I can’t make you happy
and you can’t make me.
Happy happens
independently
Stop missing the moments
when you could have
noticed.
And I’ll stop missing
my own.
But by my side
is where I want you
cuz happiness
is always better
shared.
And your smile, your laugh,
your touch
compliments
and fits
like a neat little
puzzle piece
into my
very soul.
by Philip Wardlow 2019
7.7 Billion
and counting
Of them all,
tell me,
am I Outside or
in?
Cuz, I feel like
something’s wrong
when the Outside
feels like my home
when the Something got their groups
cliques, committees, each
of them knowing the others
favorite songs.
Something to call theirs
and theirs alone.
Right or wrong
they got theirs
and theirs are,
mad strong
numbering in
the thousands, hundreds, tens
I’m not even looking for all
that
hell I’ll take just three
like minded souls
similar to me
I am betting nothing
can beat such intimacy
but I’m
Outside the Something
and it
feels fucking
lonely.
by Philip Wardlow 2019
My Muse,
she sits upon
yon shore, across dark waters flowing,
serene and smiling with invitation,
red hair blowing
in the same direction
as the wide deep river
does go.
I find I lack the courage
to traverse such a feat, for fears
take hold of the mortal
man in me.
This side is good,
she whispers from across the waves,
full of life, stars, and wonderment.
Won’t you come over
for I know you will enjoy it too,
It’s where your soul will thrive
and come alive
as I sit by your side on the
riverbank of life,
exalting in all that
there is.
I look away,
avoiding her gaze
The river is strong and a
torrent of a task to cross
and nature has created a coward of me.
Oh, but her sweet whispers reach
my ears, speaking of mysteries,
of love, of magic and mischief.
The core of my being
smiles inside
at the bright,
light of potential
in those whisperings
of all that could
be.
So I turn to her
my red, red Muse
and smile as I dive in.
Cold water clutching,
I surface
stroke after stroke,
kicking and fighting
I beat the water with
a fury, setting
up a rhythm it cannot
ignore.
All the while I hear,
pulling
her words.
That wonderful self
never ceasing
until I reach the
far shore
Tired,
but alive,
fears cast
aside
as I fall
into my Muses
loving
embrace.
by Philip Wardlow 2019
Delicate ivory lace
caress
soft curves
as ripples of silk
envelope
a yearning body
seeking
sustenance by a strong hand
taking her
in a wanting night.
Giving over to him
she flies to the other
place,
that azure blue
space
of soul
cleansing
euphoria.
sprinkled with
non-stop explosions
of magenta and scarlet.
This is her forever home
in his arms
in his heart
in his desires
forever
more.
by Philip Wardlow
Reasons why:
1. He/She/It Doesn’t exist
2. He/She/It Doesn’t give a damn
3. He/She/It is not as omniscient as you think, so can’t hear you praying cuz He/She/It is busy doing something else in The Universe
4. He/She/It can’t affect your life even if He/She/It wanted to
5. He/She/It does give signs but you cant or won’t see them
6. Some nefarious or non-nefarious entity has locked him/her/it in some strange dimensional prison where He/She/It has no way to affect the Universe
7. Perhaps giving you no sign at all was part of the plan in the first place.
8. Perhaps He/She/It is dreaming all this up, you, me, the Universe and will wake up, making us all go poof!
9. Perhaps I am God giving you a sign RIGHT now, telling you to stop looking for outside courage and hope but instead find it in yourself and in others and sincerely strive for change and by just trying it is enough, win or lose, in the limited life you have left on this blue ball called Earth traveling at over 70,000 miles/hr through space, spinning and spinning…and to just try to fucking enjoy it the best your can , Good or bad.
by Philip Wardlow 2019
Trumpcamps are facilities where Immigrant Children ranging from 5 months old to 17 years of age go to linger in their own filth and stench.
They are not giving means to wash their clothes, brush their teeth, clean their bodies, properly eat, given time to go outside, or being taken care of medically overall.
7 to 8 yr old children are being directed by the guards and supervisors of the facility to take care of children as young as 5 months old who are also not part of their family.
350 Children are “housed” in a facility with a capacity of only 100.
They live in cages on a thin mattress on a hard floor bunched in cages with little to no privacy from those they are caged with or from the guards not more than foot away outside their cages with guns at their holster.
I.C.E. and Homeland Security are breaking the LAW.
72hrs is the maximum time mandated by law under the George Bush Jr era for processing these immigrants and moving them on to a better Housing environment or with a family living in the U.S.
These children stay in horrendous conditions for weeks to months. Some are malnourished . There has been lice and flu outbreaks left to grow unchecked.
Now the Department of Justice lawyers are making light of the conditions and actually defending the outrageous inhumane treatment done to the children.
I say again, its inhumane in regards to what the US Government….OUR Government is doing to them. We are paying for this to happen to these children out of our own tax money.
It’s time to say enough is enough.
The children are suffering. Simple as that. Children are suffering at OUR hands and yet we do nothing. This goes against every thing the US stands for.
Speak out. For we are the Government not the governed. The Senate, the Congress and the President work for us.
We are not obligated to just bow our heads and say nothing.
by Philip Wardlow June 25th, 2019
* please reblog if you could , repost, copy, share in all forms of social media in your own way at your disposal. I have already shared this on Instagram, and Facebook and now here. Our voices do matter, never think they don’t.
Summer Haiku#1
Oppressive heat beats
As beads of sweat trickle down
With cannonball smile
Summer Haiku#2
A light wind catches
Flowered dresses as sun shines
Upon freckled skin
Summer Haiku#3
Lazy shade leaning,
just me and my maple tree
as the clouds creep by
Summer Haiku#4
Ice cream, ice cream! Run!
Melodic music enthralls
One fudgesicle please!
Summer Haiku#5
Hiss, Sizzle, Hiss
Burgers percolate on grill
As beer cans crack wide
Summer Haiku#6
Go Mosquito, go!
Must you infest sublime time?
Swat, slap, smack, no mo!
by Philip Wardlow 2019
Marvelous images come to play
as I think on her in repose
delicate in tone, soft in the silence
of a shiftless day.
Anticipation at the potential
of where the scene may wander
fingertips upon bare skin,
exactly where they go inconsequential.
Rarely ever has a woman drawn me so,
this compulsion, this mad desire
to push down, open up and own
to ravage, losing all self control.
Incognito and veiled in nature,
angel eyes with the devil behind them,
Hands out imploringly
pushing away at the same time reaching.
Always I oblige her wanton needs
Fair skin, fair no more,
as hues of vibrant pink come to settle
showcasing my forceful violent deeds.
Red plays the game well,
known needs in hand
Her body building, mind reeling
as her broiling core begins to swell.
Overjoyed she is, too weeping,
sweet deathly spasms taking,
nails raking, her body shaking,
now all she seeks is to be sleeping.
Sorry my dear, your times not quite up
for I’m all fire and fury
Hands roaming, lips tasting,
penetrating, with great intent to erupt
Easing back, I now tease
inch by slow inch, I either
advance or retreat
I own this body now completely.
Taunting curves upon curves
whether with a jest of a twist
a nip, or a bite, she knows
the rules must be served.
Tantalizing terrible is my attention,
for her nature darkly beckons
She exalts at her body being at my disposal
A mere toy to be used with conviction.
Open is her love for me,
expansive as an undulating ocean
I rise and I fall with her
Finally finding my own place of peace.
By Philip Wardlow 2018
A little disappointed in John Wick 3 …good action as always but lacking in dialogue and character development and leaning too hard on the action and stunt work. Also the progression from scene seemed too contrived and not organic. The movie this time around relied more on you caring about the type of way a person would die or the type of gun or weapon used than the pain of the character’s inner world I grew to love… The last two movies had a more delicate touch to the soul of a driven man…this was just a baseball bat breaking dishes for no reason besides because you didn’t like the pattern on them… Visually it was stunning at times with more world building giving the world more character than the person or persons themselves…plus the previous 2 movies had a pointed villain making it personal but this was more of a anti-establishment, of a me vs a corp entity feel. Writers this time around were lacking in imagination and storytelling … I saw no upward or downward movement in characters this time around… Kinda just there……I give it a B- … Still on board with franchise , just don’t disappoint again else ya gonna get cut… 😈
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for
LOVER OF ROPE
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
one thousand words are not enough
Poetry
Erotic Poetry and Stories
journal
Tigers not daughters
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life, and my Wandering Mind
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read
a clusterfuck of words
A cozy cottage for writers and book lovers
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for
LOVER OF ROPE
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
one thousand words are not enough
Poetry
Erotic Poetry and Stories
journal
Tigers not daughters
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life, and my Wandering Mind
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read
a clusterfuck of words
A cozy cottage for writers and book lovers
