I know I am bait
on the deep dark blue
I paddle and wait
I cut my calf to bleed
a bloody trail
on the currents that carry me
Never a warning given
air is my only friend for the moment
as I descend
I know it will return…
For it has plunged,
to rise …rise… rise
To finish its meal.
I can’t see, I can’t see
below into this bloody
But it’s there rising fast.
Rising to meet
by Philip Wardlow 2015
If I called her delicate
She might well give me
a dark eyed glare
and haul off and try and hit me
Then I would laugh
and push her down
She would fight
Oh yes, she would fight
against muscles she
couldn’t hope to overcome
But I feel her strength
a quiet marching strength
in her soul.
It pours off her in everything
she says and does.
But she has a delicate
For her heart has been strained
Pained beyond belief at times.
Yet she hangs on
through that strength at
I feel it as she struggles against me
As I smile my mischievous smile
and get her to smile along with me
in that struggle
And let her win…
by Philip Wardlow
Head to chest
she lays upon him
his heart beats..loud and clear
in her ear.
Strong hands idly rub her soft skin
in an embrace
of familiar affection.
Skin to skin.,
from within to without
that cannot be contrived
It simply is in that moment
what it is .
A deep snuggle.
A small world
all her own
Philip Wardlow 2015
“Be brave,” said Pooh to Piglet .
“But it’s not so easy to just be brave Pooh. There are so many scary things out there.”
“Oh, I know that friend, I know, so many things, but the world was meant to be a scary place for good reason,” Pooh said, smiling.
“Meant to be scary! That’s not very comforting Pooh, no not all,” Piglet whispered, frightened.
Pooh took Piglet’s hand, “Now, now don’t you worry, I am here and even when I’m not
here I am still here, ” said Pooh, touching Piglet’s chest over his heart.
“Oh!” Piglet exclaimed, surprised.
“I feel it to,” said Piglet
“Feel what?” Pooh asked, getting lost in thought as hungry Pooh bears sometimes do
“You there in my chest, it takes the place of that fear.” Piglet said.
“Well of course, why do you think I am so brave?” Pooh asked.
“Why Pooh, why?”
“Why? Because you are here, in here with me silly,” Pooh chuckled to himself.
“Oh,” Piglet said in wonder, smiling.
“My comfort from my fears will always be you, my bravery from the scary things in life
will be my friendship I found in you. That scary stuff brought us together and that’s
a good thing in the end.”
Pooh took Piglet’s hand and continued their walk down the dark forest path together.
By Philip Wardlow 2015
Her leaving was quite sudden. Her warmth will be missed, but my love that I had known for these many years turned out to be simply a bitch.
Now I sit in this house we once shared…its a big bold hold of a house, with cracks in the walls and crevices in the floor boards that lead to the in between spaces and nowhere.
I would have fixed them all, all those broken pieces left unattended over the years, but now what’s the use. There really is no call to repair something that only brought me to despair.
Never good enough. “A hole in the wall, ” was my only gift to her, she had ever said.
Then they began to come.
Out of all the those holes and cracks they seeped.
The Monsters liked to crawl from where they laid hidden and nip at me when I turned away. They are an annoyance, their pestering, their little pains. I have gotten scratched on many a occasion, a bite mark or two when ever deep asleep or not quite quick enough on my feet at night.
I felt them grinning there in the dark. I couldn’t see them in the cold dead spaces of the room as they hid but I knew there was an upturned lip or a crinkling of the eyes. I felt them there drinking me in.
I tried not to think about them as I drove to work, or as I sat at my desk, or went to the bathroom or ate my lunch in the breakroom. Sometimes, I even thought one or two had hidden in the trunk of my car and came to work with me. For I felt their presence always….
Its was oppressive.
It hadn’t always been like this. Once I had been free. No monster nipped, scratched or bit. For they didn’t exist in my home. Back then, there were no shadows to hide them. No cold spaces to give them comfort.
I am not sure how they found me. For I sure as hell didn’t let them in. I never asked them to come into my home. I hate them. All of them and they hate me.
There are so many, skinny ones, fat ones, ugly ones, ugly skinny ones, ugly fat ones, foul smelly ones, red eyed, green eyed, black eyed, no-eyed even. So, so many.
I keep them back. Even though there are many, they are not very brave, not at all. They may grin from the dark but they cower. They are afraid of me in some small way. I have yet to figure out why.
I know they don’t like my boot when I give one or two of them a good kick. Oh no, they don’t like the boot, not at all. Then I grin back at them and I sense them cowering more.
They are weak little Monsters and I have my big black steel toed boots to keep them at bay. I wear them all the time even in bed. Not in the shower though. That would be silly. I lock the bathroom door tight, remove my boots in a flourish, still laced but loose, enough to slip back on in a flash.
Naked, I jump in the shower, scrub scrub scrub, then out in a moment between a heartbeat of their indecision to possibly break down the door. I scramble for my towel, dry off and put on my clothes for the next day, slip into my boots and crawl into bed.
They are not as clever as me. Not by far you see.
Until I wake up and find my legs secured, and tied tightly to the bed .
Hmmm…my arms won’t move… they seem to be tied at my sides as well. I am all snug, snug, snug
They all are there, perched on my footboard. Waiting for me to wake up this whole time. They just stare at me, colored eyes shining and no eyes and lifeless and all.
Why do they wait?
Why don’t they rent, why don’t they tear and rip and claw?
A taloned appendage slips off my boots and with a clunk they both hit the bedroom floor.
Then the grins began. This time I can see them. Some toothless, or black and decayed as death,
some mouths with lolling tongues licking lips which drip, milk white saliva which issue a delicate hiss
upon my sheets.
They creep as one …like a low rolling wave they come. Up my body, over my feet, calves and knees…blood seeps, staining the white bed red.
Thighs are on fire as they continue to eat and eat…
All I can do is look on…pain, oh the overwhelming pain, drowns me as the wave of teeth and claws and malice munches me, a wide awake nightmare…of my Monsters finally taking their due.
Darkness falls complete as my eyes are plucked and eaten…how is it that I still live?
My mad mind is all that remains intact.
Until they reach my brains for their final snack.
My mind settles….then drifts…the pain is gone and I meander in a pool of blood red mist…
Images come, blurred and dim, a focus , a purpose coalesces ….
A man sleeps before me angry and mean, fear filled and hopeless as I sit looking through a lit crack into his room and give him a little grin.
by Philip Wardlow 2015
Warrior Woman ~
Ah yes, she be a beauty…
never a finer woman did grace the land.
From the tip of the toes to the top of that pretty little head.
Ah yes, she be beautiful indeed.
But you would be mistaken my good sir at trying to take advantage of one such as her
whether in body, mind or soul, as she would send all three of yours straight to hell for the
devil to collect his due.
Flaming red be the color of her hair, burning much like her heart that beats in a warm bosom that knows no peace, nor solace in the silence between the madness that is always sure to come after.
Every turn of her blade is poetry…every dance a death sentence to her partner.
Care to be clever, to compel her to be contrite, or woo her with wicked words
and she shall simply cut your tongue out.
Yet, she hopes, endures for that day, when a compliment to her nature crosses her well worn path, fights through all her misgivings, deep protected fears, and wrestles her to the ground, flings her blade from her hand and drives the darkness away.
by Philip Wardlow 2015
They are to me what the Eiffel tower
is to France.
An elegant woman
a romance to find on every street corner,
an adventure to be discovered and sought.
Decadence pervades its corners and its twists and turns
as the night encapsulates deeds not seen
during the day.
All eyes look to the tower, shining.
As do mine to the sheer fabric
that rides over your toes, ankles, up calves
over knees, and thighs….ah to perhaps stop there
if we dare…
Yet some go further still,
Over buttocks and hips
to complete the curved picture all nicely framed.
Seams sometimes ride along her back plane
perhaps Cuban, Havana, Point, or the Manhattan
to name a few.
Whatever the style, all lines travel to that
same heavenly place where man presumes
to travel to get a better view.
I am partial to black, stopping just at mid-thigh
secured snugly with a nice laced garter.
But whether nude, or white, cream colored,
or villainous red.
A stocking, is a stocking, is a stocking my friend.
Try but once to not look upon the tower
as your eyes draw near.
Sooner cut out your eyes to cause the
brain to go against what nature intended.
Her form is a beacon to every breath that you breathe
Her form is a work of art artfully adorned.
Take a look, drink her in.
Smile inwardly, fall from her heights
and know with her and those
stockings you never stood a chance
by Philip Wardlow 2015
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