government sited “low morale” as being a huge problem in the bush for the Kenyan Wildlife Service rangers.
Is it any wonder?
Leaving their families for long periods of time, not knowing if they will see them again, often met with distrust and dislike…
View original 748 more words
Support Rhinos and Rangers! T-Shirt Campaign Starting Tomorrow!
This poem is for all those who have ever felt left out, unloved, neglected, uncared for or ever underappreciated…we all have been Eeyore at least once in our lives I am imagining -
Eeyore’s quiet Sad Rage -
Pooh has Piglet, tight friends to the
Roo has his mum and oft’ times Tigger’s
bouncing annoying presence.
Rabbit has his attitude of
and Owl, his arrogant wisdom
as he sits in his tree.
Christopher Robin visits, but rather
The Hundred acre woods are a lonely place for a donkey.
Thistle only comforts so much.
The wind whistling through the trees
is a pale companion.
I have much poetry to recite,
much I wish to say, hugs I wish to share
and smiles to give.
Perhaps my worth shall be found
one day by eyes
that see more than past the noses
on their own heads.
Until then I will meander and mope
because that is what is expected
by Philip Wardlow 2014
Library Fantasy -
Black spectacles perched upon her cute little nose,
hair done up in a bun with neck exposed,
tight skirt that falls just shy of the knees,
she is civic in her duties as she gives me
a smile that beckons to pursue a little
I spy her shelving books upon the shelf,
A wish comes to mind to take her behind those
shelves and fuck her in a pile of soft paperbacks.
Preferably fantasy or science fiction,
Yes, I’m a nerd like that.
I want to stroll over and grab a
nice thin book of poetry and bend
her over my knees and smack her
bare bottom until Yeats, Frost, or Poe
make her release an earth shattering moan.
Shh…please I’m trying to read.
She will kneel in front of me as I
lounge in my reading chair.
She will hand me a book to peruse as
she unbuttons my pants all the while
giving me a very stern stare.
She will go down on me with lips that
love to talk of bibliographies, bestsellers
and her favorite man named Dewey.
I will whisper to her tales of erotica, and
caress her breasts and nipples with
delicate flutterings from the pages of
Before her work is done,
she will become very intimate with
and my favorite character,
by Philip Wardlow