Tag Archives: challenges

Melancholy Ebb and Flow


At times the tides can be low with the seas pulled back from my shore, leaving an empty wet beach of flopping fish and half broken seashells and garbage mingling in the flotsam and jetsam amongst an almost barren terrain of foreign smells.

When in this low tide, I feel underwhelmed in life, not seen enough,  not heard enough, not understood enough, not known enough, not connected enough
not wanted enough. All the enoughs being never enough.

Then flip that, when the ocean is high and the waves are rugged and  crash hard with a splendor of driving  kinetic energy, when the universe seemingly has all its sights set upon me to thrive and live lively as a person could ever be, I live gloriously!

Life, throwing it all at me,  from the left , right, forward and behind, overwhelming me ,  surging, filling me full to bursting.
and then I do.

I think I have always had this rhythm in me, this cycling of not quite heaven and not quite hell and all the thoughts they bring.  A very fickle Melancholy

I don't want to feel sometimes because it all becomes too much to. One because I know it will end. That feeling.  It will  end, never to return and I will miss it.

At other times I want to feel it all, like a greedy child at a candy shop, mindful of all the sights, and feelings, and intimacies, soaking it in, in the moment, truly not a care for the future. I am filled with a  smile and laugh that lasts  forever in me in that moment..

I know I am a lucky man.  A very lucky man. So so lucky in my life compared to others.

So I hold to that thought.  That I am a lucky man.

The luckiest man that ever there was.

By Philip Wardlow September 12th, 2023





My Snowman


Snowman

I find that I can sometimes be a slow learner at things pertaining to life in all its facets, my life has been much like building a snowman  where you have to make three sections to it.

The bottom comes first and by far the most arduous to make….at first, it starts as just a small snowball in your hands, then you slowly begin to pack more and more snow on to it, as it grows in size, you begin pushing it around  the yard to fill in any cavities around its circumference, now its getting even bigger,  you roll and roll again  to get it bigger until you get it to the size you want. You pat and pack, pat and pack, over and over to just the right rounded beautiful shape.  You take great care in its preordained geometry you see in your mind’s eye ahead, and you smile at your growing  conception.

But then, perhaps some asshole bully at this time walks by and  runs straight at you and then jumps as high as he can into the air to come down crashing on your  growing creation…destroying your nice round ball entirely…

You look  down at your mangled ball of nothingness, then up at the wide proud grin of the bully and you kick him in the
balls…. HARD.

****PAUSE LIFE****

Decision time….do you repeat the process all over again or say fuck it  and go inside for some hot chocolate?

You decide to forge ahead, but this time in the back yard away from all the asshole bullies in your fucked up neighborhood of hypocrites of mom’s and dad’s who created such a monster of a bastard.  Pissed off, you finish that bottom ball, righteously bitching the whole time and then move on to the second.

Then comes the middle portion and if you make it perfectly like the first  in shape but slightly less in size for it will compliment the bottom in proportion for the illusion of a very good looking snow-body.  Now,  if you were very ambitious and had rolled a very large bottom ball, then the second ball of snow will be very heavy  to lift on top of the bottom one. But you must lift it …. because you have to put the head on after this.. Because you need a head.

Well most people in life do anyways but some do seem fine without one. They must bump into a lot of walls on a daily basis for without eyes to see you cannot see. Never see.

So if you are strong, yet careful  it goes up easily,   but sometimes its just a bit too heavy and you drop it , or perhaps you hold it just a little bit too tight and the ball crumbles apart in your mittened hands. Now you have to start all over.

FUCK! you yell in the backyard to no one.

Your mother open’s up the back door and sticks her head out, “Did you say something dear?” she asks, clutching against the cold coming through the door.

“No, I did not mother. A raven flew by, yelling it’s opinions at me,” I said.

“Oh, that’s nice dear, have fun.” She said, and popped her head back inside and closed the door.

You smile inwardly. Because your mother can be an annoyance but she checked in on you and that makes you feel warm even on this cold day

So you finish your snowman, humming all the while, with no cussing at your mistakes or your misgivings of the process you just are building your snowman and having a good day.

By Philip Wardlow July 5th 2023

Fuck ups


 

Men fuck up
Women fuck up
Fuck ups beget more
Fuck ups
Go ahead
Get on that bike and
Cycle through more
Fucking up
Skin a knee,
Break a heart raw
Cycle to you bleed out
all your fucking Up
Then
Find a hill and
Free fall
Legs out
Look ma, no hands
That ER visit gonna
look nice
You Fuck up.

By Philip Wardlow 2018

What say you?


 

hike

 

Wee moments stuck in thought

stuck in the thought

of too many thoughts.

Where does life go when you let it go?

Does it strap on sneakers and have a run.

Not caring the road its on.

Well I  care for scenic, something with  a view,

a journey,

challenging but not reckless or cruel

to the soles of my shoes.

Mountains peaked, craggy and windswept,

leading to dreamy sittings on precarious ledge,

fertile valleys , dark and deep, muddy and froggy with

all the chirps and burps to be offered in the sun

either draped in shade, or tinkled on

by a rainy day.

What say you?

What do you really say?

As you crouch upon your porch

seeing the world run away?

Ah, you have no sneakers?

A poor excuse.

Grab your slippers, or those

old flip flops.

And simply start out for a little walk.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

Mr. Heavy


 

gravitypulls

It can compress;

this day

on temples, on back, and mind.

Tons and tons and tons

I feel it all the time, this gravity

like a thousand suns.

It rips, it pulls, it pushes, it smashes

This day in ruins.

And you cannot explain it away.

Why?

Why this heavy thing?

Where did it come from?

Why did the lightness simply go away

where once it resided.

Filled up like a helium balloon.

Now a lead thing sinks

into sands.

And no strong hands

could pull such a mass

free of Earth’s cold grasp.

Oh why, oh why Mr. Heavy do you bother?

Leave, just leave

and find another.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

floatingme