Category Archives: Inquiring Minds

My introduction page as a writer trying to get publsihed and a collection of posts showing who I am through ancetdotal musings about my life or how I am inspired to write or why I write and how I write in my own wierd little way.

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Helena

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This light, this torch,
it wonderfully blinds
as I grope in the night
and gather my steed
to ride out
to kidnap
a queen

Dark haired beauty
with rapturous eyes
and a sharp charming tongue
which drips wicked words
found only in the foulest of
delicious beds.

She belongs to no meek frog of a King
but to me, a Prince
with a wit to match
and lips to kiss
just ever so
in all her delicate places
she wishes me to roam
Oh, and I will roam.

Yet, I best be wary
For I hear she is
a woman of guile
if there ever was,
with a temptresses smile
and a beauty to stupify
the mind
of mere mortal men.

She will find
I am
fit in brain and brawn
and not so easy a mark

She will be mine
as over my saddle she rides
back to my castle
on high.
Locking her tight
for pleasure
at my leisure

With a click
I enter her boudoir
draw aside the curtain
to a devilish smile
waiting,
ready,
a body in repose
laid bare
wet, and glowing
a true light
to behold.

As I take hold of
my Queen.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Song of Her

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She’s now my melancholy,
my folly
my quarter note
never full.
She’s the one that spun
away
after I played her over and over.

A glissando of whims, wonderment, and woe
up then down
Sliding, ever sliding
to that natural progression
where our music was surely meant to go
Inevitably
to fade, fade, fade, away
and come to
its final
rest.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, Video Video Videos!

Jacky 0 + Mumi – Right Where It Belongs (Nine Inch Nails live cover)

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Right Where it Belongs

See the animal in his cage that you built
Are you sure what side you’re on?
Better not look him too closely in the eye
Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
See the safety of the life you have built
Everything where it belongs
Feel the hollowness inside of your heart
And it’s all right where it belongs

What if everything around you
Isn’t quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
Is it all you want it to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks
Would you find yourself find yourself afraid to see?

What if all the world’s inside of your head?
Just creations of your own
Your devils and your gods all the living and the dead
And you really oughta know
You can…

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Down the line

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I may slip
in my stride
but I try.

I may even fall off the wall
with all various sorts of cracks
in need of repair.
But I try.

I will apologize but once.
feel sincere in my remorse
on its reckoning
but I shall not, will not
lay down on the tracks
as you push the throttle forward
on the engine as the
train of my destruction

I will simply wave instead,
as you pass by and disappear
down the line
and I will not look back.

by Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Ever hopeful

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Fists balled in anger,  soul sad and fed-up,
yet ever hopeful that his carefully balanced cup
stays half full for the days he knows to surely come
will  be worse than this one.

So he drinks a toast to life still here, full and bright.
Dances with a half drunk girl
he’ll never know,
as he smiles at himself for the kiss he stole.

Then goes home to his empty home;
unless you count his cat Jack
with the biggest eyes you’ve ever
seen for him.
Oh what a wayward lover he is.
Yet, all it ever does, is make him wish
that a girl would look at him that same way.

He is ever hopeful
for he’s built that way,
he’s always been
since he was a small, wee
lad.

Ever hopeful,
even as it all crumbles away.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Dog

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There is a dog on a porch
that never gets to be let it in,
His head gets patted,
his belly gets rubbed
Occasionally.

He gets told he is a good boy
as his bowl of food is set
before him,
Right before
his owner jumps
in the car and disappears down the road.

The sunsets are his favorite as
the day departs
and the night entreats
with possibilities to
be found in the roaming…

But the leash restricts.
He can never venture too far.
from this porch.

So he just sits.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Needle lifts up

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Round and round and round and round and round
the needle gliding effortlessly
dragging over the unseen bumps
in a well worn groove
where it can’t climb out.

Of its own accord,
the needle lifts,
and shifts
back to the start and begins again
its shitty little song.
You might think robotic seeming in its prescribed nature,
but there is oh
so much less thought behind it’s action
For it’s been simply
fit together with
molded parts long ago
just so
to enable this
action over and over.

This spinning piece of compressed black vinyl
on edge, dips and wobbles
to mine eye.
Warped beyond belief.
Perhaps once laid out in the sun
or caught in the hot backseat
I never did take good care of them.

So as the needle lifts up yet again,
I remove the old record from its place
Hold it delicately in hand
Then gripping tightly
Swiftly bring it down to
meet the wooden corner edge.

I pick up the broken bits,
deposit every last piece
in the trash.
Then remove the plastic wrap
from a newly minted song
never heard
and carefully put it down
to spin.

Lifting the needle up
off its cradle
I kiss it softly to the
disc.

To hear something fresh.

by Philip Wardlow 2017