There is nothing more
free than being
ME
There is nothing more to
life
than finding a
best friend in a
wife
There is nothing more than to have
those two things mingle
in an intense cacophony,
of a unique symphony.
And you just wade in
and swim.
Beautifully lost.
by Philip Wardlow 2018
First,
You are originally packed,
innards carefully selected
for the long trip
Zipped up,
thrown into a trunk,
weighed and tagged
with declarations
nay or yea about the status of your
being.
Then you are stuffed in
with the others,
in coldness,
while others may
sit in comfort, warm and secure.
You are very cold
so very cold
and its hard to breath
as you sit in an
unknown darkness
not knowing up from down
Abruptly,
ungentle hands throw
you about,
disoriented,
you tumble, fall and
are crushed,
to finally be dumped out into
the light
to traverse
around and around and around
walls flitting by, legs
and arms of non-distinct color
not wanted by you,
pick the
others
alongside you in
the endless revolving
journey.
Soon, you are the last one
on the turnstile
still circling and circling and circling
until you simply
stop
and wait for someone to pick you up
and you keep waiting
and Waiting
and Waiting
Waiting…
by Philip Wardlow 2018
Now I lay me down not to sleep
I just get tangled in the sheets
I swim in sweat three inches deep
I just lay back and claim defeat
Chapter read and lesson learned
I turned the lights off while she burned
So while she’s three hundred degrees
I throw the sheets off and I freeze
Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeats
The only thing that counts is
That I won’t sleep
I countdown, I look around
Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
Since the Second World War)
My hands are locked up tight in fists
My mind is racing filled with lists
Of things to do and things I’ve done
Another sleepless night’s begun
Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeats
The only thing that counts is
That I won’t sleep
I countdown, I look around
Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
Since the Second World War)
Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
Since the Second World War)
There’s so much joy in life,
So many pleasures all around
But the pleasure of insomnia
Is one I’ve never found
With all life has to offer,
There’s so much to be enjoyed
But the pleasures of insomnia
Are ones I can’t avoid
Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeats
The only thing that counts is
that I won’t sleep
I countdown, I look around
Who needs sleep?
(well you’re never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what’s that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
since the Second World War)
Songwriters: Ed Robertson / Steven Page
We all at one time or two
sought the lingering approval
or watchful gaze of another,
be it from a fickle fan
adoring lover, or
sexual predator.
Everyone,
here or there
has drawn at the well of vanity
or emotional depravity.
Their mental cavities
within the mind
grinding away the days
in wanting to be seen,
be heard
be noticed
be exalted
a desperate grab
at the grandiose
a fetish of an ultimately apathetic
world
which will simply move on
to the next shiny bauble
when it comes by
Flying
bye
bye
bye
as you whisper
“See me”
by Philip Wardlow 2018
Do you know of magical Maria?
Some say she be
a sassy sprite with a bit of a bite,
or perhaps a nymph
wearing nary a stitch
frolicking and flitting
through the dark forest night,
just as nude as the moon
and as bright.
I was once told she be
a naughty gremlin who
causes all kind of ruckus
getting into much trouble
with no shame or blame
to share,
a real ne’er do well at times
mucking up more mystical
mischief than I ever did see
of anyone that could ever
be.
Ah, but the keenest of tales
say she is a fairy of much
renowned
A beauty of the rarest rare
with eyes of emeralds and
lips of the sweetest cherries
and red, red flowing hair
wrapping around a body soft
as a new born babe.
She rides a Unicorn some say
and if you are lucky enough
on a given day
you perchance may
just catch a glance
of the prettiest creature that
even rivaled the stars to
distraction.
If you be so lucky enough.
by Philip Wardlow 2018
Pause,
be still
for there is solace in us,
we fools of love lost
now found.
Silent the raging of
the day,
for fortune
fills our cup
Sip
Sip
Sip it up
and
savor the flavor.
For you and I
are everything
that some might
deny in themselves
and wonder
at the end
of the day
why they ever did.
by Philip Wardlow 2018
The ravaging of her
by me
is akin to a famished
man licking his plate clean,
then looking for more,
mouth open, and tongue tingling in anticipation
of feeding again on all the morsels
still not offered and hidden in
the closed secret cupboards of her that
are thrown open violently.
with a ravenous want
she heartedly
agrees in the taking of.
The thrill of her is
a fall of twelve thousand feet,
Plummeting, wind whipped by
a gravity of immense propositions
pulling me towards a
desirious body
that seeks my weight
to come crashing
into it,
only to fall through and continue on
out the otherside
into her all over
again.
Forever falling.
Forever giving of everything
until our worlds
explode into
a thousand
times
a
thousand
colors
To slowly coalesce
into a calm
carressing
shade of vibrant
red
And a warm embrace.
By Philip Wardlow 2018
Why does the “Happiness”
often seem to be derailed
by the struggle of it all?
The consistency of
Chaos never seems
to run out of fashion,
it just puts on a new hat
and goes out into the
world and laughs
while it fucks shit up.
All the while Order
sits at home
like a shut in
Picking up grains
of very white rice
off a very white linoleum floor
in the kitchen.
Is the struggle for that “It” , that
“Thing” the cause of it all.
Do other “Its” and “Things”
have to be broken and unbound
First,
before Chaos sits his ass down?
I ask you this, because,
all Order ever wanted was
a cup of coffee from the kitchen
to ease
the headache that Chaos
constantly gives him.
Yet here Order kneels on
the floor picking
up stupid grains
of rice
While his head pounds
and pounds
and pounds.
By Philip Wardlow 2018
As I take you in hand
I give you my heart
As I give you my heart
So do I give you my soul
to interweave with your own
I have long sought you
and in now finding you
knowing you,
feeling you,
loving you,
I am home.
Home like I have never
been in all my life.
I vow to always sustain you,
and lift you up in all the days, hours
and seconds left to us in this
life and hopefully beyond
this earthly boundary in
a heaven of our own making.
I vow to be faithful to our
friendship, and to always
be loyal in seeking understanding
of any your pains should they come
and to always share my own with you
in return, trusting in you
to understand as well.
I want to walk a shared path with you Maria,
through any trials, through any challenges,
through any storms,
hand in hand, held tightly
never letting go.
I vow want to sit with you watching
every sunrise and sunset offered to us
with smiles and much laughter.
Bright eyes, hugs, and most
of all with love.
by Philip Wardlow 2018
Don’t know if I’ll
ever be able to show the world
what I see
Really see
Not a facsimile
Of ifs and buts
But of What’s
and Wherefores
And art thous
And
Not “I suppose If you think so”
Mentalities,
But maybe,
It
has to be that way
as its always been,
To be found guilty
By ignorance, history, and apathy
Your worth only
found after your long
gone in a
cold
cold
grave
when the writings
all done.
by Philip Wardlow 2018
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for
LOVER OF ROPE
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
one thousand words are not enough
Poetry
Erotic Poetry and Stories
journal
Tigers not daughters
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life, and my Wandering Mind
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read
a clusterfuck of words
A cozy cottage for writers and book lovers
Smidgens
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for
LOVER OF ROPE
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
one thousand words are not enough
Poetry
Erotic Poetry and Stories
journal
Tigers not daughters
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life, and my Wandering Mind
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read
a clusterfuck of words
A cozy cottage for writers and book lovers
Smidgens
