Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Five Tenets of the Sword – A Poem

January 12, 2016 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

The Five Tenets of the Sword~

Strength~

Once light as a dead bird’s body in my hands,

this weapon now weighs more than the collective souls

of a million men,

sweat glistens on muscled forearms strained

drained,

needles in legs drive deep,

yet I stand.

Conditioned for this in every cord, tendon, and bone

that runs through.

Skill~

Hours upon hours, Days upon days,

Years to master myself, then years to follow

to master this weapon.

The placement of the foot just so, hands balanced

sword poised at the perfect angle.

Advance, retreat, first position, second position

third, and on and on and on,

an endless dance until the music stops

with a myriad of outcomes at its end,

and I know every step in the

countless tangle of each encounter.

Instinct~

I am steadfast in my defense and attack

yet, I let the mind drift into that nether

region between thought and the what-if.

Never thinking I know my opponent

for he will do what I least expect and I

must expect the least expected in the blink

of an eye, for it could be my eye that is lost.

Ignore your sixth sense at the cost that

only fools pay when they are finally put to

rest in a shallow lonely grave.

Courage~

My line of sight travels down my sword

to an opponent that only wishes me a quick death

I see all my years to come, laid out bare for

him to snatch from me, like a breath from

a baby as he sleeps deep.

I am no newborn! Swaddled and waiting.

But born to this moment in time.

So come. Come!

And I will share you a secret

as I whisper your own death in your

ears.

Will~

The hardest of the tenets to maintain,

for they drive all the rest in me.

Fail this one and I fail them all.

Be steadfast you ask of your soul,

Be steadfast you implore of your heart.

Be steadfast you command of your mind.

Find a focus to compel the body forward.

Find a focus to awake each day.

Find a focus to believe in you

when no one else ever will.

Find that will

Simply find it

For there can be no other way.

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Prince of Ravens

January 7, 2016 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

Prince of Ravens~

Brown eyes
wolfish grin

With a sword well
used and dangerous
once unsheathed
and finally released.

Shall we dance?

In a ballroom or in
bed.
For both skills come
naturally
to the Prince.
Once he takes you in hand.

Dark, and darker
as the lights are dimmed
to hide what some
others call sins.

The ravens fly high
over castle keep
ever watchful
as their prince
delves deep.

Into the many mysteries
of the mind
found between her
legs and more.

What chaos
What wonder.

What beauty will he finally find
In himself

When the dance is done.

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Fill up my time fish

January 6, 2016 Philip Wardlow 3 Comments

Fill up my time fish~

She said, “Fill up my time

while I wait for something

that I can finally keep

to drop on by.”

He said, “You’ll do,

you beautiful thing you,

now hurry , spread your legs as

my want of you is almost up.”

You are my novelty for the day,

the week, the month, the year,

as my desires

run their phases like the moon

runs its course across the skies

a hundred thousand million times.

You didn’t know it, but you did.

You hoped, but you still did.

Our original sin, over and over again.

That seems to be half the fun.

Are we all hobbies? Habits?

Frivolous fantasies and disastrous

desires run amok?

Dear affections that grab us like

a child holding tight to a goldfish

in a brand new bowl.

We all know what happens to that fish.

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, Stories and Story Excerpts

The Crow Waits ~

January 6, 2016 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

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

by Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Shiny Metal – A poem

January 5, 2016 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

My Shiny Metal~

I float in this boat,

bobbing at

the whim of the waves on my course.

A slave to nature’s most erosive

force.

Always weighed down by other

distractions in my journey.

Sometimes I hardly know its there,

so quiet it can be, so still

never moving an inch.

When did it first settle on to me,

this quiet rage.

Clinging to me like barnacles on the

hull of my ship deep at sea.

Eating away at the steel in me

as it collects.

This quiet rage.

becomes cumbersome,

a weight that’s hard to

slough off easily.

Lift me from the ocean on timbered

beams and let me drip dry.

Now scrape, and scrape, and scrape

See my shiny metal gleam?

I must be diligent.

Scrape, Scrape, Scrape.

Lest this quiet rage

causes me to sink into

the abyss.

to become

just useless scrap

resting at the bottom

of a dark sea.

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Flying…

January 4, 2016 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

Flying~

Flying….I…ME…Searching with my lantern,

alight on currents of cold dusky air

The darkness below doesn’t feel the light

that leaks out and dribbles out like

bits of cold rain.

Fall, Fall, Fall

little light of mine….fall

a trickle of a smile

a patter of patience

a sprinkle of spoken

words full of regret.

Flying…lost…ME

in coalescing clouds

fusing, binding,

here I am, mingling

with the molecules as

I shift through the

atmosphere

Ever Apart…ever Onward.

Flying…as the light drips

down to the darkness

below…searching.

by Philip Wardlow 2016

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

I trudge – A Poem

December 11, 2015 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

I Trudge~

Through snow I trudge

heavy of foot with boots to insulate from the cold that creeps

always its creeps….

lost imprints of foot prints

swirl away to nothingness

as I look back through the raging blizzard

surrounding me

I am not lost

For I am forever moving forward in the night.

towards that one star that peeks.

Wringing frigid calloused hands in gloves

never quite warm up to stave off the cold

I find these tired legs and cold hands

are a badge of honor

through a life sought to beat me down

I’m still standing

still walking

still wringing my cold hands

even they may look worn

they are strong

just as my legs are

which trudge

even though ever losing the imprints

of a past I have earned in sheer exertion

of a spirit that will always burn in me.

by Philip Wardlow 2015

Inquiring Minds, Stories and Story Excerpts

Letting Go – A Very Short Story

December 10, 2015 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

Letting Go~

“I’m gonna let go, but I don’t know where I’m gonna fall to?” asked the dirty faced little boy who hung limply from a clothesline in the pitch blackness over a deserted alley some four stories high.

“That’s right Michael,” said the other much older boy who hung out the window with one hand in a tight knuckled grip on the window sill and the other on the clothesline from which Michael hung.

“You gotta drop straight down and let us see what you’re made of. We’ve all had to do it, you won’t be the first,” the boy said, in a matter fact tone.

Michael looked up from where he hung at the older boy who had spoken to him, his face and body were hidden in the myriad of shadows the surrounding buildings cast upon him. It seemed to Michael that the shadows spoke to him, the voice didn’t belong to anyone at all just a disembodied entity wanting him to fall to his doom. Michael looked up higher to the stars overhead, his only source of light. He gazed at the nighttime sky, the dancing twinkling night. He had never noticed the stars twinkle as much as he did this night. It made him ponder, it made him think. It made him come to a decision.

He took one last look, time to see what he was made of he thought. He gave the shadowy boy a nod and let go. Just like that.

He fell for an eternity. His long hair was pulled upward as he heard the rush of air flow past his ears. The beat of his heart was the only other intrusion upon his senses as he fell. The stars above were lost in a deep blackness that couldn’t be pierced, like falling down a well at night.

Thump!

He had landed and he was alive. Somehow he was alive. Michael got up and stood amidst the cheering, hooting and hollering of the other boys that had waited down below. Then he simply turned from them and walked away and never looked back. He did look up though at the twinkling stars.

The End

by Philip Wardlow 2015

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Kissing you Violently

December 1, 2015 Philip Wardlow 1 Comment

Kissing you Violently ~

This land is vast,
a kingdom of twists
and false turns,
full of dragons, goblins, trolls,
and all kinds of viciousness.

You are lost in it,
meandering to and fro.

Bogs, quicksand, dark woods
and sweeping storms rage
as you huddle in a hole
in a hollowed out stone hill.

Yet you travel on, for the storms
always settle for just a slice of time,
just a slice,
same as the monsters which stop in their
roaming, if only a bit.

Enchantments abound,
seemingly fair of nature,
always to turn to a curse
soon revealed,
as the invisible ropes
binding you deep on a pedestal
force a lucid sleep,
of nightmares you cannot place.

Knuckles bloodied
against a stone wall which
will never fall.

I punch.

See? Nary a chip.

So I climb…

Breath spent in exhaling
as lungs heave
with exertion
at muscles spent,
screaming with fatigue.

I find you sleeping.
Fitfully.

A beautiful wretch of a woman
The only kind I would
ever seek.

A Prince of Fools I may be
perhaps, but still a
knowing knight am I in the end,
for only a violent kiss
will bring you back to
life.

Not one of wishes
and hopes and dreams
or even love,
but one of a passion
to rival a thousand
wants and deeds.

And as I look to you
I am full of
violence
this day.

As I bend down
and kiss you violently

by Philip Wardlow 2015

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

My Pillow – A Poem

November 25, 2015 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

My Pillow ~

A heavy heart leads to heavy eyes

often in a night with no end.

The pillow knows me

well this past year.

Tears accumulated in its

cotton fabric could

tell many a tale.

to any stranger who

would care to ask.

But my pillow knows

how to keep secrets

to my detriment it seems.

From loneliness,

To envy, from fears to

lies, unknown desires, on to

shame, and honor

lost.

I am but me,

with a ready smile

and an open heart.

and a soul

frustrated at its

wonderings.

Learning, seeking

self, as I do not

trust that seeking

in its self.

For I lie to me.

Wonderful me

I lie to me.

Where do you go wish to go?

And what road do you

want to take to get you there?

My eyes finally close.

and only my pillow

knows those

answers I pose

to myself.

By Philip Wardl0w 2015

Ain't no rest for the Wicked – Philip Wardlow – The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets..

The Five Tenets of the Sword – A Poem

Prince of Ravens

Fill up my time fish

The Crow Waits ~

Shiny Metal – A poem

Flying…

I trudge – A Poem

Letting Go – A Very Short Story

Kissing you Violently

My Pillow – A Poem

Don't let the mystery of you go unknown

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Don't let the mystery of you go unknown