Philip Wardlow is a burgeoning ever growing writer and poet delving into all the various aspects of the human condition.
His writing tastes run to the Erotic most recently. In the recent past he has written to the Dark Urban Fantasy & Horror Genre which he still loves as well. He likes to dabble in all the various forms of poetry; from the sexy to the humorous, to the profound and beautifully sentimental and reflective.
He has only been at this chosen path for a few of years and has produced one Novella published as an Ebook on Amazon called “Roadkill”. He has submitted and continues to submit various stories and poetry works to publications for consideration.
Philip is working on a collection of Erotic Poetry due out in 2021 in ebook form and perhaps in paperback. He is also concurrently working hard on his other passion; photography. Philip believes he can have each foot planted in two distinctly different worlds of creativity there by inciting new ideas and growth at the same time in both.
Ah melancholy you, melancholy me.
Twins of pains throughout our separate travels
in lands and time blown away by great
distances and choices right or wrongly
made.
You clutch dearly to your past like a child does a doll
all tattered and torn since received from her inception
from the womb that bore here into this world.
Myself in that journey I took. and of which
I am still on, I fumble in my pockets, fiddling with the
loose change of memories I have always kept close
and collected throughout time.
Both predilections in the way we cope in our
own entanglements are either
a solace, a penance, a nuisance, or
constant curse.
Why not us both seek a new habit?
You throw down your doll
I shall let my change fall
through my fingers as I grab
your hands tight in mine
and continue
our travels
together.
by Philip Wardlow March 29th, 2022
To and fro we go in life and all its pains collected along the way.
In the beginning, a Tango, feet sliding down the floor,
full of exuberant steps of youth with a crazy devil may care.
Never tiring, head up, steps sure even if we fuck up
with every other step made.
We are in motion, forward or back ,we are in motion
and that is everything to the youthful
whether in body or the heart
it is everything.
By Philip Wardlow March 21, 2022
She loves me without question. Adores me in the fullest. Leaves me wondering what she sees in little old me.
This sweet, wonderfully funny, bombastically beauty of a woman with her chameleon like gorgeous sexy, flourishing soul that beguiles me from her red hair to her dainty toes, from an arc of an eyebrow to the sway of her luscious hips in play, she always seems to get her way with every delicious day I find myself with her.
I have the clover, the horseshoe, the rabbit’s foot, and shooting star all wrapped up in her.
She’s my lucky charm I hold tight to, that magic that I delight to.
If I were to suddenly evanesce, to flee, to disappear,
to run fast and headlong into the bright nothingness of the night,
what ruin would find my absence?
Would their be sick wailing siren calls of the once was
reaching my soul's ears
through the
nothingness of me?
I hope not. Not Wailing over me.... a tear or two will do, followed
quickly with a laugh.
But I do not wish to know the old world anymore after I am gone.
Why dry up and go, if to only to still receive drops of the
once-was in a teacup, to simply drink bitterly
of.
Remember me or don't, for I will not care as
I lie afloat amongst the stars, dreaming of new
things, new worlds, new excursions to catapult
a frayed mind to healing, to repair a ripped soul
torn asunder.
Cry and smile in the same instant is
all I ask of you if you do remember, for I
liked to be missed in both respects.
So I guess I do care a little at that.
I believe in everything and nothing in this Universe and I
would miss both aspects were I to finally fall into the
abyss of what-not and possibly nothings.
I enjoy the Everything of people healing of the
cuts they give themselves and get, and its wondrously satisfying
to partake in living in that magical epiphany
of them
I do not enjoy the Nothing, in the sense that
they will continually scratch the scabs to bleeding
every so often and there is no mop big enough,
nor pail of water full enough
to ever fully clean it all up.
I am tired of slipping in their blood.
The Everything of them is wonderful
buy sometimes the Nothing of them
becomes all too much.
By Philip Wardlow Dec, 2021
Name a monster some say and it's yours for life.
Many may never know it's true name or nature
yet they usually tend to make one up and ascribe
to it all the foul attributes of hell.
Why, they will be so proud of the monster they
have invented as to shout its direness from
the highest rooftops as they give it
a blanket so it doesn't catch
cold under their bed.
All the while the real monsters
slink and slyly wink as
you share a drink
with them over dinner
along with friendly banter
of the utmost esteem.
by Philip Wardlow October 7th, 2021
When you are a child you are in touch with the old magic that rides the winds in the month of October.
It's palpable, tangible, substantial in the air at night when the moon is full and darkness descends and the cool winds blow through the almost naked trees clinging.
Often, you laid in your bed, blanket held high, tight just below your eyes, as you stared at the shadows dancing, tapping just outside your window creeping, because every sound, every movement, outside or in, was more ominous in the enchanting halls that you called the days of October.
From one to thirty-one you knew you marched certainly to your gleeful deaths under the blue shadowed sky cast by a vengeful moon that had nothing better to do than to spy on you as you tried to sleep a fitful sleep.
As a child, you loved to fear, but feared to know the full extent that your fear could roam and go, but roam you did. And Fear always got the best of you, wide eyes and all as you ran to your Ma or Pa.
Secretly though, even consoled, you loved the tenseness of that feeling, that soul reeling fright, the goosebumps crawling across your skin at night.
You relished that magic, that what-if of awfulness lurking.
Life was alive in you. Breathing like a bellowed fired, and wanting to escape from that feeling was never a question truly ever posed in the slightest.
To meet during the chaos of our lives as the cruel planet revolved endlessly around.
The Universe said, “Here, take a look at this, isn’t it all you have ever wished for?”
“Yes, yes it is,” I replied inside, “she’s the type of girl I could love.”
From the come fuck-me eyes, to that open sweet smile, to those hips which told a future tale of open thighs letting me inside, from her warm heart to her internal heat.
When the Universe speaks, you better listen hard, for she may only whisper but once.
I didn’t blink, I didn’t turn away. I smiled back.
I saw her that night, fully. Her and I, laid out together for the next years of our lifetime and perhaps well beyond if the myths be true.
She was the one, she is the one.
From her eyes, to her smile, to her hips and well beyond.
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 