Category Archives: Poetry Work

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

A Vampires Lament


Your skin breaks just like

the skin of an apple would

as my teeth sink in.

 

The taste of you floods

my dead mind with memories

of sweet Riesling fair,

 

Days gone, best left dead,

parties of friends buried deep,

a grave gone long cold.

 

Content I had been,

but did not yet know it then.

Death opened my eyes.

 

Sweet isolation,

now follows me everywhere,

a pale hallow friend.

 

My blood lust sated,

you fall to the rocks below,

a victim of me.

 

I could have turned you,

forced a light friendship to dark,

misery to share.

 

But love lingered still,

trapped in these immortal cells.

I did all I could.

 

You sleep the sleep I

seek in my dreams while I sleep

on a bed of nails.

 

Come to me lost ones,

I will take away the pain,

drink it into me.

I am your pardon

to a life God has sidelined,

your dark god on earth.

 

Your skin breaks just like

the skin of an apple would

as my teeth sink in.

The Whole – A poem about trying to understand your place in life


The Whole

All of us in this world

are made up of bits and pieces.

The failure of a father, the loving

kiss of a mother, the slap to the face,

the hug when most needed, the stomp

to the head, the shove in the right direction,

the mysteries from out of the elusive aether.

Puzzle pieces from an endless box

are continuously being dumped on to our table top

of life that you must pick up

and put together to form

a solid picture from.

Place your pieces carefully one at a time

into the spaces that fit.

Dwell not on the picture you think you see forming,

for it is an illusion, a trick

most dire to the eye and mind.

Your puzzle is not yet finished,

if it ever can be,

for how are we

to ever know

the whole.

when so many

pieces have

yet to be

placed.

by Philip Wardlow

Dung Beetle


Sometimes I feel like a  Dung Beetle,

rolling shit around,

first up one hill then down the next,

then up another hill,

continuously rolling and pushing and prodding

it across the ground.

What is the purpose of this rolling, and tolling

this incessant cajoling

of this excrement that falls into a perfect form;

a sphere of shit?

Well I guess you could look at it  this way

at the end of the day

I get to eat it.

At my side – A poem


At my Side –

I carry this sword at my side.

It shines bright in the morning light

it reflects.

I have made it so,

for ne’er will you see it pitted or dull

while it lays in my hands.

Ne’er will you not see the blade as

keen of edge as when it was first cast

that fateful day from the folded metal within.

I count it a true companion for you will

ever see it at my side.

More faithful than the rest ever have been

from days forever gone and treacherous roads long

ago tread.

Ours is a pact forged of conflict,

Where we have both stood together

and tasted the promise of another

day as the blood dripped from both of

us to soil the ground beneath.

I will wake and it will be there.

I will live while it still shines,

for we have each other

My sword and I.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2012

This poem is about more  than a sword. It’s about what’s in us all. The will to to fight when hope may be lost but we fight and struggle and continue to climb out of it no matter what the odds. May you always keep your sword close by your side my friends…

Zombie


If Zombies could talk they would

probably sound just like you.


You’re just a walking stick of bones

with a speech impediment.


Dull and lifeless,

it seems you don’t  have a clue.


You shamble around in a daze,

seemingly half crazed, while spittle

forms around you in a pool.


Your brain must be brimming with

maggots all the way to the core.

 

Hey, your ears are bleeding profusely,

and here I thought I was just being ignored.

Wait here,  I’ve got something for you that might

clear that up…..

Steady, Steady, don’t move,   click  BOOM!

All Better my friend

Blue Balloon


Through a Blue Balloon

I see one color as I’m driving down the road.

That’s Blue.

Blue through my blue Balloon.

 

I see a Blue lady walking her short blue dog with a leash.

 

I see a Blue Officer waving and saying hello to a bunch

of Blue kids he meets.

 

Everything is Blue. Even though I know the truth.

It doesn’t matter

which way I turn my head I’m surrounded by a Blue ocean of color

consuming my sight.

 

Is that light green up ahead?

It’s hard to tell through a balloon made of Blue.

 

Oh, but that blue girl jogging in her tight Blue shorts

Now she’s something to see wouldn’t you agree?

Hey, I think she’s staring at me.

She must like a well-manicured gentleman of Blue

Who knew?

 

So unique.

What a wonderful view as I drive down

The Blue streaked street.

 

No other color as far as the eye can see.

Blue in the back. Blue in the front.

From side to side.

I think I’m having a Blue attack!

 

I like the world I’ve made for myself

So simple. So easy to define.

No other nasty colors to confuse and blind.

Simply divine.

 

Through my Blue balloon,

That’s how I see. That’s how I want

life to look for everyone and me.

 

Call me crazy. Call me a fool.

But to see the world in a bright shade of Blue

should be the rule.

 Blue, Blue through my beautiful Balloon.

Haikus of Horror and Fantasy


I have been visiting a lot of sites lately devoted to horror and fantasy. I have mainly being doing this for a two reasons. First, is because I’m actually interested in other people’s stuff because I’m a big fan of  both genres.  Next, was to see the talent (and competition)  that’s out there in horror and fantasy for what’s being published and bench mark myself a little to see if I have what it takes to get published.  After reading the good, the bad and the hideous in various publications around the web I would say YES!, I do have what it takes to get published (and paid) for my writing.  Anyways there is hope for me yet.

In my fledgling posts here on my blog  I am  always attempting to have the visitor get a sense of me, where my mind likes to wander and where I may be going in the future with my talents as a writer you may wish to read and check out.  To preface the below set up I picked some of my favorite pictures related to aspects of horror or fantasy and wrote a little haiku to capture that very moment or scene. I often will do writing exercises like this to help limber up my brain prior to writing a story.

I would love to hear any comments or thoughts on if I got it “right”…hell I would love to hear your own Haiku of said picture. So please respond if a thought or comment tickles your brain.

The Abbey in the Oakwood

Darkness falls deeply
Hallowed ground never disturbed
Lest the spirits rise

Conan The Warrior

Blade drawn and battered
Warrior's blood soaks the ground
Death cannot find him

No Escape!

Cold hands tight on throat
Black grave no longer asleep,
now not so alone.

Red Sonja

Deep in thought she sits,
Cursed to suffer, blessed to kill
with strength in her heart

A Door Opens

Door opened to light.
Blood trail shows a fools luck,
a door best kept shut

The Tree of Snakes

A tree of snakes hiss
Undulating mass of skin
fall like leaves on me

The Clown

Painted red and white,
the clown smiles keenly at me
with teeth razor sharp.

Spider on my Arm

Delicate and soft,
the Spider walks up my arm,
witches good luck charm

So what do you think? Care to give it a go?  Should I assume everyone knows how to write in Haiku Form? If not the writing formula is simple, it’s basically 5 syllables for the first line, 7 for the second and 5 again for the third line. Give it a try..I would love to see what you come up with besides my own stuff..Thanks!

The Crow Waits


I am sure you have seen my avatar the Crow on my Blog and other places such as my facebook page so I thought it only fitting to create a poem to commemorate it…so here goes..hope you enjoy…by the way my weekly blog in the Inquiry Section of my blog which hits on here every Wednesday…enjoy the poem below.

The Crow Waits

I see it on high sitting in a tree, a Crow amongst the sparse fall leaves
that yet hang to the branches, even though winter fast approaches,
no one told them it seems that they are dead and should already be on their way.

The crow with its pitted black eyes knows me it seems, for it calls my name
across the wind while I languish on the ground in my own blood which spills
from my body and forms around me like a macabre picture frame.

Funny thing, how the crow knows my name, a simple carrion bird waiting for
this warrior’s death so it can pick me clean and leave nothing but my bleached bones,
rusted armor, and a forgotten sword as my only legacy.

Long has the battle been gone from this place I now rest in, the victors have gutted me
like a fish on a stone and left me to the flies and the maggots to fester inside.

But yet shall I live, ever stubborn to die and only the Crow truly knows why.
I hear it laughing at me, calling me a fool for an adventure I sought full of folly
with only death to be met at its end.

It has seen many a fool I am sure and feasted contently before the sun has set.
But still I live! You will not have me fool or not!

So sit your perch and wait for you shall not have me this day or the next,
for even if I should pass these earthly bounds so shall my shade pick up
my blade and strike you down!

The sun has set and the night grows cold, the crow sits in his tree and
waits;  for it has seen many a warrior born and bred and knows full well their
strength,courage and the valor which fills their head, but it knows when dead is dead.