She draws me in her with nature….pulling, ever pulling…a primal pulsing…building, ever building within me. I must unleash it all on her because her own soul demands it ….she needs to be sated….fed and the wolf rises and races to her to feed also…
Category Archives: Poetry Work
A collection of various poems I have written in relation to horror, fantasy or the supernatural
Mr. Moon – A poem
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 2014
Music lets Roll – A poem
Music ~
Ride Ride that wave that cascades down your soul and over that mind in quarter time…flow flow…and juxtapose that tapping of those feet with that beat in the bass…let me see that smile shine as your teeth flash in a wicked grin …let the sweat pour down as you thump and bump…dance dance and ride ride that wave that rolls ….as you never ever have reason to complain when the music comes to stay stay stay….now play boy play!
Philip Wardlow 2014
Perishable
Perishable~
My finger, one finger
traces down her temple
over her sweet cheeked smile
eyes lighted
just for me
just for me…
So many emotions
behind that smile for me
I must take each of them that
I discover and put them in their own mason jar
and screw the lid down tight
for safe keeping.
To preserve
what surely will be lost.
For you see, we are all delicate
things.
Perishable.
This environment is not kind
to such fragile creatures.
But I wonder.
What is ever meant to last?
I reach for one of the mason jars
and take it down off upon the shelf,
unscrew its top, and tip
its’ contents into my waiting mouth.
I smile and reach for another.
by Philip Wardlow 2015
She – a Poem
She ~
She’s beautiful… not oh, look at her pretty face I want to fuck her beautiful.
Of course I would in any angle and position I could put her in.
But beautiful like an explosion of all the senses that she touches in you.
From your heart to your hand which finds all her release points.
Her eyes that find yours across the room , wanting nothing else but to please…
She’s beautiful in the way that leads you to want to wrap around her like a blanket .
She’s an addiction, an affliction a contradiction at the apex of her attraction
She’s trouble.. oh so much trouble
but the good kind you want to unwind
and let spin and spin and spin
She is simply a connection, a puzzle piece,
that missing part that you didn’t know
was apparently needed
to make your soul complete.
By Philip Wardlow 2014
Embers in Transition – A poem
Embers in Transition ~
My nature has always been as bright embers…
clumped, low and smoldering
always smoldering within me.
Never roaring, never a conflagration
never wanting to burn bright,
to consume and conquer.
A fearful ball of flame, apprehensive
of overreaching its borders,
Self constrained and wrapped tight.
Hidden and held down.
I’m burning up.
layer by slow layer from the inside.
I need to let it trickle out
and let the air in.
Feed it,
give it what it wants….
So it can truly burn like
it has always wished
it could
From without.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
Wild Child – A poem
Wild Child ~
Feral eyes
look back at me from the dark corner
of the room you crouch in.
Though your eyes are in shadow,
I sense the defiance in them.
You’ve been too long out in the wild
child.
Too long.
The woods may be your friend but
you need some taming girl.
Hair is unkept, fingernails split
cracked and bloodied
from all the bodies you’ve buried
each time you escape.
The pain leaks from you like a water through
a sieve.
Elusive composure, hunched and bent
reluctant words pulled in a snarl of
savage civility.
I know you, that soul that sleeps
so so deep within.
I see it fighting to overcome.
Always fighting,
beating and snapping, biting, clawing.
Painfully beautiful as you are
painfully aware of your
own vulnerability when you
allow the outside in.
Wild child you be
as your dark eyes look to
me for true
release.
by Philip Wardlow
Krampus Comes !! – A Dark Christmas poem
Be ye, young or old,
as a child of nine or ninety-nine
We all look to the magical time
when ol’ St. Nick comes a calling,
that jolly grey bearded man with a smile for all.
Traveling down the road in his horse drawn sled
from late dusk to early dawn.
The good ones know they’ll be visited by him,
adorned and wreathed with gifts from
head to toe.
They will sleep a peaceful slumber, full
of dreams of the bright morning to come
and the presents they so richly deserve
from a year of being so very very good.
I am afraid some may not be so inclined
at this joyous holiday time to partake of
all this festive cheer.
For you see, there are some children who lay deep in their
covers under the shadow of night as it plays
through their cold window pane,
waiting for him to come,
St. Nicks dark brother, the Other,
called Krampus to some.
This dark horned, hairy tailed, cloven hooved creature
knows your heart of hearts
and all the naughty things you’ve done.
And he is not forgiving like
good ol’ St. Nick.
With bundled birch sticks in hand
he will greet you with a sharped tooth grin
right before he lays into your
skin,
To beat you about the legs and arms,
a sweet painful present for all your
year’s sins and wicked charms.
Then if you have been especially bad
and you know who you are.
He will take down his big black
ruck sack from upon his back
Open it up, grab you up
and stuff you in.
Then quick out the bedroom window
he flies to disappear down the dark road
with you never to be seen
by your family
ever again.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
A spanking ensues….my most risqué Erotic poem ever? Nope – Adult Content be warned
A Spanking Ensues…
A smirk, a flick of the hair, a defiant look with an akimbo stance.
Whether it’s a raised voice,
or a direction not followed correctly or in a timely
manner.
All these belligerent bratty overtures
directed my way
earn you a strike upon an ass
properly presented upon my command.
Test me.
Stinging slap soon to be followed by a loud
sweet smack.
Every incident, a blow up your ass cheeks,
every palm placed with ferocity
to put you in your place.
Your hips upon my knees, ass facing up at me, hard cock pressed against your stomach, for I relish this.
Pussy wet…
I can feel you drip…drip…drip
As the electrical lines of force
travel from hand to buttocks
to course into your core
soaking you from the inside out.
I smile to myself, arm poised high,
waiting….taunting…teasing,,,,escalating
the scene.
Because I know
in your soul
you need this, relish it.
as you embrace the familiar pain like a
a long lost friend.
And we are both content
By Philip Wardlow
All of It – A Poem
All of It ~
She’s everything,
cute, luscious,devine
wickedly mischievous
a show off, and needy,
funny yet pinch your nipples
serious at times
A passionate soul,
with a demanding nature to be
nurtured and loved and
hugged.
Eyes which twinkle yet bore
into yours, wanting
and wanting
more
and more and more
Damn she’s a chore.
But oh boy, when she asks for
more.
You know what I mean
You smile, because you want to
give it.
With her, your in it.
Deep….balls and all.
To the wall…to the floor…
in her arms and she in yours
and is there any
better place to be?
by Philip Wardlow
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 