Monthly Archives: May 2017

Inquiring Minds

If Sudan could speak..

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Fight for Rhinos

Sudan is THE LAST male northern white rhino on our planet. One of his caregivers at Ol Pejeta Conservancy has some wise words from the majestic, soon to be extinct rhino in his care:

Sudan you are ok and healthy,though you spend many days alone,I wish you can tell the story more than i do; tell them how life was in southern Sudan, before that finger pulled the trigger and saw your brothers, sisters and cousins brought down,helplessly bleeding with their God given horns hacked..

..before humans reproduced and took the land meant for you and your colleagues,tell them what it feels to be last of your kind in the whole world! And tell them that you are the way you are because of them.

Right, let me help you, and I will be straight:  their lust for sex , I mean to satisfy their craving for it, have used…

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Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Phrases just for Her

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You can only look at her and get tongue tied
as your mind
gets mangled
That girl over there in that short skirt
wearing those black
thigh highs and garters, along
with sharp heels that could most definitely hurt.

Oh, and when she smiles,
simply sexadorable.
A storm walking, dream of a nightmare on the prowl.
The sensuosity
she exudes, the magicalicious
way she crosses the room.

It’s not fair I tell you.
No simple mortal stands a chance.
For they are all in thrall.
Pupils dilated to drink her in.
Lips wetted just in case of a kiss

Let’s not forget,
her charmtrap of a stare,
dark eyes that scream you fucking
better be aware
Because I’m here,
“I’m always on when I’m out, and you
look pretty cute,”
she almost seems to whisper
just to you.
Even though you are nowhere near her in
the room.

She’s got a confoundous amount of play
in what that grin directed
might say,
“Hey, I spy with my little eye,
a guy I might let take me for a little drive tonight.
but oh,
does he even have the key, let alone the gas
to get me there where I need to be?”

I jingle my keys as the
bojangle in me wants to bodangle
with you in so many delicious
ways

I take your hand and lead you
home, climb the stairs,
and close the door.
The stars are forgotten
as the man in the moon seeks
to peek in my room to learn a
thing or two of what
I am about to do to you and
for you.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Floating

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Her world is a private
dream
a myriad complex thing
juxtaposed within
pains that run deep
like a slice with
a wicked knife
into the fruit
of a well worn life
that drips it juices
onto the floor
where others tread
its sticky mess.

Yet she floats.
Always she floats,
above and apart
she floats.
Wrapped in a delightful
viscous vicious
violent delicate
sustaining way.

She floats.
And I,  can simply only
wonder when, she will
ask me to join her.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Down at the Crossroads

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I’m down at the Crossroads, but the Devil is late…
He must be on another date.
Think I’ll sit a spell.
He’ll come along, oh he’ll come along
I’m too good a treat.
Just you wait
He’ll come along.

Time is a crawl,
the sun dropping like cold molasses
down a stuccoed wall.

I spy a crow staring at me
from across the road
he sits in shadowed tree.
He knows.
This crow has seen many a men such as I.
Whether from the East, out of well worn dreams
the West, where disillusion abounds,
the South, where love was lost a hundred times.
or the North where the hidden want to be found.

All I know
is that I’m boned tired.
As raw as a bone can be
One, any dog would love to gnaw.

So I sit, for there is still
somethin’ deep within
residing, abiding the day.
And all I need is for him
to set it free.

A thousand times a thousand
A million sunsets,
A million souls
bartered and bought
I’ll just be another on his roll.

My ears never hear an approach
As my back feels his grin
licking
I turn to him
as the sun drops away
into hell I suppose
to keep the fires burning
below.

Nary a foot separates
as he sits
legs folded delicately
as if he’s always been
He looks left
He looks right
He looks behind
Then ahead at me
and smiles
so confidently
like a fisherman
with his catch
flopping on the deck of his boat.

In that moment, I see,
he needs me.
No matter the grin
or the dark eyes.
He is afraid

This creature
is Lost.

He can do nothing
I could not.
So I jump up from that spot
Give him a grin of my own
and turn with a tip of my
hat to the crow.
Who only caws at me with
a laugh,
as I walk the road that
faces me.

by Philip Wardlow 2017