At the end of the day
All posts by Philip Wardlow
Will you be?
Hello little guy,
will you be my friend?
For all mine have dissolved away
in the pouring rain
that has fallen throughout
this sad sad day.
Lights shine,
their energy
wanes,
sputters,
ends.
How many
cycles
should
be endured?
How many
lessons
need
be learned
until
a sense
comes to
mind
that I
truly
never had
any friends.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
P.S This poem is NOT about me just so you know. I often like to play with POV of other people.
Warrior Chi
She strives
Tested, time and again.
Blood spilled just as readily as
her own tears.
A woman. Just a woman? Never.
A warrior,
A leader with a heart laid bare
A protector…
keen of mind,
going in
with innate skills
As death places its deal
upon her table and
she answers back
in kind.
For she was forged in a lifetime
of sacrifice.
Do you hear that?
A soft whisk,
a honing of a blade to
a sharpness like none
other.
Delicate, determined, Beautiful.
Yet, who holds those warrior hands
As the light dims on her day?
Who holds her heart?
and brushes
her tears her away?
Stay strong.
Stay strong Warrior Chi.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
Bloody Ballet
Bloody Ballet~
She pirouettes
adorned in a dress
of black gossamer,
Spinning with blade
in hand to music only
she hears.
Flame red hair sweeps the air,
flinging outward, as
drops of crimson
drip from the tip
to the cold hard floor;
knives held tight by
delicate fingers.
Her hands move with
the intensity of the allegro.
Alive, brisk, and deadly.
The sharpness of her tools
keep up with her demands
of dissection and delving.
The other dancers
fall before her
as if in silent repose.
Arabesque to glissade,
her strong legs coupe
across the floor,
she cuts and cuts and cuts
and does a sourbresaut
like a cat jumping
onto her final partner
in this ensemble of now
only two.
She seeks his heart
as the point punches through.
Death follows
Yet still it beats
as she holds it,
Still it beats
as she takes a bite.
Still it beats
as she rises from
her grand plie.
and takes a bow
to the crowd
from
center stage.
By Philip Wardlow 2013
She tries
I am at a lost
to fathom the depths
and heights of the walls
of her.
The precarious walk
she takes in the lofts
of the upper reaches
must be harrowing.
Her balance must be precise
leveled on the balls of feet
which tread a path where
a head floats in the clouds
never looking down.
At me.
The Flea.
Such is she.
That ignores me.
For who am I
but who laid his heart bare
for her.
It seems I have always known my place in her heart was but a vault
for another key to release
her from a prison.
That I could never see.
But she tries.
This girl. This woman.
She still tries
for me.
By Philip Wardlow 2016
In The End
In The End~
“Show me a little more sin,” he said.
You knew the ways of men 
so you smiled,
giving him a wicked grin,
as you lifted your skirt,
and listed all the
things in your head you
would take from him
in the end.
by Philp Wardlow 2016
Hiddin Within
Hidden Within~
He watches her. She watches him.
The dog , he watches nothing.
Their eyes can’t hide what lies beneath.
A tilt of the head, a downcast look tells
me all I need to know about their inner
Lives.
They hate. They love. They lust. They laugh at
Life.
Is there sadness behind that smile they
Give.
Some hide from each other.
Some hide from themselves.
Some hide simply because they can.
I wish I could see all the dreams buried
deep within their heads.
Dreams which they’ve never fed;
maybe a doctor, a lawyer, or a whore,
maybe a pretentious pious little bore.
Their thoughts are hidden;
a landscape of dark shadows and fog banks hung
Low.
I watch it all unfold.
They can’t keep it hidden long,
for like a cauldron bubbles, spews, and spits so
does their mind emit a gurgling of regret, a wisp of
weakness, or a hiss of hysteria in its’ attempt to lament.
I watch and I wait for it all to unfold,
for the hidden to be found and the found to be told.
I’m a spectator to the grand affair which is hidden within.
So know that when I look at you or you at me,
I will see you, see you indeed.
By Philip Wardlow
Desolate Dame
Desolate Dame~
You give him a grin
and forget it all when he
grabs a breast.
He smiles that same stellar smile
that trapped you so long
ago.
You sweat it all out through sexual labors
and forget…
all the moments meandering
constant in the frontal lobe of your brain that aches
to cut him loose and send him downstream
to go cascading off a cliff.
Yet you play the martyr to his Mussolini,
tied up and tortured in the town square,
while all the passerby’s look the other way.
Weakness.
Doesn’t become you.
Defiance should rule.
But yet you grin all over again
when he grabs your breast.
Philip Wardlow
The Incident – a Story
Going to attempt to write a long poem or short story within 10 minutes and just let my mind flow. I will correct all typos and grammatical mistakes after so that is not slowing me down… I will attempt a story as I have written enough poems as of late and want to change it up.
So here goes. Keep in mind, if it sucks, I wrote it in 10 minutes okay….so go easy on me. Thanks! 🙂
The Incident
She held the boy’s head tight in a death grip. He was squirming but he wasn’t going anywhere.
The other boy’s friend had run to get the teacher on the other side of the playground. The sun was high….sheesh, it was fucking hot, she thought. The boy’s head was getting slippery with sweat, she was gonna lose him, so she kicked the back of his knees and sent him to the ground and put her knees between his shoulders bearing her full weight on him, which was a lot, considering the boy was a toothpick, a scrawny toothpick at that. Why did he think he think he could get away with it?
She imagined his mouth was full of grass. Good. She smiled inside at the thought of him having a green tongue later when he got home.
She was surrounded by what must have been thirty kids chanting to punch the boy she held onto. Wasn’t this enough. Animals, she thought, all of them. They probably didn’t even why know she was fighting him.
“You okay Rick?” she asked as she continued to kneel on him, her knees still pressing firmly in to his back. She actually really did want to know if he was okay. She was like that, even with a boy like Rick.
“Mmmmm,” was all she heard. Oh Shit, he really was eating grass. She let up a little with her knees. But not much.
“Get the fuck off of me!” He yelled, the side of his face a mask of wet grass clippings along with probably his own spit mingled in with the dew of the day. He squirmed and he squirmed but no progress was made to remove the weight that was her.
“Now you know the magic words, we have been over this already. Let go of your ego. It won’t hurt too much,” she asked him politely.
“Fuck, you Rachel, you bitch!” was the only thing he said, inciting ooh and aahs, and laughs from the other kids surrounding them.
Then the seas parted and the teacher arrived with the boy’s friend in tow behind.
“Get off that boy, right now young lady!” said Miss.Moore, who was a younger teacher newly hired, who had probably drawn the short straw for monitoring the students during lunch, a nice enough woman, but a little too happy for her own good. Rachel never trusted anyone that was ever too happy.
“Can’t do that, Miss Moore. Little Ricky has been a bad boy. Haven’t you Ricky?” She looked down at him ..pressing a little harder on his back for emphasis with the last sentence.
Rick, took the Fifth, like soo many before throughout history, knowing the full cost of having to think too much in high pressure situations might damn them altogether.
“Ah, silence. The great arbiter!” Rachel said to the crowd turning around to finally settle her gaze upon the teacher. By the funny look Miss Moore had upon her face, Rachel doubted she knew what the word arbiter meant.
“I don’t care what he did, get off him now. Don’t let me tell you again….” Miss Moore started to say.
“Or what? You don’t care what he did? You don’t care what he did? My sitting on him doesn’t wrangle a question out of that little head of yours? Duress or not, I will have justice or by the fickle fucking gods above I will snap his neck in front of you and everyone else here and now!” Rachel said in all the fury she could muster. She idly caught the muted whimpering of Rick below in her ear. She was a nice girl but she was quite sure she had meant what she had just said. And it didn’t scare her in the slightest.
“What, what, did he do? ” Mrs. Moore murmured, asking tentatively. The crowd was silent . A pen could have dropped (but in the grass you wouldn’t have heard it)
“Tell her, tell them all Ricky, now, and in the form of an apology as I won’t hear a lie from your lips speaking of it.” Rachel let up the pressure but laid her both hands to his head very hard into the ground.
Ricky inhaled slowly.
“I am sorry for pulling you behind the school into the woods and throwing you to ground and pulling your skirt above your head and threatening to fuck you while holding you down.”
“Tell them Ricky, tell them why it only went that far.” Rachel said in a flat quiet tone.
“Because you kicked me in the balls and then punched me in my damn throat. I’m sorry Rachel. I’m really sorry.” and then Ricky began to cry and blubber like a baby.
“I think we are done, here. Apology not accepted btw..not even until you are a hundred and two and fuck you,” she said just as quietly, as she got up from kneeling on him and simply walked away.
The End
by Philip Wardlow 2016
The Fox – Quote of the Week
“And the fox said to you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world… One only understands the things that one tames, said the fox.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 