Monthly Archives: January 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Moon

3 Comments

full-moon-cap

The Moon~

It calls to all the faraway places
This shining trinket which hangs
like a gold  pocket watch
ticking the time away
as it marches

Inviting,
With an allure
like none other

Must I look at it?

For it is a tortuously divine and
undefined device of the highest order

And you know of what I speak,
You who make the same useless wish
as I

You who brandish that ego to hide a bravado stalled in mid stride.
One that knows that wishes are cheap
as they are never expected to be paid for

But they are always paid, seemingly or not, they are always paid for.

So stop it Moon.

Stop dispensing dribbles of hope that are just as dry as your rocky surface
and let me just look upon you with a child’s delight and wonder
at your ever changing ways

While I wander through this world in search of more realistic mysteries
which I may truly call my own one day.

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Every Day

Leave a comment

present

Every Day~

Every day is a gift,

a fucking gift.

Why? Because I said so.

So unwrap that fucker.

Rip open the packaging,

fling the red red red ribbons to the four winds.

Bite that mother loving tape with your teeth if you must

Is that a Snaaarl I hear from you…?

It’s your present.

Do what you must.

Dive, dive, dive into that damn box!

See, see , see, what you’ve got?

Fuck.

Socks.

Slip’em on for a go….

Now go…just fucking go.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

AT THE MARATHON (GAS STATION)~

Leave a comment

marathon

AT THE MARATHON (GAS STATION)~

 

AT  THE MARATHON .

CHEWING BUBBLE GUM

MY FORTUNE SAYS I’LL BE ENVIED

BY EVERYONE.

AT THE MARATHON

CHEWING BUBBLEGUM

SITTING AT THE MARATHON

WAITING FOR A FRIEND TO COME

AT THE MARATHON.

WHO’D ENVY ME?

THE ONE WHO OWNS A BROKEN CAR.

AT THE MARATHON

WHO’D ENVY ME

THE ONE WITH A BROKEN HEART

AT THE MARATHON

THE NIGHT IS GETTING COLDER

AS THE CARS DRIVE BY.

AS I CHEW MY BUBBLEGUM.

WHO’D ENVY ME?

AT THE MARATHON.

By Philip Wardlow 1989

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Life

Leave a comment

Life~

 

IT BEGINS WITH A BEGINNING

AND AN ENDING

CYCLE UPON CYCLE OF LENDING

IT HAPPENS WITH THE WIND OF FATE

PRODDING AND PUSHING,Waterfall

EDGING TOWARDS A DATE

WILLS BECOME BENT.

AN ORGANISM LIFE IS SPENT.

ONE WILL BLOOM IN ITS’ PLACE.

BUT ASSUME ANOTHER

FACE.

TIME IS GOVERNED BY LIFE AND

IN TURN LIFE IS GOVERNED BY TIME.

EVER EDGING AND CRAWLING TOWARDS

THE SUBLIME

 

by Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Soul Vacation

Leave a comment

Soulleaving

 Soul Vacation~

 

If my soul took a vacation,

escaped from my body

and left me sitting here

in my cold dark room

would I care to care

that it took a cruise?

Would my eyes look at

life differently?

Would my loves & passions

be muted?

Would my pains be gone?

Is it a sacrifice to lose one over

the other in spite of?

Again would I care when

my soul is gone?

I would think there would be

a longing for a forgotten

sweetness

that could not be defined

by my minds eye that’s now

blind.

If my soul left me.

Maybe.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Goblin King Sleeps

5 Comments

GoblinKing

 

The Goblin King Sleeps~

 

In an oubliette deep

does a dank dungeon keep

the Goblin King.

Shattered, weary,

heartbroken,

at a loss to life he sought

and thought would crawl on forever

in a true vanity of his own design.

Yet, a silver lining

does shine on the pitted walls

which confine this man.

For he made a difference while out

in the world of light.

He ravaged, and wrought, bringing knees

to bend to touch the ground

and they fought, found courage,

bringing a change to the world each

in their way, good or bad

in the eyes of men

he brought a change,

and a reckoning was finally

consummated.

Now, he can finally sleepOubliette

this proud King.

And finally escape his

dungeon deep.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Five Tenets of the Sword – A Poem

2 Comments

 

SwordA

 

 

The Five Tenets of the Sword~

 

Strength~

Once light as a dead bird’s body in my hands,

this weapon now weighs more than the collective souls

of a million men,

sweat glistens on  muscled forearms strained

drained,

needles in legs drive deep,

yet I stand.

Conditioned for this in every cord, tendon, and bone

that runs through.

 

Skill~

Hours upon hours,  Days upon days,

Years to master myself,  then years to follow

to master this weapon.

The placement of the foot just so,  hands balanced

sword poised at the perfect angle.

Advance, retreat,  first position, second position

third, and on and on and on,

an endless dance until the music stops

with a myriad of outcomes at its end,

and I know every step in the

countless tangle of each encounter.

 

Instinct~

I am steadfast in my defense and attack

yet, I let the mind drift into that nether

region between thought and the what-if.

Never thinking I  know my  opponent

for he will do what I  least expect and I

must expect the least expected in the blink

of an eye, for it could be my eye that is lost.

Ignore your sixth sense at the cost that

only fools pay when they are finally put to

rest in a shallow lonely grave.

 

Courage~

My line of sight  travels down my sword

to an opponent that only wishes me a quick death

I see all my years to come, laid out bare for

him to snatch from me, like a breath from

a baby as he sleeps deep.

I am no newborn! Swaddled and waiting.

But born to this moment in time.

So come. Come!

And I will share you a secret

as I whisper your own death in your

ears.

 

Will~

The hardest of the tenets to maintain,

for they drive all the rest in me.

Fail this one and I fail them all.

Be steadfast you ask of your soul,

Be steadfast you implore of  your heart.

Be steadfast you command of your mind.

Find a focus to compel the body forward.

Find a focus to awake each day.

Find a focus to believe in you

when no one else ever will.

Find that will

Simply find it

For there can be no other way.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Prince of Ravens

2 Comments

Prince of Ravens~

 

Brown eyes
wolfish grin

With a sword well
used and dangerous
once unsheathed
and finally released.

Shall we dance?

In a ballroom or in
bed.
For both skills come
naturally
to the Prince.
Once he takes you in hand.MatrimCauthon

Dark, and darker
as the lights are dimmed
to hide what some
others call sins.

The ravens fly high
over castle keep
ever watchful
as their prince
delves deep.

Into the many mysteries
of the mind
found between her
legs and more.

What chaos
What wonder.

What beauty will he finally find
In himself

When the dance is done.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Fill up my time fish

3 Comments

 

 

goldfish

 

 

Fill up my time fish~

 

She said,  “Fill up my time

while I wait for something

that I can finally keep

to drop on by.”

 

He said, “You’ll do,

you beautiful thing you,

now hurry , spread your legs as

my want of  you is  almost up.”

 

You are my novelty for the day,

the week, the month, the year,

as my desires

run their phases like the moon

runs its course across the skies

a hundred thousand million times.

You didn’t know it, but you did.

You hoped, but you still did.

Our original sin, over and over again.

That seems to be half the fun.

 

Are we all hobbies? Habits?

Frivolous fantasies and disastrous

desires run amok?

Dear affections that grab us like

a child holding tight to a goldfish

in a brand new bowl.

We all know what  happens to that fish.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, Stories and Story Excerpts

The Crow Waits ~

2 Comments

crowwaits

The Crow Waits~

I see it on high sitting in a tree, a Crow amongst the sparse fall leaves
that yet hang to the branches, even though winter fast approaches,
no one told them it seems that they are dead and should already be on their way.

The crow with its pitted black eyes knows me it seems, for it calls my name
across the wind while I languish on the ground in my own blood which spills
from my body and forms around me like a macabre picture frame.

Funny thing, how the crow knows my name, a simple carrion bird waiting for
this warrior’s death so it can pick me clean and leave nothing but my bleached bones,
rusted armor, and a forgotten sword as my only legacy.

Long has the battle been gone from this place I now rest in, the victors have gutted me
like a fish on a stone and left me to the flies and the maggots to fester inside.

But yet shall I live, ever stubborn to die and only the Crow truly knows why.
I hear it laughing at me, calling me a fool for an adventure I sought full of folly
with only death to be met at its end.

It has seen many a fool I am sure and feasted contently before the sun has set.
But still I live! You will not have me fool or not!

So sit your perch and wait for you shall not have me this day or the next,
for even if I should pass these earthly bounds so shall my shade pick up
my blade and strike you down!

The sun has set and the night grows cold, the crow sits in his tree and
waits;  for it has seen many a warrior born and bred and knows full well their
strength, courage and the valor which fills their head, but it knows when dead is dead

by Philip Wardlow