Tag Archives: death

I know I won’t cry


They say parents shouldn’t outlive their kids, but should an older brother outlive their younger?

Much like a parent, the older brother directs, and protects the course of the younger.

Unlike parents, the older brother can also be a partner, a fellow perpetrator of many a fun misdeed gone awry. That is where bonds lie deepest, where intimate secrets are kept and held between a kin closer than that of the mother or father.

Sharing of sins, and the punishment of those sins, sharing in the joys and adventures that is youth in its whole.

You share a core with that little brother that none may know. It’s unspoken but known to the bone between you two.

To the Bone.

It’s honored, it’s delicate. It’s something that always dwells.

So when you see your little brother, dismal and seemingly damned, fallen and fragile, raging against an unknown foe and miles from the place in him from where he was once was, you know.

Where in the core that you share, now only dwells despair, you weep, and you weep, and you weep in the silence where no sees, because a man doesn’t cry, they simply don’t.

You know you won’t cry as he lies in a casket, all dressed and prettied up. You know you won’t cry when other’s speak of him in passing or come up to you with a hug, and “I am sorry for your loss”

You know you won’t cry simply because you have already cried so much as bit by bit of your little brother was pulled from you, excised with a sharp knife, and put into a blender and pureed to mush.

By Philip Wardlow June 2021

If I Died TOmoRROW


Kah Thump…….Kah Thump………………………………………….. ……………….KahThump…………….Thump………………Ka Thump…………………..Kah Thump……………….Kaaaaaaaah Thuuuuuuuuuuuump

98.2 Fahrenheat Degrees, 98.1, 98.0 and so on and on, down, down, down, until I am a cold rigid plank, as rigid as a piece of flesh could be anyway.

Call me Rigor, Mr. Mortis if you’re nasty.

As I say this, I realize the parts of me that will live, will go on in pictures, videos, my writings, and half memories in other people’s distracted minds yet still alive.

That’s kinda cool.

Cry at my funeral or laugh…or do both. I would prefer both. Please also drink and dance afterwards. That drunk girl over there though, twerking over my casket has got to go.

Talk about the dumb shit I did, talk about a kind word or two I threw at you, or when I asked you for nudes. By the way, I’m still waiting on one of your butt. When you finally take it, send it UP. Or is that DOWN?

I’m sure it’s UP, I haven’t been that bad in my life;

I have never kicked a puppy, only petted. But I have hit many a pussy in my lifetime if you know what I mean, and they never complained, and I petted them before and after as they purred graciously.

I was kind, immature, caring, needy, a charmer, careless of others feelings, repentant, codependent, then dependent on only me, then I met Red, a magical creature needing a safe harbor and I gave it.

I loved all the magic which poured forth from her, for I saw it had been bottled up for so long and it needed a nurturing voice to keep it flow, flow, flowing. I am content that I helped her find herself and to show her she was always good enough from the very beginning of her life.

I’ve always wanted to be seen as a good person, but it took me awhile to realize you have to BE a good person to truly be seen as a good person; to yourself most especially. After you do, everything else that follows is just gravy.

Mmmm gravy…I wonder if they have gravy UP there?

by Philip Wardlow May 7th, 2021

Live Fiercely


Live fiercely while time abounds,
and stop biting at the bonds
of which you think constrict
you, for they don’t for a life lived properly
and wisely
constructed in the spending.

Hold time’s hand as if as a friend, love
every nature of it’s passing and it shall
slow down and comfort every second
of your days.

Create a world uniquely all yours,
from the infinitesimal to the grandiose
inside or without,  to implode
or explode into a world of your
own making.

Sluggish temptations will always pull at the
the very fabric of you, a quicksand
to drown, a meandering path to muddle,
entropy to trap, as Order becomes
undone and Chaos catches you.
Sleep not with Chaos long no matter how
charming her bed is.

Revel in the importance of your life
love, love, love,
yourself and others
Roll around in that word love
like a dog playing in a
pile of fall leaves,
just being.

Never fear the outcome for a life
you have lived fiercely.

by Philip Wardlow October, 2020

The Madman’s Furious Tolling


Atop a distant hill
sits a bright white church
constructed of weathered wood,
brick and mortar
crumbling at its corners

It takes the right or wrong eye
to mark its edges,
as either true and straight,
or jagged as an age-old eroded
crown.

Green rich pastures roll around
its foundations,
capturing the height of its walls
in the folds of a land
that endure its weight,
pressing ever down
while far below its
hallowed grounds
the roots have become
diseased and begun to whither.

Through a dirty pane of glass
you will spy a seeming man
in shadow residing.

He is a slumped, disheveled figure,
silhouetted by a dying day,
chafed hands always holding
rough hewed ropes secured tightly
to the bell higher up in
the proud tower.

He waits for the sun to fall
to horizon’s knife edge,
for everyone knows
all devious deeds are best
done in the dark.

Death has come
to this cursed land
and that man
is Death’s sonorous
escort, pulling on the bell
furiously like a madman, as
the pale rider
stampedes through the town
to take its rightful claim
in the night on through til
dawn’s first morning
light strikes.

Yet, all the town knows
Death shall surely
return again
when the madman
continues
his furious tolling
in the bright white church
high atop the hill.

By Philip Wardlow Oct 20,2020

The Red Queen


She once sat a throne of bones
and violence, of endings
and beginnings unwinding,
while always seeking a home.

I found her to be funny, frivolous,
fraught, extreme, and sublime
all in a few heartbeats
of a day.

She seeks the happy,
as she delves for the pride inside
of her and the precious life
that resides in the self.

All her shimmer
rides a rail of magic,
all her gold glitters
at the end of a lost rainbow.

Her beauty often touches
on another world,
where mysteries come alive
and mesmerize
only to slowly fade away.

She has made a home of me,
and I am grateful in that
choosing, for there is
no other place I wish
for her to be.

For she will forever in a day
be my Red Queen.

by Philip Wardlow Jan, 2020

Applying for the Job of Death


 

 

To Whom it may Concern,

I saw your ad in the Daily Death Bugle for an opening for the Death position that had recently become available in your department.

I can’t tell you how delighted I was to see the position finally open up after so many eons of waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting…sorry (I have waited quite a while)

Please see attached resume regarding my education and experience on all things related to death and in my earlier years with dismemberment only as I was still learning what it truly meant to properly and with great honor take someone’s soul.

My brief stint of education  at DIT (The Death Institute of Technology) wetted my appetite for all things Death, so I then chose to enroll with the esteemed Reaper University to properly round out my skills and attain, as you see, my Masters ,Majoring in Reaping with a Minor in Pottery. I have trapped many a soul in my stylish handmade cookie jars mind you, and they sell really well at the Arts and Craft Festival every year.

I believe my collaboration and internship work with various mortuaries, churches, casinos, and funny enough, oriental massage parlors gave me a unique perspective that Death is always lurking around the corner. I am ready, willing and able to creep around any corner put in front of me with vigor and steadfastness to this ancient glorious trade to see that the job gets done.

 Please consider me for  this Reaper position as I believe I am the only entity for the job with the right  mix and balance of perversion, passion and education to get the job done, and done right the first time,  as you can only kill a person once they say.

Sincerely,

Philip “The Grim”  Wardlow

666 Scythe Lane
Purgatory, MI
http://www.reaperofsouls.com
616-666-6666

 

 

Don’t know


download

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

Coming with


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I’m coming with,
if
we’re close in death
and your spirit wants
to go before
I’ll be hugging you tight
as the heroin goes in us
both
Then my dear friend
with my hand in yours
we’ll let that
euphoric concoction
swim through
to envelop to a quiet warmth
until we walk off that
cliff
And we go flying
High
High
High
Away
Letting go
in search of the
far
far
far
away.

By Philip Wardlow 2018

 

More than he knew ( for my Father)


 

I didn’t cry for you when  mom told me you had just died. I don’t cry in front of most people.  It’s too much to give them of me.

My two brothers had.

I remember my older brother wailing something awful, eyes full of anguish while my younger brother’s eyes filled over, tears  flowing down his cheeks like a runaway river in full flood.

Like you, I never showed anger nor did I ever show sadness.  But I remember your smile and your silence.  Such was I.

Three days later we drove the hour and half to your house in another town to collect your things and attend your funeral. You always felt a world away but you had always been close really.

There it sat,  your house, small, non-descript,  dull in color.

I recalled as we entered, me  visiting you once all by myself staying for a weekend.

I had baked you a nice big chocolate cake because mom used to bake for you and I knew you missed it and I wanted you to smile and be happy because I knew deep down you were not.

I wandered the house slowly taking you in.

In the bathroom your razor still sat at the edge of the sink just waiting for you to come back to pick it up and use it.

The chair you once sat in,  still with the noticeable impression from the gravity of your body filling it as  you watched television.

My brothers started fighting over something of yours they wanted to keep for themselves. My mom began to complain loudly about something frivolous like she so often did.

There I stood in the middle of the living room. Lost. Thinking of you.

A soft light spilled through the living room window to fall on the wooden floor  at my feet lighting upon the dust motes which filled the empty space.

I pictured you there. Like me. Lost . Forgotten while the world worked around you.

A deep welling up of painful pressure begin to rise in me, to think of you perhaps feeling you were not loved in your last years here on earth.

To think you perhaps felt alone in this world at the end of it all, your life coming to a close and no one there to send you off with a held hand, or a kiss or heartfelt word.

Then I silently begin to cry standing there.

I couldn’t have stopped if I had wanted to.

Then mom noticed and pulled me in close with a hug, my brothers turn to me and I didn’t care

For these tears were for you not me.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2017