Tik Tock, Tik Tock

I have unknown words to say, emotions to discover, feelings to feel, truths to unfold and told as my time winds down at year’s end.

But Truth be told, I am tired, so very tired.

Tired since the day I was born into this world, with little tragedies adding up across the ages into me and my beleaguered soul.

This soul which creeps in me, not wanting to come out anymore, it stays slunk and shrunk for its tired of trying to be seen by others without eyes.

Day in, Day out, wrong decisions are made, that cannot be made unmade, by everyone and me, putting others in a box of their own creation clearly defined with no quarter to give but judgements, stamped, signed, sealed and filed away deep into memory, never to leave and easily indexed, so to pull from to show me my darkest deeds done.

Opinions are locked in place and I do not have the key and I am terrible at picking any locks to free me from the spite of life that I have found myself in this hour.

So Tik Tok, Tik Tok, yet goes the clock on my soul as delightful desolation sets in upon me.

I only hold out hope my soul does not die alone during the last seconds of life once pulled fully.

by Philip Wardlow November,2026

Inquiring Minds

Karma Aint it a Bitch?

September 22, 2026 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Love lost

July 31, 2026 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

The English poet, Alfred, Lord Tennyson once wrote, “Tis better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.”

I tried twenty-eight years with the first, and it hurt, oh it fucking hurt when it ended, apparently it hurt her more, I was confidently told by her, but I doubt that, I seriously doubt that, but pain shouldn’t be a competition, so I will let that thought go.

I have lost so much in my life, family, friends, security, careers, contentment, loves, homes, animals and hope itself, but I bounce back well you see, because I have to,

Right…right?

Cue the melancholy music in the background.

Did Tennyson think memories of former loves would console and comfort, or cajole one to action to still wanting a life missed that is now lost?

I was not lost yet then. Lightning did strike and I captured it in a bottle and watched it dance for me and she was beautiful…

For I found a new love, a gem, magically so, from the outset, with a twirl and a twinkle, a kiss and much romance, it felt as if the universe pushed her into my arms and said, “Here she is, she’s all yours, don’t fuck it up son.”

Many a song and poem eloquently talk of second chances, new adventures, new wonders, new laughter, fresh embraces, her hand in mind and always on my mind, a magnet that aligned with mine and her own to me.

Fucking wonderful and rich, earthmoving and damn beautiful like a hundred sunsets bursting from a horizon upon waking from a fevered nightmare of loneliness and despair.

That was me…

But I feel I am a bad egg morally, underserving of any accolades of bravery and courage and fortitude, and discipline. Knowing my Father’s history a little, and my father’s father even less, along with my brothers, I feel a small curse has percolated into my blood to always be fated a fateful outcome no matter the decisions made.

Such praise has been heaped upon me in my growing as a child into manhood, but I am afraid the bar was always beguiled in other’s eyes as compared to others who were woefully low, so how could anyone but not think I was an angel in all things with no competition when the devil was racing in first place in front of me.

How indeed, as you can see I don’t think too much of the me that is me.

Therein lies the curse.

I have always felt apart, alone from the very start of me, like a firefly in the dark amongst a myriad of other flickering lights with none answering back.

It only took a few looks of disdain, a word or two of disgust and accusation whether deserved or not to send me to spiral into a nothingness which has been hard to pull myself from.

I don’t do well when I am suddenly the villain and the surrounding actor’s lines are designed to un-wide me, and malign me to a mere trope and cliche of malice and mayhem as they take nothing into themselves, all seemingly seem innocent since the day they were born.

I did love, and I lost, and then I did love again Lord Tennyson…but what happens when you lose it all over again?

by Philip Wardlow November 10th, 2026

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Throwing shade at the Inquisition

May 27, 2026 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

You were the judge, the hangman and the noose, the dunking tank, the cold cold water drowning, the fire burning, blistering and bubbling as I was tied too tight to a stout wooden pole of your cutting, and even then, you brought out the red hot poker to blind mine eyes, and a dull knife to remove a tongue lest I challenge you too much with a stare and a word.

I thought the ancient Popes had packed their robes up long ago never to be seen, along with their minions of shallow hates and ignorant fears done at your bidding, oh resurrected inquisitor visiting me in the dead of night, my fate already seems sealed no matter the answers I give to each question intoned darkly at me.

You poor poor soul, how I plea for you to be rid of your own righteous indignities that have darkened your soul that won’t let you truly feel free.
But you remain to just be, ever highly posted in your heaven on high

As I slink out the backdoor with a tip of my hat, a sly grin, and a wave goodbye knowing lady luck was on my side to have never let me lay down in bed by your side.

By Philip Wardlow May 27th 2026

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Skull

April 16, 2026 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

I found a dead eyed human skull on the beach today that the tide revealed to me. I took it home because it told me to, and I swore it gave me a mischievous little grin. Now it sits by my bedside, and on the morrow I fear I will awaken a different man.

by Philip Wardlow ~

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

When Men look Within

January 12, 2026 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

Hubris drove me, while callused hardened hands climbed up a mountain of only half of my design but ownership shall always be all mine, and mine alone for all time , for my mind is my own, and my feet followed the thoughts of many paths wrought with failings heaped upon failings echoing far back from time primordial.

As well did my tongue did wag, and my mouth did speak, with a smile did I ride the waves of pride, to seek rougish behaviors most unseemly with nary a thought to love’s insensitivities and slights, thinking I owned the world with but my charms and that it was always enough to just give a smile to wash the bile off me.

I once thought I had a conscience, until I tested it and found out I did not,

Not truly, until my world flew apart, over, an over, an over, an over, for it seemed the wanting of discipline, honor, and good behaviour didn’t go hand in hand when the soul of a man is weak, in trying to seek solace in a life he feels he deserves.

Oh pride, oh pride, oh pride! How does it divide us in twain!

I seek an esteem that may just be a dream, a dream that dwells deep within me,

Yet I still seek it. I still seek it

For my concsience calls to me from a great depth and I call to it, ever calling, and it seems to be rising, rising to meet me.

One day, one day it shall.

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

He’ll be Okay

July 16, 2025 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

He’s got everything
that guy
Girls say he looks fine, fine, fine
They just can’t wait to get in line
just to say hi

So why, why oh why, does the world spin in the opposite direction
he’s facing, always pulling him back
to the starting line in his mind.

He’s got a job all would envy, a
loving cat that greets him when he gets back, Home

Where he’s all alone and the only warm spot in bed is where his cat lays at.

But he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay
Cuz everybody thinks so, cuz everybody always did.

He’ll give you a smile, tell you a joke, and give you a wink all the while there is something simmering down deep inside.

That even he cant seem to know he needs to seek to try and fix,
Probably cuz the world always needing a nudge and a fix, a flip of the switch, set to puree, to smooth out all the shitty parts.

Ah, but he’s a work of art, that body, that mind, that killer cute smile and he’s so nice

He’ll be okay, just you see, he’ll be okay…

By Philip Wardlow July 17th, 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Far Flung

July 2, 2025 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

Hiker silhouette stands on the hill on and looks on the milky way galaxy. Dark starry night

Universe, far fling me like a smooth flat stone over a calm lake.

Take me within your palm and fingers and cast me side armed on a warm sunny summer’s day to go skipping on that lake.

I want to feel the satisfaction in denying gravity as I fly across the lake surface with an energy not of my own, like being strapped into a rocket breaking the confines of Earth’s mighty pull.

I want to know this freedom, this kinetic intensity, this uncontrolled ride into oblivion, this escape in a moment away from it all.

To forget the pull, and the weight of me.

Instill me with velocity, let me breath in the spirit of Hermes and let me run and skip along the edges of the space and time to venture into a wonderous desolation.

By Philip Wardlow July 1st, 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Moon

June 30, 2025 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

Mr. Moon ~

 

Why oh why Mr. Moon do you walk

hands in pockets, eyes downcast,

as the stars sit in there satin blue sheet,

surrounding?

Don’t you know it’s all for you?

No eyes but yours can see

all that the sky can give.

Feel blessed in this.

Earthly trappings are not the

core of your constance.

Nor the phases you

endure in your

soul’s search

for permanence.

Even in shadow,

yet you are still whole.

Even though no others

may see.

You will always be whole.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Sad Magician

June 27, 2025 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

What does a magician know of magic when it’s all a lie from beginning to end?

Does he think he does real magic? Or is he caught up in his own illusion, with his cape, top hat, and sleek black slacks, giving the audience a dark conspiratorial grin, as if he had access to some great mystery others do not?

Perhaps he is. Caught up.

Maybe he simply enjoys the wide eyes, the admiration, the controlling of outcomes, the smiles, the laughter, the sense of being one with the wonder in someone else’s eyes that are not his own.

For when he goes home, and removes his costume, he is alone.

There are no lights following him across the stage to his next trick, no applause, no adoration, no wonder, for him to hold onto.

Just him.

And that sadly that has never been enough for him or anyone for too long.

So he takes a bow
knowing he will eventually return.

And that has to be enough.

For the show must always go on, and he has a part to play for as long as the magic that still lingers within him stays.

By Philip Wardlow June, 2025

Ain't no rest for the Wicked – Philip Wardlow – The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets..

Uncanny Thing a Dream

My Tired Soul

Karma Aint it a Bitch?

Love lost

Throwing shade at the Inquisition

The Skull

When Men look Within

He’ll be Okay

Far Flung

The Moon

The Sad Magician

Don't let the mystery of you go unknown

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Don't let the mystery of you go unknown