Forces – A poem by Philip Wardlow


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Forces  –
The needle moves
ever so slightly
on the seismograph.
Tracing an outline on paper of a potential
with no timetable.
Tensions, Friction, and Pressures
are building,
As traces of you run through
the cracks and fissures of
my brain.
A low rumble not discernible by the naked ear emits
a pocket of trapped steam released from a
great depth.
Building, ever building.
Keep your distance,
it’s not safe to be so close.
to the summit.
For there is no telling when
I might explode.
By Philip Wardlow

Roadkill – Novella Ebook – 2day FREE Promotion Starts Today Saturday April 5th!!


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ROADKILL Amazon Free Offer 

If you are new to my website you may not have realized that I Epublished a book to Amazon that sells for $2.99,  called you guessed it, “Roadkill” , back in late 2012.

If you look to the right of this article,  you will see a direct link to that story on Amazon’s website. You can also click here or above.

Starting TODAY on Saturday , April 5th  through Sunday April 6th,  it will be available for FREE for anyone to download for the Kindle. (The time for when it starts may not be Exactly  after Midnight the first day but it will start that day)

You don’t need a Kindle to download it and read it but you will  probably need to download Amazon’s small Kindle app program for viewing on your PC before being able to download and read the story. Other than that it’s a piece of cake.

Please read my little synopsis below or go to Amazon’s website to see what the story is about:

Roadkill Synopsis:

There are things that lurk in our world unseen, dark creatures lost in a time and a world so ancient as to be forgotten by the same humans who made dark dealings with them so very long ago.

Now per happenstance, on a dark shrouded road these worlds will collide briefly again….

What would you do if you hit and killed something on the road in a raging blizzard in the middle of the night and that something you killed had a companion which meant to force you to make amends for your actions?

Adrian is the thirty-something already troubled family man who suddenly finds himself in that world. Adrian soon discovers it doesn’t want him. It wants the thing he holds most dear to his heart. Whom will the thing choose as the price to be paid, Adrian’s lovely wife Elisa, or his young eight year old daughter Sylvia?

Following the ancient laws set forth, a balance must be kept, and Adrian the good family man, must pay the price whether he likes it or not. Will Adrian have it in him to fight to keep his family whole or will he give into his fears and past traumas that have haunted him for years and lose the ones he loves along with perhaps his own life in the process?

The Power In Me – Excerpt of Short Story by Philip Wardlow


Power

The Power in Me

Three Ping Pong balls revolved in midair, each one following the other in a tight circle as they flew.

*

“I shouldn’t be able to be doing this, Carl!” she yelled at the bald little man sitting across the table from her in the dining room of her house. Carl was wearing a smug little grin on his face that annoyed the hell out of her. He was always full of himself, today more than usual. He obviously knew more than her. Shit! She was losing her concentration. One of the balls slipped out of it’s rotation and fell.

*

“True and not true,” Carl replied back glibly to her as he deftly caught the falling ball with his left hand, inches before it hit the table.

*

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!” she said, her eyes staring ahead at the two remaining balls still rotating in front of her. She thought of a figure eight, and immediately the balls begin to swirl in that configuration. It was equally cool and frightening at the same time, she thought, but Carl didn’t have to know that.

*

“Angela, you have taken to this extremely well. It seems you are a natural. I have to give our co-workers credit. They were betting you would do well the first time right out the gate. Not many can pull off even one ball this quickly, let alone three. Guess I will have to pay up when I get back to the office.” Carl chuckled to himself, rolling the little white ball he had caught back and forth between his hands on the dining room table still smiling at her smugly.

*

Angela took her eyes from the two remaining balls, which spun and looked directly at Carl.

*

“You mean there are others who can do this? Out with it, Carl, I’m sick of the games. You’ve been playing them too long, first with my husband, now with me. Be straight for once, or for god sakes I’ll shove these balls down your goddamn throat.”

*

Carl’s smile slipped a little her under dark stare. He involuntarily swallowed when he suddenly realized the balls were still continuing to spin in their figure eight pattern without her looking at them. Damn, she’s good, he thought, and arrogant. A lot like him more or less, he thought, but still soft.

*

“Well.” Angela said to him, more of a command than a question.

*

Carl ignored her tone. “You remember that project three years ago that kept Scott away so many hours at night?”

*

She remembered all too well, the late nights, and all the arguments that followed, telling her he couldn’t discuss his work with her because she didn’t have the clearance. It still rankled her a little to this day. Angela only nodded as she looked at him as the balls continued to spin, so Clark continued.

*

“We had found something amazing. To be more exact it found us. One of the lab geeks directed to synthesize some of the proteins from a plant brought back from Brazil accidentally combined two cultures in the synthesis we were working on with the lot. The other plant was from an older expedition we had done years ago in the Congo in Africa. Scott had pulled it himself from the incubator a few days later. Lot Forty-Two.”

*

Angela noticed Carl’s eyes dilating and his hand gestures became more animated as he spoke. This disturbed her for some reason and she didn’t know why.

*

“Oh, the things Lot Forty-two revealed to us, Angela!” Carl found it hard to contain himself as he talked.

*

“We didn’t know how much until we began the human trials. You did not know this, but Scott, was one of the first volunteers. The committee had been paranoid of it getting out to the general public so everything was done in house; very hush hush.

*

“I am sorry to say this ,Angela, but he was a fool.” Carl said flatly to her from across the table.

*

An invisible force compressed against Carl’s chest, to send him flying and to go slamming into the wall behind him. Plaster crumbled around his head and tumbled off the nice black suit coat he wore. Now I am going to have to go to the dry cleaners tomorrow, he thought idly.

*

“Release me, Angela.” Carl said quietly. She indeed is a natural. In front of her the two balls still wove their figure pattern in the air. If only it could be different.

*

Angela saw no fear in Carl at what she had just done to him. More so, a calm demeanor seemed to settle into him, like a mask had lifted. She herself was scared at what she had just done. Where had it come from? This was so much different than revolving balls in the air. This new power seemed to have welled up inside her and she had just let it go all at once at him in a stream. It was still flowing; like a fire hose turned wide open at the hydrant.

*

“Why say such a thing about Scott?” Angela’s dark eyes seemed to glow as she stood up and walked slowly around the table to him. Carl just stared at her, not blinking. The force increased upon his chest as he sank even deeper into the wall.

*

Because he knew the initial trials were unstable, he knew it could possibly kill him. But he went ahead with it anyway. He wanted to be one of the firsts. His vanity won out and it was his undoing in the end. ”  Carl gasped for breath from the pressure she was exerting on his chest.

*

“The drug he and the others had taken was unrefined, the levels too high for their system. The power consumed him; it drove him to lash out violently with the power for no reason. You must have suspected.”  Carl looked at Angela challenging her to disagree as he fought to breathe.

*

“You should remember his dark moods when he came home.   He had to be put down! Now let me go!” Carl controlled his breathing. This game is at an end. The committee be damned, he thought.

*

Angela ignored him. She pushed harder and the power flowed from her like the heat from the sun. Along with the power, anger filled her. Anger at this little man who had taken her husband away, anger at the lies he now spouted about him.  Her power escalated as her anger took a foothold in her, each resonated and drew upon the other. They were feeding each other.

*

Continue reading The Power In Me – Excerpt of Short Story by Philip Wardlow

The secret life of Elgin Park


I think this kind of stuff is cool…the guy put a lot of work into this …check it out!

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Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park. Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park. Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park. Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park.   Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park. Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park. Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park.   Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park.              Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park.

Welcome to the City of Elgin Park.

Michael Paul Smith is the perfect example of an artist with a passion for what he does. For the last 25 years, he has spent some of his spare and much of his professional time making miniature models and photographing them, creating a gallery of vintage car photographs from a fictional 1950s American town called Elgin Park.

As a professional model maker, Smith’s models are detailed enough to withstand the scrutiny of close-up photography. Smith places them in miniature dioramas and uses forced perspective to make parts of the real world lend his pictures additional realism. The result is a quirky sort of historical fiction – faithfully and authentically reproduced scenes from a small American town that never actually happened (but could have).

What’s also great about his Elgin Park collection is that the magician is willing to…

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The Fool’s fool – A poem


 

The Fool’s fool –

 

A knight has his squire…

The Sun it’s faithful Moon which follows.

He is not so simple,  so fluid of purpose

or scene.

He is a machination of fate

desperate and wanting.

A vain creature picking at scraps

thrown at him.

A soul dwelling

in a misery of his own undoing

while a golden bauble sits in his

very own pocket.

He is a fool’s fool

and his master would be

very proud.

By Philip Wardlow 2014

 

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The_Fool_by_MarkWilkinson