Tag Archives: highs


I learned long ago
to bury my feelings in every
day life
the highs and the lows.
Why be happy when its just going to be
taken away in an instant.
And why show you are sad when you will
just bring every one down and they
really don’t care anyways.
So I smile. I joke.
I say I’m good, how about you,
to turn the conversation
away from me.
I have always been good at that.

But it builds in me
This tension.
Stresses of the day, anger at people, fears in life, continued failures.
I hold it.
I do much better inside when I let it out.
And I do.
Like reading a book, or watching a movie
I fall away from the world and I am just am.
Pushing my body in a work out, hard, really hard.
Having good sex, really good sex.
A good stiff drink.

But I’m working up to a better version of attack.
Talking to someone I trust to find
the feelings I can’t express or bring to
focus to what’s inside me that hides there even from me.
Like why I feel anxiety about seemingly stupid things I
Unresolved anger that I say doesn’t bother
me but does.
Why I fear a future I should love to imagine.
Hitting a punching bag helps,
riding my bike, free, unfettered
in the sun, in the wind
Away from the world.

But engaging really is the key.
I am releasing that need to
keep that wall sustained
I think it has hurt me way more
than it has ever helped

I want my melancholy to melt
I want my mind to connect
and my smile to flourish
in every possible way.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Stockings – Erotic Poem

They are to me what the Eiffel towerthighHighPinup
is to France.
An elegant woman
a beauty,
a romance to find on every street corner,
an adventure to be discovered and sought.
Decadence pervades its corners and its twists and turns
as the night encapsulates deeds not seen
during the day.
All eyes look to the tower, shining.
As do mine to the sheer fabric
that rides over your toes, ankles, up calves
over knees, and thighs….ah to perhaps stop there
if we dare…
Yet some go further still,
Over buttocks and hips
to complete the curved picture all nicely framed.
Seams sometimes ride along her back plane
perhaps Cuban, Havana, Point, or the Manhattan
to name a few.
Whatever the style, all lines travel to that
same heavenly place where man presumes
to travel to get a better view.
I am partial to black, stopping just at mid-thigh
secured snugly with a nice laced garter.
But whether nude, or white, cream colored,
or villainous red.
A stocking, is a stocking, is a stocking my friend.
Try but once to not look upon the tower
as your eyes draw near.
Sooner cut out your eyes to cause the
brain to go against what nature intended.
Her form is a beacon to every breath that you breathe
Her form is a work of art artfully adorned.
Take a look, drink her in.
Smile inwardly, fall from her heights
and know with her and those
stockings you never stood a chance
of escape.



by Philip Wardlow 2015