Category Archives: Poetry Work

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

Flowers Growing


The cold is creeping
as the flowers start
to grow thanks to a weeping sky that often never lets up
Yet the shy sun peeks
eye intent then
runs away as the clouds fly and dissipate their desires and the flowers grow
as the cold still creeps.

Warmth rides the skin, plays
with it, hugs the soul, the
world sees potential in
the what-if, but the cold
creeps into their bones
as they grab and hold tight to
frayed blankets full of holes
But the flowers are growing, can you see the buds, the ground birthing green?

Many beautiful rich colors to come even if the bold cold wishes to persist.

By Philip Wardlow ~April 2021

Mystical You


She discovered me in the darkness, coming to me wrapped in alluring music and
undulating waves of red and blue light, she burst into me
with a beckoning and a proposal to envelope her in
all that was and all that ever would be beautiful
in the universe.
So I jumped,
Fears falling away,
Her soul enthralling
enchanting, calling
to my own that I had
forgotten, and I fell
and fell and fell.

She’s my mystic, my medium,
my witch, and my fortunes
come home to rest
in arms wide open

She’s my princess,my queen
The Milady of my heart

She’s all the magic I’ve ever wanted.

By Philip Wardlow March 2021

The Bite of You


I think perhaps I delight in you,
simply because there is a bite in you
a something quite not right with you
In the many fluid ways of you.

You draw me in with all kinds of sin,
but this poor delicate body can only
take so much abuse,
the fear is the itch that I scratch,
as it beckons
I answer, I bleed and bruise
my soul and mind continually
playing the fool of a tool
where your ways rule
ever move
of the day when we play
in decadent forays
of searing sensual
delights.

I meander down a shadowed road
upheaved, trees overturned and strewn about in my way, as a soft bird calls in the distance, beckoning me away.
It’s always the destructive, mingled with the mundane with you.
Drawn to mischief as the moth’s ass
is to a searing flame.
Who’s to blame in this story of us then?

Which of us needs to be grabbed and shaken, to fucking change
to learn to love “properly” in the mind
as the hand still explores the pain.

People are never simple.
All crying onions. Layer upon layer.
Until Time is forgotten.

By Philip Wardlow Dec 2020

Dark Francesca


 

Dark Francesca, they call her.
In the darkest of hours
they say to watch out for the
raven haired one,
for she’s trouble
…oh so much trouble.
Even as she claims
to have an angel’s heart
she’s got the devil’s glint
in her eyes.
Be wary, for she
collects conquests all
the while she makes
you feel you are doing
the conquering it’s
your soul she’s
devouring.
So make no mistake,
steer clear.
And Don’t!
Don’t, look in her eyes
lest you become
mesmerized
Yet even spying her hips
as she walks away.
is enough to enthrall,
with her pendulum
undulations lulling
your senses,
falling
falling
falling
under
as you fall prey.
Perhaps though
if you are lucky
enough, she
may take you home
and simply
use your body up
But if she takes
a fancy to you
more than that
well I’m sorry.
All bets are off.
It was nice knowing you
But there
could be
worse ways
to go
from this world.

by Philip Wardlow November, 2020

Live Fiercely


Live fiercely while time abounds,
and stop biting at the bonds
of which you think constrict
you, for they don’t for a life lived properly
and wisely
constructed in the spending.

Hold time’s hand as if as a friend, love
every nature of it’s passing and it shall
slow down and comfort every second
of your days.

Create a world uniquely all yours,
from the infinitesimal to the grandiose
inside or without,  to implode
or explode into a world of your
own making.

Sluggish temptations will always pull at the
the very fabric of you, a quicksand
to drown, a meandering path to muddle,
entropy to trap, as Order becomes
undone and Chaos catches you.
Sleep not with Chaos long no matter how
charming her bed is.

Revel in the importance of your life
love, love, love,
yourself and others
Roll around in that word love
like a dog playing in a
pile of fall leaves,
just being.

Never fear the outcome for a life
you have lived fiercely.

by Philip Wardlow October, 2020

The Madman’s Furious Tolling


Atop a distant hill
sits a bright white church
constructed of weathered wood,
brick and mortar
crumbling at its corners

It takes the right or wrong eye
to mark its edges,
as either true and straight,
or jagged as an age-old eroded
crown.

Green rich pastures roll around
its foundations,
capturing the height of its walls
in the folds of a land
that endure its weight,
pressing ever down
while far below its
hallowed grounds
the roots have become
diseased and begun to whither.

Through a dirty pane of glass
you will spy a seeming man
in shadow residing.

He is a slumped, disheveled figure,
silhouetted by a dying day,
chafed hands always holding
rough hewed ropes secured tightly
to the bell higher up in
the proud tower.

He waits for the sun to fall
to horizon’s knife edge,
for everyone knows
all devious deeds are best
done in the dark.

Death has come
to this cursed land
and that man
is Death’s sonorous
escort, pulling on the bell
furiously like a madman, as
the pale rider
stampedes through the town
to take its rightful claim
in the night on through til
dawn’s first morning
light strikes.

Yet, all the town knows
Death shall surely
return again
when the madman
continues
his furious tolling
in the bright white church
high atop the hill.

By Philip Wardlow Oct 20,2020

Let me rap on my girl who’s like None Other


I gotta tell you guys
something,
there’s this girl I got married
to…a redhead
just October last.
A little sexiness
wrapped all up
in spontaneous fun
like a toy gun
that you don’t
know when its about to go off
BOOM!
Getting me all undone,
my god she’s been the one
since the beginning
of the meet up
Eyes dark and delicious,
kind and genuine.
Extraordinaria
That’s Spanish for extraordinary,
now I lavish her with the
extra ordinary
whenever we go out
Cuz, she started as my Princess
and I made her my Queen
And she know who the King be,
especially in bed,
where she can just Be
with me, as she let’s
me take the lead
sending her to a little slice of
heaven.
Empathically deep
Evolved intentionally
beyond the word weak
that life
tried to pin to
her early.
She grew and she climbed
always seeking
the sublime
She bled and she wept
she endured
She flew beyond the
bonds of other’s
dead expectations
and found her
own song to sing.
I knew she was a
woman I could I fall in
love with,
was my final thought
After
she walked out the door
of our first meetup.
with me wearing, I’m sure
a boyishly sad grin,
wondering if I would ever
see her again

by Philip Wardlow October 2020

In your Dreams


Let me close my eyes
and softly sink
into you,
my mind intertwininng,
weaving
amongst
your own tangledness.

I wish to sift through your dreams,
pushing away the debris
to see all the fallen wishes
and struck down desires.

I wish to ride the sorrowful
storms of a life stolen,
lost to the whims of the
Others, those demons
which rode you down and snatched
it all away,  laughing,
as if your pain
was just a game.

I want to see all of it,
each and every dream,
everyone,
witnessing it with you
in a tight embrace.

Holding you, I would whisper
that it will all
be alright,
For you are home now,
and your dreams are
safe for I hold them
as dearly as I hold
you now and until
the end of
all time.

by Philip Wardlow September 2020

The, I am Rights


I have met them,
The, I am Rights,
They give you a sidelong
glance and a chuckle
as you present
the realness
of you and of them,
of feelings simply
felt with no malice.

Yet they seem to be
able not to respond
with a kind word, but
they instead double down
in their derision.

It’s as if they have
already made up
their mind of what they
will say before you
ever uttered a word.

I am sorry the world
broke you.

I am sorry life can’t
be a perfect scenario.

I am not your keeper
I can’t heal what is
broken in you.
That’s on you.
I can listen though, I can learn
I can open my own heart
So I in turn can
see the rights and wrongs
of it all in your world
and you can perhaps see mine
too.

by Philip Wardlow – August 2020

Why is Snow White the most beautiful?


 

No one is the MOST beautiful. Most and Beautiful do not go together except in the subjective sense. If you believe Snow White is the most beautiful, then she is…if I believe she not the most beautiful, then she is not. Maybe you like her voice and singing…I do not….maybe you like her fair skin and dark hair color, and I perhaps prefer a blonde with a tan. Maybe I prefer a girl with muscles who takes care of herself in a fight, and you prefer a damsel in distress. With no prejudices behind it , maybe I think Cinderella is prettier….Beauty in something is a personal thing with many layers at times ….preferences that speak to you. Even something “ugly” can be beautiful…simply because it speaks to YOU.

Simple as that.

by Philip Wardlow July 2020