Tag Archives: death

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

 

 

 

 

 

Life in Death or is it Death in Life


SkeletonLight

Death appreciates life , just as life appreciates death.

Both are impartial to the other.

A cold touch caresses the

beauty which flits to and fro

with seemingly

chaotic intention.

How are we to interpret the horrors of this vitality

when we ourselves are trapped in a purgatory

of our own design?

Perhaps a small light

shall lead the way for each of us

in our final hours as we lay

in our deep dark

grave.

By Philip Wardlow

For the wasps to feast by Candice Louisa Daquin


Three hours unflinching on eiderdown turning cream pages sound of cat lifting window screen bending back in yogic form escaping house in black and white yawn to hunt the marigold colored birds maki…

Source: For the wasps to feast

 

MOST DEFINITLY READ THE REST OF THIS MOST EXCELLENT POEM by one of my Published writer friends on WordPress! 

 

My Beautiful Dead Girl


Marionnette

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haunted eyes

wrapped in misery.

You are already dead,

so why should you feel pain?

 

Pain is your purgatory

little girl, a grand gift

from scales that can never

be balanced in your favor.

 

Haunted eyes they may be,

but I see defiance, strength,

lingering deep, always

ready to rise to the surface.

 

Never did death look so beautiful

A perfection in form chiseled

from stone beaten up and torn

down by the elements.

 

You wear your cloak well,

dark and tear stained, wrapped

tight around a body that

still flies free.

 

You are my beautiful dead girl.

with cold hands clenching tight around

a warm heart

that beats just for you.

by Philip Wardlow

The waves for the trees


SeaForest

The seas can be tumultuous at times,

unforgiving, relentless, a downright belligerent bastard.

So ride and revel in the stormy waves

Let the skies threaten and yell,

flash and complain, like the devil thrashing in hell.

Give him a smile, a wink,  and a fuck you, and tell

him, “You know what you can do!”

Then  go down, down, down

Letting the deep  in all it’s darkness

console you in it’s mystery,

comforting, cajoling, ever

unfolding in its complexities.

Find peace in the quiet deep.

Tempests may knock on yonder door

while the slow rolling lies just below

while abed you rest, upon a pillow of

seaweed amidst strange trees.

“Knock, knock,” says the sky above

“Go away!”  you say.

“There will be time enough  for you in the bright light of day!”

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

The Crow Waits ~


crowwaits

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

 

 

 

 

Rise Rise Rise


Smoke

 

Rise,  Rise, Rise

Die, Die,  Die

Oh why, why, why

do we Die, Die, Die

Snuffed.

All wicks have an eventual

end

All doors open

letting a cool breeze in

To flutter, to shake,

our  souls

to extinguish

on a whim.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2015

 

 

 

Waiting for the Train


WaitingforTrain

 

I sit.

The thrum thrum of the tracks travel

through my core…

from the cold rolled steel on

a winter morn.

It’s coming; my train.

The vibrations are distant as

my tensions  strain

against the boundaries set long

ago in a land made of

flimsy paper mache.

It’s imminently imminent

that time ticks ticks

on the whim of

a pendulum  made of wooden sticks

Light it low,

and watch it burn bright.

And by all the laws

of physics time ticks

faster,

and faster as it burns

the length of its swing.

The whistle blows.

As I continue to

sit

sit

sit.

On the track, on this

cold

cold

morn.

For my train to come.

 

 

By Philip Warldow 2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Triad of Horror in Haikus – 30 Day Halloween Poem Challenge – Poem #24,25,26


PasstheTorch
Blade of souls passes,
from old to young hands gladly
to cut future fates.
Blackcat
A friend to shadows.
Tracks of misfortune follow
feline on the prowl.
CreepyImage
I see you creeping,
Big eyes, sharp teeth, wicked smile
Waiting for a hug