Landscapes of You
As I rise at dawn and look out upon this landscape
It’s got nothing on you babe.
The mountains can’t touch your heights which I climb
In the morning light and the fertile valley
below is where I’ll go to set up my campfire
and have a weeny roast every night.
Let me fall down hard against your snowy soft skin and make
snow angels with my tongue as I go deep in.
The rivers and streams that meander around me can’t
get any wetter than your bed as I lie at your shore .
Maybe I’ll take a swim in your deep lake and paddle
down to the waterfall where I hear it’s a gusher.
The pinks and reds that I bring out in your cheeks and lips
as you gyrate those hips below stir the four winds
to blow me away off this wind swept peak of yours
that I cling to with barely a fingertip.
I’ve packed lots of rations, trail mix, water and
peanut butter cups to keep my energy up.
My hike is not over by far, because I’ve got many trails to cover.
I can’t leave any one spot untouched or ignored,
The beauty of this mysterious place I call
paradise must be explored.
The smell of clover and dandelions pervade my senses
as I drink your sweet scent in.
The nearness of you is nature in its most erotic essence
bottled in the pores of
By Philip Wardlow 2012
Meet Kava Writers Collective!
Approximately a year ago I joined a writing group in my local area to better hone my skills as a writer and to feel not so alone in my desperation to want to be a writer….misery loves company…write? (I mean right?)
I kid actually…I think we all have potential in our own separate goals to want to be writers. Actually the founding member of the group, who goes by the name of Susie, who we all hail as the Supreme Dictator (I mean Leader) of the group was published and is soon to be published again in March I believe on her second book and who is already hard at work on her third. She’s a powerhouse of wordum and knows her stuff…she’s definitely got the chops.
The group consists of nine people – of course people – what did you think they were? Magical unicorns. Shh….one actually could be….don’t tell him I said so though…we’re not to supposed to let on like we know.
Anyways, we meet every first and third Sunday of the month – weather permitting of course…dammit you foul beast called snow that seeks to keep me from my destiny!
The group consists of five men and four women. It’s a pretty balanced group of individuals in the genre that they write to and in the way they may critique something you have written. I love their feedback and think of them as invaluable coaches in editing and fixing what I can’t see that’s wrong sometimes with my writing.
In the last year, I feel I have grown under there honest feedback and response to my work. Besides that, they have inspired me to keep going at times when I get discouraged with setbacks that may happen in my own writing .
Their energy in their own work makes me want to push through, get the work done and be proud of a product that I can call my own.
How about you guys? Any of my followers or fellow bloggers belong to any writing groups or attend any workshops? If so, what do you get out of it?
She walks on silent
tip toe to my room
Enters without knocking.
and says nothing as she crawls
in with me beneath the covers.
She is naked and warm
as she lays alongside me.
I embrace her,
arm around her shoulders,
her head nestled in my neck.
One of her naked legs lies
between my own.
Her soft cheek upon my chest
as her hand wraps my waist.
This is all she wants this night.
Nothing more. Skin to skin
Sharing the same warmth.
I hold her hand in mine
and we simply fall asleep.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
It’s Complicated –
Sink or swim.
Hundred pound of feathers,
or a hundred pounds of lead?
Doggy paddle or breast stroke?
Doesn’t fucking matter, she says
My daddies got a motor boat.
I just smile and flick my ashes
in her drink,
and keep on walking.
You see it’s complicated,
this you and me thing.
My chemistry is mangled compared to
yours and there is no untangling
such a goddam chore
of a life you take
You don’t see.
For me, it’s complicated,
like chess, or Risk
It’s far from fucking checkers
A game, is a game, is a game
and it could be fun,
This you and me.
For every game big or small
has got its rules but sadly
you never learned to read.
By Philip Wardlow 2014
Here is the final main character , Omar, from my first novel called the Fourth World that I am currently working on for completion early this year which I aim to submit to various publishers.
I am trying not to give away too much story-wise but at the same time I want to get you guys interested and me revved up for what’s to come . Besides, it also helps me focus better in the direction I wish to take them all in as far as their own personal character development. I want them to grow and you grow with them eventually as the pages turn so you feel your in each of their shoes as they get thrown into whatever pit of despair, dark forest, or forgotten world they may find themselves.
Enjoy the last installment in my third excerpt form the novel. More will come…but I just gotta write it first…:)
Chapter 3 – Great Expectations
“Omar! Ahora, mijo…get your butt downstairs, it’s time to eat.” Omar’s mother yelled at him from downstairs from somewhere probably near the kitchen.
“Coming!” Omar kept punching the buttons on the game controller staring ahead at the television in his bedroom. More minutes past.
“Omar! Muévete!” His father yelled at him from the hallway almost to his room.
Omar threw down the controller (but not before pausing it), jumped up, and turned off the television like a well practiced professional who had done it a thousand times.
His father came in his room not looking pleased just as Omar stood up from laying on the bed.
“I thought we told you no games for two weeks. Do we have to take it all out and store it at your grandmother’s house thirty miles away?” his father’s hulking frame intentionally barred the only way out of his room.
Omar didn’t look at his father as he stood waiting to leave.
“No.” Omar said simply.
“Well if we catch you playing it again, that’s what going to happen. You’re supposed to be doing your homework until they let you back. How’s that cut doing anyways.” Omar father reached a hand out as if to touch the stitches on the side of Omar’s head.”
Omar reflexively moved away from his father’s touch.
“Fine.” Omar said, still not looking at his father.
“He got you good didn’t he. I can’t blame him from for it. Three on one. I’m not gonna ride you anymore about it, but I don’t want you thinking your going back to school to find an excuse to bump into him by accident. You stay as far as you can from him. Got me mijo?” Omar’s father walked a little closer to him to make sure he got the point.
“Look at me Omar, do we understand each other.”
It took everything he had to look his father in the face.
“I understand.” Tears started to brim in his eyes and he quickly looked down.
“You’ve got this year, and then two more until you graduate. We just want you to stay clean until then. You’ll be the first mijo. The first one in the family to EVER graduate. Can you manage that. Don’t let your mother down. Your a smart kid so start acting like it.”
“Yes.” Omar simply said.
“Boys! Time to eat!” Omar’s mother yelled again from downstairs.
Omar’s father moved from barring the door to his room and Omar practically ran.
“So, you in Omar? We thought we’d let him get comfortable for a week or two and let him think he’s safe. Then we’ll get him away from the school. You get first dibs since he busted you up side the head.” Omar heard Neil giggling like a little girl in the background of Jake’s phone. He could imagine Jake smiling his smile that all the girl’s liked so well on him. He could hear it in his voice over the phone.
“Yeah, I’m in, paybacks are paybacks right?” Omar said, talking quietly up in his room, knowing if he got caught making a personal call on his cell his father would take it and everything else way in his room.
“That’s right baby now you’re talking. Time to open up a can of some whoop ass on the freak. Smart ass will remember this lesson for a long time to come.” Jake said laughing along with Neil.
“Yeah boi!” Neil yelled through the phone.
“Okay man, I’ll let you go, don’t want you in trouble with your Pops. We’ll pick your ass up on tomorrow for school. Don’t forget to wear your special helmet. I’m just fucking with you man. The exile will soon be over. The posse is back in town.” Jake said.
“Fuck you man and go posse. I’m out man” Omar said, almost smiling but with no real strength behind the words. Omar hung up his phone.
Grabbing a comic book from his nightstand, he flopped down on his bed, laid on his stomach, and started to read. He idly touched the stitches on the side of his forehead right above his temple, rubbing the length of it with his thumb. The feeling of it started to needle him. It was going to leave a scar, he just knew it. Then all over again the anger swelled up inside of him at what had happened that day. Stupid freak, why couldn’t he just shut the hell up for once.
He was glad the freak wasn’t gonna be there tomorrow. He didn’t know if he’d have the strength not to try something. Omar threw the comic book down on his bedroom floor; something he would have never done a year ago. Back then he had treated them like gold, putting each in their own plastic bag, taping them closed and storing each in a box he kept in his closet after finishing them. Now they lay strewn everywhere throughout his bedroom. He’s not sure why he even still bought them anymore. He knew soon he would stop buying them all together, one day.
He looked at the clock and saw it was almost eleven. I guess it’s time, he thought.
Omar often like to stay awake as long as he could. He liked lying in bed and thinking of nothing and losing himself in the nothing. That way the next day would take longer to arrive. Because tomorrow there was always something, with his mom, his father, his friends, school. He like being trapped between moments, to just be alone between tomorrow and today.
Omar’s head hit the pillow as he tried to fight the sleep that he knew was coming. A sleep that sped him through dreams he never remembered, no consolation for even that for closing his eyes. The light would always find its way back to him, to peek and pry it’s way in through the blinds of his bedroom and peel back another day which he would learn to love reluctantly and then do it all over again the next.
He never noticed his mother as she quietly entered his room and covered him with a blanket, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and turned off his lamp…..
I promised I would showcase another main character in my upcoming first Fantasy Novel I am currently working on, called the – “The Fourth World“.
This character’s name is Calvin. He will actually be the first character to be introduced in my Novel in the first two chapters. I must stress that he is not THEE character…there is no THEE character. He is no Harry Potter, he is no Bilbo Baggins or Frodo, the world will not soley rest on his shoulders but it will rest.
You met Ivy last week. Now meet Calvin…and remember all these characters and the story itself are a work in a progress, to be changed as the winds change in their mysterious paths around the Earth. Next week, I will introduce you to another character, Omar, to wrap up my main characters intros.
Calvin had always believed in magic. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. They could doubt all they wanted. There was a hidden world which we could not see sitting right in front of our faces, most everyone was too busy, too blind, or too stupid to see it. Calvin saw it in the trees as the distant winds kissed the leaves which flew through it’s branches. He spied it dancing in the fire amidst the embers at night; little tiny sprites hopping from log to log amidst the flames playing a game of tag. He smelled it in a wild rose growing in a crowded field of jostling weeds flinging its pheromones to attract the butterflies to alight upon its silken petals. He heard it in the babbling brook as the water played upon the rocks behind his home whispering to the frogs as it traveled on downriver. He felt it in the rough stone he caressed in the palm of his hand; an ancient power from ages past unearthed from the deep bowels of the earth from the crumblings of a mighty stone titan long dead. It was everywhere if you would only choose to see. The magic spoke to him because he chose to listen and he almost understood what it is saying…
Chapter 1 – Reality Sets In
Calvin tasted the blood that trickled down to his upper lip which flowed from his nose. It had a sweet metallic taste. He liked the taste of his own blood. Calvin wasn’t a weird person don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t not into to that kind of stuff. He just liked to sometimes pretend that he was Conan the Barbarian backed up against a wall, and that he was fighting an angry horde of ghoulish creatures hell bent on gutting him like a fish and eating his entrails as he watched. With sword in hand he would hack and slash, limbs would fly. He would be scratched all to hell and bleeding from a dozen different wounds and smiling insanely because this could be his last day alive so why not go out smiling like a true warrior would upon meeting his death well met in battle. Yeah, he liked to have his mind go to places like that rather than be anywhere than where he was right now.
“Hold him down dammit he’s a squirmer! Fucking idiot, you see what he did to Omar? He’s crazy man!” Omar had it coming, Calvin told myself as he lay on the ground struggling under two other boys who each probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds. They wouldn’t have caught him if one of the bystanders hadn’t tripped him while he was trying to get away. Trying to get away, besides talk bullshit, that’s all he ever did, until now.
Calvin was not a violent person, but he would admit, it had felt pretty good to see the plastic lunch tray connect solidly against the side of Omar’s head and watch him go down in a daze, not to mention the stunned looks of his buddies who were now holding him down who had put Omar up to flipping his lunch tray to the ground as he had walked on by. It was classic man, just classic.
“What the hell are you smiling about you sick bastard. I am so gonna end you, just wait. I always knew you were a weird little fucker. That’s why you don’t have any friends.”
Aah, Jake the jerk off, as Calvin liked to call him, a man, or boy better yet, of not many words. He guessed Jake’s dad couldn’t buy him a vocabulary to stuff inside that brain of his. His dad was more the type that likely bought him a good weight set and a big box of protein bars cuz he was crushing the hell out of Calvin’s left shoulder with his knees as he lay there on the ground.
“Get the fuck off me!” he yelled at them while his face was being pressed firmly into the dirt. He might as well have been yelling at the moon for all the good it did. He was a punching bag to them. A distraction out of there boring day of the life they called school. He provided a service to them he guessed. They needed a reason to feel special while they were here. Everyone wanted to feel special.
“Hey watch this Neil.” Jake said to the other kid that was holding Calvin. It was amazing, but Neil was actually more stupid than Jake was. The Smithsonian would have been really pleased to know a Neanderthal was still walking the earth. Neil had a prominent forehead, a squashed face which held a perpetually dull look, and knuckles that dragged the ground as he walked almost upright. He would have look great stuffed and mounted. It was a wonder he could tie his own shoes. Oh wait, was that Velcro for laces instead? Calvin had a pretty good view at Neil’s feet at this particular time so he had a plenty of time to check them out.
“Whut?” Said Neil responding dumbly to him as Jake bent down close to Calvin’s ear. Then he heard it, the long drawing in sound of phlegm back into the throat.
It landed with a splat on the top of his forehead and traveled like a river down into his right eye blinding him and causing him to lose it entirely. Calvin thrashed and heaved and went into what he liked to call his insane berserker barbarian rage. This had little effect, but it did cause Jake to fall off from kneeling on Calvin’s back which eased some of the pain he had been feeling. He would take what he could get.
Calvin realized in that instance, that the audiences that come to fighting events come to watch entirely for selfish reasons. It is not to support the fighter; they want something out of it for all the money they plunked down. Apparently being stuck at school was the payment and he was the entertainment and distraction for most of them this day. They just stood around watching his shame to unfold. His pain in some sick way, was a voluntary or involuntary morbid thrill you got when watching a horror movie unfold knowing you feel bad for the victim, but not really because but what can you do? They convinced themselves they were just a spectator to it all, that they were allowed to be insulated from it, please don’t ask for me to lend a hand they say, you must be crazy. Calvin was just another pathetic soap opera to be talked about between their friends at lunch hour, or in a text message or online, to be kept at a distance, and to not bog their day down. It was the status quo around here for most of them.
Their hand was on the dimmer switch that controlled the light of Calvin’s life into theirs and they could choose to let it in however much they thought they could take. Right now all those hands on all those switches were set to full off. They didn’t want to see him…just what was done to him. Calvin in that moment, hated them more than the ones who picked on him on a daily basis.
“Break it up! Break it up!” The loud high screeching of a woman’s voice cut through the chaos that was his crazed mind and through the crowd of onlookers as well. Mrs. Kitchen, a teacher and woman of enormous proportions waddled over her way through the ring of kids to see what had caught all their attention. He heard her gasp out aloud so theatrically when she came upon the scene that Calvin almost laughed out loud.
Jake and Neil quickly let him go to show her they weren’t just trying to shove his head into the dirt and make him eat it. He saw the crowd starting to disperse around him, the bloodshed was over; be about your way miscreants.
Calvin slowly got up from the ground and wiped the spit and grass clippings from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on? I found Omar back there picking himself off the ground and now I find Calvin doing pretty the same thing over here. What’s going on?” Her voice went to a higher octave on the shrill level factor if that was possible and she put her hands on her very wide hips, tapping her foot impatiently expecting an answer. Yep, she was your typical stereotype, they do exist.
“He hit Omar for no reason.” Neil said pointing at Calvin like he was fingering some criminal in a police line up. Jake just kept quiet.
“Is this true Calvin?” She asked.
“Yes and no,” Calvin said, “Yes, I hit him, but I wouldn’t say it was for no reason. He had it coming, they like to provoke me.” and be damned with the consequences, Calvin was done caring anymore.
“Let’s see what Mr. Granderson has to say about all this. Let’s go.” She marched them all into the schools office area where they sat and waited while all the parents were called…..
A fellow blogger, follower and most importantly writer like myself, Jodie Llewellyn posed the following questions below on her blog….she’s got a great blog by the way…go check it right out HERE if you so choose. I follow her and I think you should as well.
Go check out her responses and her other followers…and perhaps share your own thoughts there or here also. I hope Jodi forgives me for stealing her stuff…but she’s got nice…stuff..:)..btw did anyone ever tell you have too many L’s in your name…
Below are my responses to her questions:
1. What are your grand ambitions as a writer? Grand ambitions..HA..To have one of my Novels be one of the FIRST books sitting on an astronaut’s bookshelf on the first settlement on Mars
2. Is there a type of character you always tend to write about? A misunderstood person who overcomes adversity and ends up the hero (the underdog of course)
3. How do you really know if you have talent or if you’re just wasting your time? By comparing myself to others tells me I have talent…I just need more discipline dammit…:)
4. What is your least favourite part about writing? Having the courage to sit down and write that first sentence.
5. If you could escape into just one book —like literally go INSIDE that book— which one would you choose? Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time Series