Art with a Twist of Horror
Tag Archives: art
The Last Supper Art Challenge to my Fellow BLOGGERS!
Found this cool piece of art work out in the nether regions of cyberspace through others I follow who also posted it. The artwork is Copywritten by Bill McConkey (now I have to go check out more of his stuff)
This for me, is my form of religion if you will …sacrilege I know…. 🙂
Can you spot ALL the movie references depicted in the artwork. That includes the posters hanging on the wall as well.
I would love to see if anyone finds something that I might have missed.
Good luck… btw I counted 25 Movie references and identified all 25….so HA!
Three Poem Series about our Natures
Desolate Dame
You give him a grin
and forget it all when he
grabs a breast.
He smiles that same stellar smile
that trapped you so long
ago.
You sweat it all out through sexual labors
and forget…
all the moments meandering
constant
in the frontal lobe of your brain that aches
to cut him loose and send him downstream
to go cascading off a cliff.
Yet you play the martyr to his Mussolini,
tied up and tortured in the town square,
while all the passerby’s look the other way.
Weakness
Doesn’t become you.
Defiance should rule.
But yet you grin all over again
when he grabs your breast.
Philip Wardlow 2013
Lazy Days
Orb bright over head,
Naked we lay…tanning.
I kiddingly ask if I can lay the palm
of my hand on your ass
and just leave it there.
I tell you casually while the sun bakes us,
that we have about another 100,000 yrs
of evolution to go before we stop believing
the bullshit we speak now.
Dark clouds move in as old Mr. Nimbus blows.
A storm is coming…hopefully it only
blows away the shit we don’t need in
our lives.
Sorry babe…
Feeling melancholy again I guess.
I get lost in the fantasy, because the reality of it all,
is so much different than we suppose.
Fantasy….Reality? Each one has its place.
Haven’t decided which of the two is
stranger yet.
We grab our towels as old Mr. Nimbus spits on us
and go inside to have nice a cold beer .
Philip Wardlow 2013
KISA Syndrome
“Why ME?” she asks
I don’t know.
Because you let me in.
Because you’re a good person.
Beautiful,
Intelligent,
Passionate,
But most of all because you’re so full of despair.
…and I have a sword.
Philip Wardlow 2013
***********************************************************************************************
Above three poems originally featured in an online publication called Boyslut – http://boyslutpublications.com/
Shooting Star – A Poem
Shooting Star
I made a wish on a
star that was falling.
How foolish was I?
Perhaps wishes are a fancy
best left for little kids in the backyard
on a warm summer night,
because I can’t afford them anymore.
At the end of the rainbow you say?
I need what’s in that pot to pay for them all.
All those wishes made long ago.
Well that’s a long fucking walk to take in a day.
Cuz, that old damn rainbow seems to move
away with every careful step I take.
Now if I could find that shooting star
That just fell from the sky so high from
outer space into my backyard.
Feel it’s warmth, it’s fading half remembered glow,
as I hold it with hands held tight.
Well that would be something I reckon
That would be alright.
By Philip Wardlow
Ocean of You
If I could hold an ocean in a glass then I could probably understand all there is to you…
Not tonight, I’ve got a Headache – A gif
Bloody Ballet – A Poem
Bloody Ballet
She pirouettes
adorned in a dress
of black gossamer,
Spinning with blade
in hand to music only
she hears.
Flame red hair sweeps the air,
flinging outward, as
drops of crimson
drip from the tip
to the cold hard floor;
knives held tight by
delicate fingers.
Her hands move with
the intensity of the allegro.
Alive, brisk, and deadly.
The sharpness of her tools
keep up with her demands
of dissection and delving.
The other dancers
fall before her
as if in silent repose.
Arabesque to glissade,
her strong legs coupe
across the floor,
she cuts and cuts and cuts
and does a sourbresaut
like a cat jumping
onto her final partner
in this ensemble of now
only one.
She seeks his heart
as the point punches through.
Death follows
Yet still it beats
as she holds it,
Still it beats
as she takes a bite.
Still it beats
as she rises from
her grand plie
and takes a bow
to the crowd
from
center stage.
By Philip Wardlow 2013
Cools Gif and because I’m to Lazy to do anything with my Blog
Separate me, tear me into threes and just leave me be
The damage you have wrought can be repaired,
Once your memory finally fades
Clock Work Orange
Ah, the clock yet continues to tock
Do you see the charm, do you see the light
which still shines through, but its a dark light indeed.
Down Below – Artwork that inspires me in my Writing
Beautiful Water Color
Cruel Master – A Poem
Cruel Master
I have no opinions of which you would care to hear;
for the heart is a cruel master which binds you tight.
Cry out and you will only get more of the same I’m sure;
another beating to send you back into the corner whimpering.
So I slink around the edges of your eyes and live
in the shadows of the moods you cast.
And hope that you never see I am slowly
poisoning the master you have come to
love.
So one day you will be free.
by Philip Wardlow 2013
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 