Starting out


Starting out,
she was perfect,
snow white in complexion
with hands and legs of delicate
moving intent.
She had a curious furious mind,
flitting like a butterfly.
Her dreams took her everywhere
she wanted to go,
just to be.
Her smile was pure and outpouring
magical and inviting.
Her laugh was infectious and inclusive
Her empathy for a friend
heart rending and knife cutting
to the bone of the soul.

She was what beauty was always meant to be.

Then one day she heard the words and phrases
of the malintent
she’s not as pretty as some, or that
brain between yours ears
will never get you very far
And thoughts of fancy are
best left forgotten,
placed in a locked box
and dumped into the sea.

All her seeming sins were brought up from the depths
and laid bare by muted lovers never seeing their own
ill gotten gains.
Violent beating words, followed by choking pushing
declarations of malevolent “loving” motives
left her mind a fractured land
she was scared to travel,
day or night.

At the start of my first
pause at seeing her
really seeing her,
she was magic personified in flesh.
A bright pulsing blue
engulfing.
A rushing vibrant river come to claim
and I smiled inside
at the taking of me.

I saw in her the inception
of the girl and the woman that was always there
I saw all those things they could not
in her
And I told her so.
as she smiled
tears falling.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

My Heart


You get me good
when you draw
in close,
skin to skin,
simply because three inches
is just too far away
in bed

I’m yours, every piece,
when your eyes fill with
tears
As your fears
engulf,
thinking my presence
might fade or run.

My heart aches
in the best way at the love
I’ve stumbled into.
The catching up of my soul
into yours has
been one of the most singularly
beautiful moments
in my life.

My heart is yours to
keep safe,
To love,
To know.
and to
always call home.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Time, Tenacity and the Reason Why.


Moments flit
mounting to minutes,
then hours,
Days cycle
as the sun sets
and I’m left
bereft.
Wasted, are the stars
that twinkle.
Wasted, is the moon
illuminating.
No inspiration wrought.
Looking deep,
a hole hides
where once
a solid space
did reside.
Why the vacancy?
Oh, if only the
tick tock
of time could
halt, or
grind down to
near a trickle
then perhaps
my soul would have
the tenacity
to finally
awaken
once
more.

Philip Wardlow 2018

Finding her Hue


Hair a fire
cascades,
burning down to shoulders
bare.

Coy smile
seemingly innocent
but decadent
in desires running deep

I let her play the
victim to my victories
in her game
of dalliance.

Her mind is sharp,
keen is the blade
that is her tongue
which flicks
cutting through
my resolve.

Wickedly wonderful in her
need with a phrase or
two
at the sins she wishes
met upon her in bed

Angel eyes
wrapped in dark devil may care,
dare invitation.

And I dare…

Sweet pomegranate
Lips burst,
feeding my own, as my
lips stalk her body
slyly.

White alabaster
skin kissed with
the softness
of an innocent
doe, ache for my caress.

Voluptuous, sumptuous
hips play a rhythm
as my hands roam
to and fro.
Her beneath me
as I have now slipped
within.

And her world falls
away to that
secret place
only she knows

But I have a hint
of where she
goes.
In the way she curls
her toes.
When I cause
her world to flip
and transpose
to explode
in a vibrant
violent
calming
blue
fading
fading
dissolving
gradually into
all the hues
that ever were
of the color
blue.

Philip Wardlow 2018

My Ardor is Up


A delicate vulnerability
resides in her thighs,
with a resolve for action
in the utmost that
I dare not deny.
She’s a damsel in distress
but the dangers
in herself
and I’m in her,
and her sights
to hopefully
take it all away.
I see through everything
she once hid
Naked in body, now
naked in mind,
unmaking the made
up mess wrought,
undressing
a form long sought
hard by my hand,
addressing all
the numerous afflictions
unhealed
kissing each away,
bit by slow bit
I lay within
eye to eye
arousal acute
and my ardor
still
on the rise.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

When it comes upon me


There is nothing more
free than being
ME
There is nothing more to
life
than finding a
best friend in a
wife
There is nothing more than to have
those two things mingle
in an intense cacophony,
of a unique symphony.
And you just wade in
and swim.
Beautifully lost.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Carousel of Life


First,
You are originally packed,
innards carefully selected
for the long trip
Zipped up,
thrown into a trunk,
weighed and tagged
with declarations
nay or yea about the  status of your
being.
Then you are stuffed in
with the others,
in coldness,
while others may
sit in comfort, warm and secure.
You are very cold
so very cold
and its hard to breath
as you sit in an
unknown darkness
not knowing up from down
Abruptly,
ungentle hands throw
you about,
disoriented,
you tumble, fall and
are crushed,
to finally be dumped out into
the light
to traverse
around and around and around
walls flitting by, legs
and arms of non-distinct color
not wanted by you,
pick the
others
alongside you in
the endless revolving
journey.
Soon, you are the last one
on the turnstile
still circling and circling and circling
until you simply
stop
and wait for someone to pick you up
and you keep waiting
and Waiting
and Waiting
Waiting…

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Who Needs Sleep by Barenaked Ladies


Now I lay me down not to sleep
I just get tangled in the sheets
I swim in sweat three inches deep
I just lay back and claim defeat

Chapter read and lesson learned
I turned the lights off while she burned
So while she’s three hundred degrees
I throw the sheets off and I freeze

Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeats
The only thing that counts is
That I won’t sleep
I countdown, I look around

Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
Since the Second World War)

My hands are locked up tight in fists
My mind is racing filled with lists
Of things to do and things I’ve done
Another sleepless night’s begun

Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeats
The only thing that counts is
That I won’t sleep
I countdown, I look around

Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
Since the Second World War)

Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
Since the Second World War)

There’s so much joy in life,
So many pleasures all around
But the pleasure of insomnia
Is one I’ve never found
With all life has to offer,
There’s so much to be enjoyed
But the pleasures of insomnia
Are ones I can’t avoid

Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeats
The only thing that counts is
that I won’t sleep
I countdown, I look around

Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
since the Second World War)

Songwriters: Ed Robertson / Steven Page

See Me


We all at one time or two
sought the lingering approval
or watchful gaze of another,
be it from a fickle fan
adoring lover, or
sexual predator.
Everyone,
here or there
has drawn at the well of vanity
or emotional depravity.
Their mental cavities
within the mind
grinding away the days
in wanting to be seen,
be heard
be noticed
be exalted
a  desperate grab
at the grandiose
a fetish of an ultimately apathetic
world
which will simply move on
to the next shiny bauble
when it comes by
Flying
bye
bye
bye
as you whisper
“See me”

by Philip Wardlow 2018

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