Category Archives: Poetry Work

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

Bravery


I have seen them,
the brave ones
with head down
rushing in
challenging the
world, waiting for it
to slap them down
they ride the sharp edge of insanity
until it either finally
lifts them high
or cuts so deep
to the bone they
bleed out
blood coagulating
at their feet
and either die
or get sewn up,
and given a bottle
of red in transfusion
from another
who says
go ahead take mine
I don’t need it
I’ve got plenty
yet they do need it.
But the world
is better for it
in the end.
The brave ones.
with
head down
riding the sharp edge of insanity.
And
so I begin
my ride.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2017

Nothing More


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Nothing would tell me more
about you
than a kiss.
For it would lead my psyche
into yours
on multiple levels
and roads
of desire yet to be explored.
I would know the Intent
of you
The passions wanting to
unfurl and
envelope me in them
I would feel the tensions
dissolve within you
as you grasp at my
nature
as I grasp at yours
My lips upon you,
my hands
gently holding
your cheeks as
you smile at the discovery
of a connection
long sought
long fought
in your soul
All this would be found
in a kiss
Yet, here I am
far across the room
for that
never to
be discovered.

By Philip Wardlow 2017

 

 

The Feels


 

People either embrace the feels
or they fight against it.
Neither is wrong, and neither is
right.
It’s all just timing and circumstance.
Want or Need. Fight or Flight.
There is a glitch in us, for or
against, for whatever reason
we deem important in that slice
of time that it demands it of us.
We move mountains to attain it
or disengage from even the remoteness
of it happening in a flicker of an eyelash.
Fear and anxiety wells up within us
or an earnestness and compulsion
pulls us like a loadstone to the beautiful source
I have seen it in others…I have felt it from others
I have felt it in me.
You can do nothing to fight it.
Simple avoid or engage.
Yet, you need the feels in either aspect, in
the positive or the negative
in order to engage in life,
to be functional
You need that connection to the what-if
of the word or the now of it.
That connection no matter how
tenuous or deep meaning.
You choose your poison in the
dosage you yourself dole out.
I will choose my own and perhaps
we will in a future time
where both
our wills coincide.
Finally meet.

 

 

By Philip Wardlow 2017

Leavetaking


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I touched on you
for the merest moment
as each caress was counted
by my hand upon your
skin.
While each multitude of last kisses were my final goodbye that took it’s slow
approach in the
forever meandering days we spent
in ignorant luxury with
one another.
Fools,
yet fortunate ones
to find such a rich
treasure
Deep in the eyes of another
Us knowing the
full wealth
we clutched
And still finding
the strength
to set it aside
knowing it could
possibly lead to
a profound
sadness
from which there would be
no escape from.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2017

Mr. Mucky Muck


Climbing out of the mucky muck
getting out of the quicksand
of me
Expulsing the meandering mélange of
my bluesy Eeyore ways.
Striking a chord of resonance
to perchance
take a chance
on the what-if
of a life
less melancholy.
Stomp, stomp, stomp that fear.
Pull, push, fly against that gravity
paddle, run, roll
down that hill
Letting the fall aid my
cause.
Oh you mucky muck
you doldrums,
you insidious funk
I will take thee
by the scruff
and shake thee about
and shout in your ear
get out, get out, get out.
Slink you well away.
Ooze on down the road.
Mr. Muck
You are not wanted here.
No matter how well you look
in that three piece suit
and your comedic
bravado,
You will always fall
short as a true friend
no matter how comfortable
you seem in your skin
I see all to clearly below
that shady veneer
So goodbye
Mr. Mucky Muck,
Goodbye.

Philip Wardlow 2017

Cri de Coeur


When you are a minority in this country, be it a woman, or of a different race, gender identification, or a non-prevalent religion, you are already a second class citizen. You are simply tolerated and you are either outright told you are not wanted at times or its whispered in your ear at the most unexpected (or expected) moments in your life.

You often will just nod to yourself inside and say, Yeah, that’s right, I almost forgot I wasn’t different from you. How silly of me to have forgotten. Thank you for reminding me I don’t really belong.

A woman or man may become shamed, fearful, angry. Cry tears of sadness, frustration and/or indignation. They make drink, smoke, shoot up, live life to the excess all to assuage their disgust, their inadequacies, or the perpetual fight they think they may not be able to overcome for something they simply were born into. Nothing more. A chromosome here, a chromosome there, all amounting to being defined, boxed and put in your place. Categorized.

Becoming a category, a subject matter, a thing, provides disconnection for the majority. So when the times comes to fight the status quo it is simply met with indifference, ridicule, generalities, skepticism, and even outright suspicion.

What does the majority think we fight for? Why does a woman call out a man in power when he threatens her with her career if she won’t sleep with him? Why does a black man kneel when the anthem plays because he simply wants to make sure that flag really seems HIM in equal measure when it waves in the wind. Why does a man marrying another man, or woman marrying another woman rankle the majority so, when love is love is love?

Majority is the key.

Remember, Majority is the key.

Stop thinking of yourself as not the majority. Don’t acquiesce. Don’t bow your head.

Being a minority is only a state of mind you put yourself in.

So simply cry out from the heart. And say enough.

Philip Wardlow 2017

The Right Spice


You are the heat I consume
on a cold cold blustery day
as I’m snuggled down deep
with you in bed.
Your aroma floats to me
as a small grin spreads
across my face.
You are a familiar smell
I know very well
Never in doubt,
my little pumpkin spice latte
you permeate me
senses and all.
Your spice is just right.
Biting, sweet, intense
Grabbing me
Compelling me
As I inhale you in.
To finally taste thee…

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Dark Days Perhaps Fade Away – Poem#1 through 3 Collection


Poem #1

Snuggled down deep with the dark at our backs, intense heated light upon our cheeks while tales are told of places and times either long gone or yet to be of the bold; fighting, with either triumph or death to unfold in stories so unreal as to be real for truth lies in the darkest of tales, ever mercurial and seeking a willful ear…

 

 

Poem #2

Lost little monster of the dark auburn woods . She is hidden, ever hidden deep within. A hideous beauty.  Sweet dark girl with eyes that burn with a magic earned in dark fires held sway by an intense and longing angry pain. More fearsome than the darkness that seeks her or so she thinks. Beguiling and devilish yet unknowingly selfless. Just you wait, you’ll see. when the blackness truly and finally comes to knock upon all our doors and hers, she’ll be the only one strong to stand in its way.   To right the many wrongs of a life stripped away.

Poem #3

If there be real magic, I shall discover it in my travels upon my boat, with its sails made of flicks of flame billowing and full, pulling me across a crystal ocean through the night and day of this worn out world.  Alone I shall go, but you may accompany me  if you so wish. But please know dear companion, I shall seek that magic even if I should fall off the edge of it all to find a new more inviting place…

 

 

All poems by Philip Wardlow 2017

Excerpt from “Everything on It” by Shel Silverstein


A spider lives inside my head
Who weaves a strange and wondrous web
Of silken thread and silver strings
To catch all sorts of flying things,
Like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles
And specks of dried-up tears,
And dust of dreams that catch and cling
For years, and years, and years…

Killing the Agony


 

Bob Marley sang, “I don’t want to wait in vain for your love.”

Neither do I.
So get over here little girl,
because waiting for you to come to my bed has been agony,
Sheer as a red red curtain.

Painful in its pronouncement deep down in my
sexual soul.
So please, please
Bring home that honey pot. Yum, yum.
Oh you’re the one, little bear.

Drip,

Drip,

Drip… I won’t miss a drop.

Sting sang, “Let my kingdoms fall into the sea, for I’m mad about you”

Mad, mad, mad like the Hatter,
so come join me in the Chaos
as Order soon finds itself and all becomes calm
within your pretty head as
your body hits the bed.

A kiss on the lips,
a greeting for being missed
A bite on the lips,
a spectacle of compulsion
of what’s to come

You know the drill
Mon ami.
You know it all to well
So let me kill your agony.
Euphorically.

by Philip Wardlow