Tag Archives: friends

Leavetaking


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I touched on you
for the merest moment
as each caress was counted
by my hand upon your
skin.
While each multitude of last kisses were my final goodbye that took it’s slow
approach in the
forever meandering days we spent
in ignorant luxury with
one another.
Fools,
yet fortunate ones
to find such a rich
treasure
Deep in the eyes of another
Us knowing the
full wealth
we clutched
And still finding
the strength
to set it aside
knowing it could
possibly lead to
a profound
sadness
from which there would be
no escape from.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2017

In knowing


 

There is a danger in knowing you
too well Miss Light.
Indeed,
like a stormchaser
racing after a tornado
down a back road
with no outlet.
Then the twister suddenly turns,
No escape,
and only beautiful obliteration
Follows
No pieces left of me
to find.
Just a lonely road
as the funnel slowly
rotates up and away
to fade into the
heavens
as if it never was.

Philip Wardlow 2017.

 

Every experience


 

Good or bad
Drawn out
or just a flash
A Tragedy
or favorite
melody
to hold close
in your heart
I suppose.
A smile, a compliment,
a slight, a slap
a bite.
A hug or a deep
kiss
in a moment when the timing
can be no more perfect
than it could possibly ever be.
Every experience,
Every jarring intrusion
Every refreshing inclusion
Every meandering way
that perhaps led you
to me and then pushed you far away.
It all matters
and then it doesn’t
but it matters.

By Philip Wardlow 2017

Ever hopeful


 

Fists balled in anger,  soul sad and fed-up,
yet ever hopeful that his carefully balanced cup
stays half full for the days he knows to surely come
will  be worse than this one.

So he drinks a toast to life still here, full and bright.
Dances with a half drunk girl
he’ll never know,
as he smiles at himself for the kiss he stole.

Then goes home to his empty home;
unless you count his cat Jack
with the biggest eyes you’ve ever
seen for him.
Oh what a wayward lover he is.
Yet, all it ever does, is make him wish
that a girl would look at him that same way.

He is ever hopeful
for he’s built that way,
he’s always been
since he was a small, wee
lad.

Ever hopeful,
even as it all crumbles away.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

The Dog


 

There is a dog on a porch
that never gets to be let it in,
His head gets patted,
his belly gets rubbed
Occasionally.

He gets told he is a good boy
as his bowl of food is set
before him,
Right before
his owner jumps
in the car and disappears down the road.

The sunsets are his favorite as
the day departs
and the night entreats
with possibilities to
be found in the roaming…

But the leash restricts.
He can never venture too far.
from this porch.

So he just sits.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Vintage Dreams


 

Time,

a funny grain

that gets stuck

like a piece of

grit between

clenched teeth.

And spitting never helps, so purse

your lips

tightly.

Dreams,

A fickle fable

held in high esteem

as you tell the story

of a wonderful what-if

while the stars loftly

laugh at you in the dark ink blot above.

Grip the grass you lay upon

as the earth tilts just ever so.

Love,

Oh love,

Where for art thou?

Romeo was a fool to seek

a party where all the players

knew their part  while all the

while Juliet had cotton stuffed

in her ears like a silly Teddy bear,

seeing  only your pretty little

mouth move without a

sound.

 

 

By Philip Wardlow 2017

 

 

 

 

The Dead Half of Her


 


 

 

I don’t need to connect with you on any level

that means anything.

Why should I?

Let’s keep it frivolous

Let’s keep it small.

But I’ll put on a smile for you

once in a while

to give

you give you  a reason

to hang on.

To show you that you entertain me

just a bit.

But we both know that there is a dead half

to me, she said

And it  will never come alive for you.

Sure were friends, she said.

Sure.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2017

I play


faun-and-nymph-by-sydney-long

She knows not that I watch her soul

smiling idly out behind eyes blue flecked

with bits of gold.

I play a light and airy tune with wood and wind

Nestled deep in forest glen,

Just for her, as always promised.

Notes ride the air,

seeking purchase within her mind to push aside

a raven’s deep abiding dark claim.

For there resides a tumultuous churning,

ever undulating

as I try and intertwine

and weave, a melody

with my fool’s flute,

dipping an octave or

two going in.

Delicate…invisible…searching.

Enveloping.

Again, I spy your smile sneak out

as my delving takes.

And a shadow or two

that was once another you

loosens it purchase

and takes flight.

 

by Philip Wardlow

First Day to Last


doubledutch

The hand moves on the clock

as the little girl skips down the block.

Sun up to sun down.

She laughs. and laughs, and laughs,

and sings in her heart.

Until one day the ground comes to meet

her head on.

Now, her trust in gravity is suddenly gone.

Yet, she still skips, but ever so hesitantly.

Just ever so, knowing the cost in her

lack of caution.

Her heart still sings

as she joins in a game

of Double Dutch.

The rope flies as her feet take flight.

But the other girls in their turning

are not nice,

as they

slow the speed of the spin

throwing off the girls rhythm

So once again, gravity brings

blood on a sidewalk and

scraped raw knees,

and a small wall.

On and on her days come and go,

the clock continually ticking

with the gravity of the Universe

never relenting.

Always there; spinning,

as this little girl still

continues to skip

and jump rope.

With that same song

deep within her heart

humming ever so slowly,

just ever so.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016