Category Archives: Poetry Work

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

Tying you up


Never,
was I great at tying knots in the Boy Scouts;
Square Knot
Clove Hitch
Bowline
Sheet Bend
Two Half-Hitches
and the Taunt Line-Hitch.
They all ran together
and daunted my clumsy fingers,
yet I persisted and received my badge

A year later
I was not in Boy Scouts
and I had no use for knots
So I soundly forgot everyone of them
All that knowledge had leaked from my brain
wiped clean memory as if it had
never been.
I even sucked at tying my shoes.

Fast forward, thirty years later
I took up knot tying again for other reasons
less academic
and most assuredly extracurricular.
Your earnest eyes came seeking it, calling for it
needing it.
I answered your compulsions
as they mirrored my own,
proudly perverse in spirit.

I am still clumsy, still fumbling,
but my passion for you will carry
me through to mastery one day,
for a sureness of hand
along with a clever
deftness of skill
to intertwine your body,
quench your desires,
and a satiate soul seeking
to be tied to me and by me
forever.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

Padded Perfection


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We slave to have everything,
we fight the world for “ours”,
we strive for perfection,
we seek a look of a dream
that shimmers and undulates
from a hot arid
plane
at the edge
of a  horizon
containing all our  fears and doubts

This seeming perfect way
of anything is bullshit
it’s just bullshit
everyone thinks they’re better than the other
vanity abounds as pride flattens them
under the gravity of their
making
always pushing, and pushing
down, down, down.

Their way is the best way, cant you see?
And if you can’t, well sorry, you are just
not as cultured as them.
There are no gray areas, only
high contrasts and muted voices
in a bubble.

Light and dark
banging against the other
until all the world
goes mad
held tight in a bright white straight jacket
in a dark as pitch
padded room.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

The Death of Melody


I have heard that Melody
in music is dying,
stripped down
to either Harmony,
Rhythm, or Tone.
Using only 3 Notes,2,1, or None
to get the job done
and feed the
hungry masses.

People still love the
new music though.
I have at times.
It’s got a good beat
and you can dance to it
and might have
something clever
to deliver
that clicks into
you gently.

But most of it’s shit
cuz there’s
no flow
up and down the scale
flirting
with the emotional
peaks and valleys
of the soul
pulling something
out of you
involuntarily
beyond your control.

Now, most of it feels
recycled, overused
or too simple
like your ABCs

I don’t wish for Melody
to die
I wish for it to thrive
and come alive

So maybe, just maybe
it’ll jumpstart
my heart and reawaken
the Melody in me.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

On first meeting


On first sight,
I did smile,
eyes drinking you in like a warm
red sweet wine,
rolling the taste
around with my tongue
slowly savoring,
before swallowing you
down,
trying to satiate a thirst
you created
with just
one devastating look
my way.

On first kiss,
the universe coalesced
between our lips
electrons comingled
energies shared,
released in cataclysmic
meeting, we danced
together you and I
body and soul
hand in hand
orbiting, revolving
and falling
into the others
gravity,
pulling and
savoring the magic
in the resonance
between
the other,
knowing none like it
that had ever come before.

On first parting,
an almost ripping,
a tearing of souls
seamed together
like a fine soft silk
blanketing us
both in a commanding
comfort
of a home
we had never known
yet sought,
with surety
we knew
that through patience
and the
wrestling of fate
we would
meet
again to make
the universe
dance for us
in the home
of our own
creation.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

What Defines Me


What do you see in me when
you see me?

Hair, raven black in
soft waves curling,
wisdom creeping, as
white snow streaks upon
the edges of a life
leaving.

Eyes of rich dark mahogany
seeking clarity to life
truly as it is and not
how it’s supposed to be
but often
failing.

Mouth, always smiling in invitation
yet reticent in divulging
all the secrets
accumulated lest
judgements pronounce
me false in your
biased ears.

My own Ears,
are sharper than most,
seeking every intonation
behind a word and it’s
hidden meaning,
but would rather hear
it freely given.

My Hands, strong hands,
loving and gentle hands
tools to create a home
and to hold you tight
yet balled and clenched
when it all becomes
to much sometimes.

What’s between my
legs you ask?
You thought I wouldn’t say
Ha! A passion some cannot
measure or take but would
love to try and
conquer

My feet have carried me
far, whether in a slow walk
or a run my Travels are far
from done.

And ah, my heart, my heart
it beats,
its full always to
overflowing
yet fearful
of spilling a drop
lest it gets wasted.
But yet I pour
my heart into
an endless
cup
Never quite filling
it up.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

All the Happy that Comes


Happy is never
a permanent state of
mind.
More often than not
it isn’t there.
But it is there
at times.
Oh, most assuredly it
is there.
I feel it
smiling along side
a character in a book, or
lifted by that actor or actress
in a poignantly profound scene.
A hug from across a room by a
friend with just their eyes alone.
To be seen, truly seen when
I speak my words aloud
or write them down
for a stranger I have
never known.
Often times I am melancholy,
weighted, and in disarray
But a shared laugh or smile brings
me back home to me
in all the electric intimacy
life brings,
and I glow inside,
lightened and floating in
the midst of that connection.
Accomplishments, with mountains
climbed, my nature nourished
on the struggles conquered
and obstacles surmounted
that I never thought
would come to pass.
I’ve realized the Happy Comes
when I reach for it,
inviting it in to come
stay for just a bit
until it decides
to leave
and having faith it will
always be right around
the way
waiting to say
hello again.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

Paper Airplane


Need to catch that paper airplane
to the next place,
ride the updrafts
of the four winds
where ever they may carry
I just gotta go
don’t you see?

My tickets been punched
my seat is waiting
for me and
it ain’t free
I’ve saved
a lot for this trip
down to the last penny.

So don’t trip
telling me I got to stay
when you’ve already traveled
so far away
from me.

Not much time,
they’re calling my name
through the intercom
Sun’s dipping
down to the horizon
and they don’t
wait for no one.

So let me catch that
paper airplane and be
about my way.
And you may hear
from me one day
or maybe you won’t
That’s never easy
to say.

But I’ve got a flight
to make that’s gonna
take me far,
whether through desolation or
an adventure
its all the same
along as it’s away from here.

I’ve got a destiny
with the sky tonight
and ain’t nobody
taking that from me

By Philip Wardlow 2019

I dream


I dream of dumping
the sadness
at the curb for the
trash man to collect
I dream of punching a wall
until my
knuckles bleed out
all the hurt
collected in my
heart that
I can never define.

I dream of jumping into cold, cold water
and finding the funny
in the deepness of life
Laughing at redeemptive jokes
over and over
of life sagas played
out by man.
Being seen and not being seen
being alone to think
or sharing a moment
with another that
sees life exactly as
I do.
I dream of communicating a thought
in it’s entirety by
just sending it to
someone.
Going home through time and
seeing my father
hearing his voice,
knowing his face
again.
Laughing with my brothers
cooking with my mother
I dream of a
peace to finally
find the me
that resides
within.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

Every thing Gets Old?


“What value do you see in me?

In my melodramatic melancholy,
I answered her,
Everything gets old.
Time leaps and bounds like a
jackrabbit down the street
never to be seen
never to revisit.
It ain’t coming back.

The new is old, the shiny dull.
Promises forestalled
for yet another day still biting
yet to come to be called old
also.

Motivation is a nag that
won’t shut up,
blah, blah, blahing
about a when that
shuns and hugs
all in one.

But you, sweet Red,
are nature incarnate,
imbued with a compelling
visceral beauty,
wild, free,
ever evolving
ever charming
your way into my heart
with a sustaining
magic
that roots
deeply to
the core of me

Time only solidifies
that connection
and brings to light
that newness
upon every turning
of the page
in the story
between
you and I that
will be a beautiful
adventure if not
funny book
to read
one day.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

Happy Happens


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