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Just me – A poem


 

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Just Me-

 

I dibble and I dabble

leap like a Lemur and laze around like a Lion…

I run like a fox and find my friends in the dark forest .

The shadows wrap around me and I call them home…

my passions run deep down many avenues you wouldn’t care to drive I’m sure..

I will smile as you smile…laugh as you laugh…

life is meant to be spent…

not jingled and jangled in the pocket all day long.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2014

Being Human – A Poem


Being Human-

 

I am confused but not confused

I have clarity

In all things

But I am muddled

In all things big

That really

Matter

And what matters?

Really?

You say THAT matters

He says THIS matters.

She says I matter.

We say WE matter.

When no one does

And everyone should.

Ping…..PONG!

Bounce…Bounce….Bounce

Mr. Ball.

And get struck hard with the paddle

Back to the other side

WHAT?

YOU cannot hide

Because that paddles a coming

SMACK!

So….Just…Well…Um…Okay.

That about sums

us up.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2014LettingGoFreeFall

My Beautiful Dead Girl – A Poem


Philip Wardlow:

An oldie but a goodie and appropriate for October…:)

Originally posted on Ain't no rest for the wicked - Philip Wardlow:

Haunted eyes

wrapped in misery.

You are already dead,

so why should you feel pain?

 

Pain is your purgatory

little girl, a grand gift

from scales that can never

be balanced in your favor.

 

Haunted eyes they may be,

but I see defiance, strength,

lingering deep, always

ready to rise to the surface.

 

Never did death look so beautiful

A perfection in form chiseled

from stone beaten up and torn

down by the elements.

 

You wear your cloak well,

dark and tear stained, wrapped

tight around a body that

still flies free.

 

You are my beautiful dead girl.

with cold hands clenching tight around

a warm heart

that beats just for you.

by Philip Wardlow

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October – A poem


October - October

The winds which whip

have a different flavor.

A taste, sweet

and fervent as a

caramel apple when

first bitten into.

The night shrouds more

treasures, unspoken

in shadows but implied

deep in your soul familiar

with such darkness.

Colors abound and break and burst,

escaping their confines of

staleness and tepid tones.

Never has this world been more alive,

more robust,

more rambling,

and shambling to and fro.

Unbounded and limitless

in scope and measure.

This time is the great mystery

come to call.

To hold magic in your hands

if only for the briefest instant

Until it finally

fades

away.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2014

The Well – short story Prompt


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.

Well1

The Well

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.

“Yes, momma.”

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 behind the well and towered above, swaying in the breeze. My own  shadow  was swallowed by theirs 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 – A Poem


Patipat Asavasena

 

 

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

loss already

My mind, my spirit, my heart

has already dimmed.

I want it back.

I have learned my lesson.

I promise.

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

 

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RIP – Robin Williams


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Why I have trouble writing – GIF


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Come with Me – A poem


Ромашковое поле

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

World Ranger Day 2014


Originally posted on Fight for Rhinos:

rhino with ranger

Photo: Lewa Wildlife Conservancy

Where would our rhinos, elephants, tigers, gorillas, and other animals be without rangers?

KWS rangers line up

Photo: KWS

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.

ranger with gorilla

Photo: Paul Moore/AFP

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.

I want to be a ranger

Photo: unknown

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:

SUPPORT RHINOS & RANGERS

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