Category Archives: Poetry Work

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

Encounters with women


Six masterpieces Titian painted for Philip II of Spain have been reunited  for the first time since the 16th century - Washington Post

As she  walked down the hall,  every up and down turn of her hips mesmerized me more than a  snake charmers dance with  a cobra…

She was  a petulant child trapped in  a woman’s body  with the insatiable  appetite of a sexual succubus, 

She  confessed her desires, let me have all of her, then used me up, cast me aside,  and then knocked on my door and asked for it again and I obliged her with a smile and let her in.

I would have come and danced with her in the rain but sometimes I liked to watch  from afar and get lost in the beauty exploding from her smile.

Neither one of her two sides were her but both together made her who she was.

Her  curves were  beautiful, from hip to lip, from breasts to almond eyes, She took delight in letting me help her with all her secret sins that her mind meandered to.

Even the want of  death is life because its a feeling. Hold on to life through that feeling and claw your way out of your loose soiled grave dear girl.

When ever she bent over or reached up for something upon a shelf, did she know how absolutely enticing her body  looked when she did  it?  I’m thinking she did…

Violence never solved anything but it sure did look sexy on her in that moment in bed…

When she leaned her  face first  against the wall  wearing that silk dress knowing I knew she was  not wearing anything beneath, the invitation was too much to bear.

She  was  a magnet to me the first time I laid eyes upon  her and she has  been every day since.

by Philip Wardlow June 1st, 2022

 

Life Be Trippin’


The sex was going great until the pills wore off
and the world spun out irate.

I had only just started  really getting into her when it was
suddenly all done.

Disappointed?

Fuck Yeah, Life Be Trippin'  like that...

Why can't it be like when I was six,  just
daydreaming and having fun.

Forts, bicycling, and ice cream under a
frantic delicious daze of days in the sun.

Nowhere and everywhere at once I was.

Life be trippin'  now boy.

I've  never been the same since that 
feeling of being six. 
After that was when the world
stopped making sense.

Everybody a problem, and every problem
of theirs belonging to you.

Yeah, life be trippin' deep. and I'm drowning,
Drowning in this life that keeps coming, and flowing 
and washing over me.

Feet grounded,
because I have forgot how to
fly.


By Philip Wardlow   June 1st  2022











My loose change


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



The Dance


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

My Perfect Heart


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.

She is my wife, my perfect heart.

Forever my Valentine.

By Philip Wardlow Feb 14th 2022

The Everything and the Nothing


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










 





 

	

Halloween Haikus


Forest of pitch and gloom
promise men carnal fortunes
with a witches smile
Did you blink and miss
floating eyes and toothy grin
Hee, Hee, What a Fool
It stands in the hall
one foot closer every night
Door locked tight, Knock, knock 
Dapper ghosts party
Halloween is upon them
drink, dance, and go Boo!

The Monsters we Name


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








October


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.


by Philip Wardlow ~ October 1st of 2021

From her eyes,to her smiles and hips


There is no greater story than us…

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.

By Philip Wardlow Aug 26th, 2021