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My Pillow – A Poem

My Pillow ~

A heavy heart leads to heavy eyes

often in a night with no end.

The pillow knows me

well this past year.

Tears accumulated in its

cotton fabric could

tell many a tale.

to any stranger who

would care to ask.

But my pillow knows

how to keep secrets

to my detriment it seems.

From loneliness,

To envy, from fears to

lies, unknown desires, on to

shame, and honor


I am but me,

with a ready smile

and an open heart.

and a soul

frustrated at its


Learning, seeking

self, as I do not

trust that seeking

in its self.

For I lie to me.

Wonderful me

I lie to me.

Where do you go wish to go?

And what road do you

want to take to get you there?

My eyes finally close.

and only my pillow

knows those

answers I pose

to myself.

By Philip Wardl0w 2015Ostrcichpillow

Monkey Girl

A thousand times a thousand,
I could tell her she’s beautiful
but her hands are pressedlarge_girl-monkey
against her ears,
as she hums
a silly tune.
I could smile her way
with sweet attention
eyes falling all across her
body in every which direction.
She’s blind to me,
as her hands are held tight
against eyes already veiled.
Tell me you feel something
Anything…a single thought
a broken dream…a wish unfulfilled
a desire drowned.
But you just grimace me a smile
and casually place your hands
over those luscious lips
that have never truly been kissed.
Oh, my little Monkey Girl

by Philip Wardlow 2015

Her Body –


Her Body

I noticed her body after her beguiling faced walked in.

It spoke and sang to me with a swaying of heavy hip action.

If only I could dial back my desire then the stars would align,

but the god given geometry wrapping around that frame

would make a chaste man wonder why he went insane

as he saw curves creating arcs upon arcs

intertwining to manifest into shapes

only nature could conceive.

In the lovely female form

there’s a weakness

in me because as she

walks across the room

I continue to gaze while my

rapture increases knowing her body is

hidden beneath thin layers that only deepen

the mystery of a softness that is surely there.

What if I were to simply let my hands wonder

where they wish to go, to peek lightly with

fingertips in a caress down her naked back

with all intent to travel on if my bold

desires permitted such an act.

I know my place, but she

will learn my charms,

she will see my face,

and look deep into

my eyes and

wonder if

tonight I

am her


By Philip Wardlow



Burn – A poem

Let me learn you.
Let me take residence
in your mind
for the moment
and kick up my feet
next to the fireplace
inside of you.
Let me feed that fire,
stoke it…shift it,
sustain it as I warm myself.
What are the limits
you will climb to?
Will you burn the house down
to get to me?
Will you eat and eat like
a fire does.
Consuming everything
wanting more and more?
Go ahead.
For I will burn with you.
From deep red, to a pale yellow
to bright orange,
dancing and blinding
in the night.
I will burn with you
leaving nothing left
but ashes in the
by Philip Wardlow 2015 

Sexing you up on Friday the 13th – A poem



Sexing you up on Friday the 13th~



Hey you,

in those vicious black heels,

What kind of luck do I need to get them

off you, or pressed into me?

I see you in the broken mirror

bent over with all your

loveliness revealed.

What mojo are you channeling today?

What’s in that juju bag you  are rattling

my way?

Black things, hidden things, shadowed

intentions of import,

all centered on the

sex enshrouded you.

It calls like a black cat down

the alley of discontent.

How lucky do I have to be?

Or unlucky, depending

on what lurks behind

those eyes.

I’m stepping on cracks, &  going under

ladders trying to get you

in bed.

I’m daring like that,

besides you have to believe

in all that mumbo jumbo

for it to have power

over you,

and I’ve never been one

to think a simple number

ever held sway over me

regarding you.

Superstitious or not.



by Philip Wardlow 2015

The Result – A poem

The Result~
What’s the result of it all,
these games we play
these little lies
we tell
to any and all
and ourselves
in the day.
The desires
we want
and the ones we
don’t want forced
upon us.
What’s the result of it all?
A loneliness that doesn’t have
to be.
An incompleteness swathed
in guilt.
Is it best not to think on it?
Go about your day
boy or girl.
You think too much.
Positive thoughts
take them and run
I have always
been too melancholy
and a funny fool.
in one.
Guess that’s my
by Philip Wardlow 2015

Veterans Days – Give Thanks


Fortis fortuna adiuvat (Fortune Favors the Bold)

Fortis fortuna adiuvat ~


Goddess of Luck

You shall see me, for I have not

always shone brightly in your eyes.

Perhaps the clouds have hidden my form

beneath your lofty perch..

but I shall give you no more reason to doubtGoddessofLuck

or ignore.

See me!

No longer in shadow shall I be.

See the sun? Ha! It shall pale in comparison.

I shall not be cast aside.

Even if your eyes

were torn out, you will see.

I will attain a greatness to rival even your own.

Oh Lady Luck!

You, who never knew despair,

You, who never touched feet to human ground


What do you know of struggle?

What do you know, to call yourself

my judge and artiber of all that

is me.

You know nothing

when I show you were always wrong

about me.

You will know nothing.


by Philip Wardlow 2015















You can Wish





You can Wish

and Bitch

and Whine

and Moan

But that mountain ain’t gonna

give you a helping hand

to climb.

So you slipped?

That’s gravity pulling you down.

You see, the Earth is bigger than you or me

and it’s going to do that.

If you have muscles wrapped

around that bone

then pull yourself


Call me an asshole.

Go ahead. I’ve called myself

that enough for two lifetimes.

But I’m learning that life

respects grit, and getting

back in the game,

no matter how many times

you slip.

In the end,

she still may be  a bitch.

But it’s not your call

to wonder and wait

at your fate.

Yours is to simply do



by Philip Wardlow 2015

The Zombie and the Saint


Art by Apterus

The Zombie and the Saint~



She walked in a disjointed gait

down a dark desolate street

thigh highs taunt and tight

on a withered frame

hollow and desiccated.

Held together by a tight black

skirt, and laced corset.

I approached to ask  for a light.

Her dispassionate gaze

crawled over me,  a hunger

was there, undefined.

Dull, Defective, Defunct

I shrugged, and moved on.

A cold hand clutched

vice like,

as claws dug

into me, desperately.

I looked to her eyes

and found a light

Bright embers burning


And took her home

Or did

she take me?

I will never know.

But should I really care?

For she saved me.

She was my Saint.



by Philip Wardlow 2015






















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