Category Archives: Poetry Work

A collection of various poems I have written in relation to horror, fantasy or the supernatural

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

He’ll be Okay

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He’s got everything
that guy
Girls say he looks fine, fine, fine
They just can’t wait to get in line
just to say hi

So why, why oh why, does the world spin in the opposite direction
he’s facing, always pulling him back
to the starting line in his mind.

He’s got a job all would envy, a
loving cat that greets him when he gets back, Home

Where he’s all alone and the only warm spot in bed is where his cat lays at.

But he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay
Cuz everybody thinks so, cuz everybody always did.

He’ll give you a smile, tell you a joke, and give you a wink all the while there is something simmering down deep inside.

That even he cant seem to know he needs to seek to try and fix,
Probably cuz the world always needing a nudge and a fix, a flip of the switch, set to puree, to smooth out all the shitty parts.

Ah, but he’s a work of art, that body, that mind, that killer cute smile and he’s so nice

He’ll be okay, just you see, he’ll be okay…

By Philip Wardlow July 17th, 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Far Flung

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Hiker silhouette stands on the hill on and looks on the milky way galaxy. Dark starry night

Universe, far fling me like a smooth flat stone over a calm lake.

Take me within your palm and fingers and cast me side armed on a warm sunny summer’s day to go skipping on that lake.

I want to feel the satisfaction in denying gravity as I fly across the lake surface with an energy not of my own, like being strapped into a rocket breaking the confines of Earth’s mighty pull.

I want to know this freedom, this kinetic intensity, this uncontrolled ride into oblivion, this escape in a moment away from it all.

To forget the pull, and the weight of me.

Instill me with velocity, let me breath in the spirit of Hermes and let me run and skip along the edges of the space and time to venture into a wonderous desolation.

By Philip Wardlow July 1st, 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Moon

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Mr. Moon ~

 

Why oh why Mr. Moon do you walk

hands in pockets, eyes downcast,

as the stars sit in there satin blue sheet,

surrounding?

Don’t you know it’s all for you?

No eyes but yours can see

all that the sky can give.

Feel blessed in this.

Earthly trappings are not the

core of your constance.

Nor the phases you

endure in your

soul’s search

for permanence.

Even in shadow,

yet you are still whole.

Even though no others

may see.

You will always be whole.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2025
Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Sad Magician

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What does a magician know of magic when it’s all a lie from beginning to end?

Does he think he does real magic? Or is he caught up in his own illusion, with his cape, top hat, and sleek black slacks,  giving the audience a dark conspiratorial grin, as if he had access to some great mystery others do not?

Perhaps he is. Caught up.

Maybe he simply enjoys the wide eyes, the admiration, the controlling of outcomes, the smiles, the laughter, the sense of being one with the wonder in someone else’s eyes that are not his own.

For when he goes home, and removes his costume, he is alone.

There are no lights following him across the stage to his next trick, no applause, no adoration, no wonder, for him to hold onto.

Just him.

And that sadly that has never been enough for him or anyone for too long.

So he takes a bow
knowing he will eventually return.

And that has to be enough.

For the show must always go on, and he has a part to play for as long as the magic that still lingers within him stays.

By Philip Wardlow June, 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Elusive Ghost

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How do you progress when the world you live in is obsessed

Everyone, everywhere,  for that thing that distracts

And then rejects

I’m a shiny object to some but not the one that matters most, I’m just a helpful ghost

Lingering in a house vacant of passion that doubts it’s true nature.

A ghost insubstantial, you could walk right through me and not miss me.

But I’m waiting again

To feel again

To pop into existence

Til then…

I remain the elusive ghost

Content with being incontent

By Philip Wardlow May  2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Being at Ease

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Being effortlessly at ease
May be the hardest thing in life
to achieve.

Without drink, without drugs, without approvals, or validations needed.

To just be.

Can be attained but often elusive.

Does that encapsulate us as humans as a whole?

That we really are just simply animals always ready for flight or fight, or to fall over and just play dead?

Surely so.

And there is no bad or good in that statement, it is just simply is.

To be at ease in any given situation
to be remain focused and discipline
without the palpitations of the heart, the sweating of palms, the electric tension coursing, the narrowing of your world as you are compressed by four walls, or being pulled like a soft taffy through a press,

These are all our bodily responses to a world that can be threatening, cruel, chaotic, slighting and apathetic, and lonely at times.

To be fully relaxed, however,
To be immersed in a seemingly forever flow of pleasure, to be wrapped up in rapture, pure and intense with nothing more than to feed your need to feel all the good that life could possibly offer is a gift when it comes and should always be cherished, held tightly to, and adored, for who knows when it may again.

This being at ease.

Seek it in life in all its forms, from nature, to friends, to lovers, to surprising adventures around the next corner of your life not yet written

Be bold in seeking it for you are most worthy of finding it.

By Philip Wardlow March 28th, 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

I am here

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I am here on this planet

I'm a 400 Trillion to one shot to even exist on this planet.

Yet here I am,
Breathing, Living, Loving, Being Loved
I matter and that is amazing to me

You matter also
You matter
You are that 1 in a Trillion chance as well.
So live.

by Philip Wardlow Feb 5th, 2025

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Raven Prince Flies

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I call myself the Raven Prince, for I am dark, intelligent and wise, and playful to a fault, shy enough to not trust enough until an allotted time of my choosing and even then I am on my guard of you.
A Raven is a solitary creatures at times
unlike the Crow with a clan perhaps
numbering in the tens to a hundred strong.
Me, I am no Crow.
I am but a lonely Raven with only a few raven friends
who find me.
A Lonely life, for even the other ravens do not truly know me
Not for any of the ways I find I need them to.
So I am a lonely Raven even when amongst them
Yet, I fly…
because it easy, it’s effortless
to find distraction in the heights,
to see all the beauty laid out below me
waiting to be discovered just by me
and only me internally.
I am the Prince of Ravens you see.,
isolated, above the others, not by choice
but simply because my place is not
amongst them,
Why?
I could wonder why until I have died
and still not know the reason why.
I have always felt it though since a child.
It just is.
So I fly to distract
Ever higher, ever lower….
wherever I choose.
I will choose it
because I am the Raven Prince

by Philip Wardlow Dec, 2024

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Whimsy

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whimsy

I see life going by for the majority to my eye
on a whim.
Some,
I call Friends?
I’d like to feel that most of them
are.
But sometimes I feel like a whim
to them
As well.
At times.
A tolerated indulgence,
a distraction
they don’t have a
compulsion to fully realize.
Because the coolness
in me
doesn’t come close to them or those they
seek for true company.
I have been weighed you see,
by eyes that only
see what they wish to see.
in me.
So they never seek beyond
the surface to the
true me
That I rarely let others see.
So I live in whimsy
Now
Free from the, “What now?”
Mentality that once ruled
Inside
Of asking all the other lost encounters did you

ever wish to truly know me anyway.

by Philip Wardlow July, 2024

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Cat and the Poison

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I don’t believe in a hell or a heaven

I don’t believe in any of the three thousand plus gods which meander through the minds of man now or ever have throughout the ages.

I do believe we are an important inception point in Earth’s history, but perhaps even that is a vain course of thinking of our human condition.

Time will tell if we are but a fundamental fantastical failure waiting to happen or something more than we even suppose.

Ah, but there’s the rub. How ever are we going to truly know the outcome of us?

Time is a far-flung thing.

It cannot be curtailed or cut, bought or borrowed, it can only be endured, we are self placed into a closed box with a flask of poison like Schrodinger’s cat but instead we are the cat and also the very poison that may kill us inside as we are closed inside with it, us.

Eventually or not at all, are the only two outcomes.

It’s not for us to know, for we are dead and alive at the same time and the poison just sits with us in that box looking more menacing but delicious with every day we sit with it.

By Philip Wardlow July, 2024