Tag Archives: hope

Bun Bun Go!


Swing Swing Bun
do your thang
see the sky
greeting
Your floppy ears
and your
cottony bunny
derriere
You don’t care
you don’t give a
flying fuckity fuck
as you soar through the air
letting the luck of your
life
good or bad
Fling you into probabilities
and possibilities!
Bring it on! You say.
So you pump and you pump
your little bunny legs
causing the swing
to reach ever higher
and higher
Climb Climb
climbing…

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Amongst the Stars


 

 

A deep brackish blue light filtered in through the curtains next to my bed crawling across my closed eyes. I let my head remain, resting on my pillow. Perhaps I could fool the world in to believing I was still yet asleep. Nudges came in thunderous pains, lightening strikes to the brain. I knew I was awake, that was enough.

In all night diner, I found my hands full of a ceramic cup filled with coffee topped with cream in the design of a mountaintop I had yet to climb. Desires awoke in me, spoke to me; whispered really. They never yelled. Never. Except to run. I hated them all. Weaklings all of them.

I slapped myself hard then. Sitting there in the crowded diner, coffee in hand with my mountain in a cup.

I yelled out loud, “I am not a ghost!”

Then I left a dollar tip and got up and left to stares and murmuring all around. I was their talk of the day.

I broke into a run down the sidewalk. If anything I was going to own the running. Fuck the illusions, fuck the dream. Fuck the quicksand of doubt. Ever forward…running.

Just find the rhythm of me. Left, right, left, right…pick them up…put them back down. Running towards it, not away…no matter the pitfalls.

“Viva la Vida” played as I ran by a outdoor bar, then I heard an old woman humming “Cest Le Vie” as she fed the pigeons in the park.

Well fuck, the Universe seemed to be noticing me. For good or bad? I guess we’ll see

As my feet suddenly left the ground to go running amongst the stars.

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

Sally forth I say!


 

 

It’s a glorious morn for battle on the field of gold.

So be bold!

Attack the day lest you fall prey

to marauders at your gate.

Go forth and grind them to grizzle

pick your to teeth with their bones

while finding rapture in hearing their moans

Push! Push! Push !

through the tall grass.

Head low!  Be wary but

Go! Go! Go!

For its been said, that fortunes

go to the ones who are bold.

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Why I,  am the boldest of the bold can’t you

see!

So where be my fortunes, where be my wench

to console my pains, and give me succor

this day?

Where indeed.

Think not too hard on your gains not gotten

lest you fall ill to them before you

meet them my friend.

Be not so arrogant! Be not so aggrieved!

For any  man’s head can leave a

neck with but a peck of a well honed axe

unseen.

No man’s future is certain nor ordained

by the vicious gods who play

their crap game

in the dark corners of your fated life.

Wise words, so heed them

or only peril shall follow

all your days.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like a Crazy Ass Bullet


 

I was shot into this world like a crazy

ass bullet

Pinging and zinging off the solid metal

bulwarks

of life

Piercing and punching through

the flesh of the ones in solitude

who never knew me as I sped on,

cutting them in two, blood spilling,

entrails trailing on gleaming metal

warped by sinew and bone

for even a bullet can’t go unscathed

as it passes through you, you, and you.

Gravity is taking me, braking me

pulling me down….

The curve of the Earth is finally coming to meet

me on this hallowed muddy blue ball of a  ground

where I’ll be littered in with all the rest

that never found the target of their

intent.

Piles and piles of metal collect

in a mountain too high to climb. 

Shit, I wasn’t hoping for the bullseye

Just a piece, the very edge…

to clip it,

to show em all I could

fly fairly straight

even if fired from a gun

called Fate

by an unsteady hand.

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing…yet Something


 

 

Milkyway

 

Nothing,

that’s what I feel like sometimes;

Nothing.

Nothing, no where, no how

as

I see a distant sun of vibrant gold

cradled in a bowl of purple and pink

on a horizon I imagine I will never reach,

It reminds me that I’m Nothing

and yet Something to even to be allowed

to see.

A nighttime sky, filled to bursting

with a voluminous marble of a moon

within a black bag of stars I can’t begin to sift through.

Yet I do, and that Something feels cool

on fingertips never finding purchase.

I know Life is a tangled sphere of yarn

wrapped around an onion

spinning and dancing in

an ordered rhythm with other crying onions

as they bump butts.

Nothing and Something,

A single stolen kiss in the dark with a girl,

yet readily given by her, for I am no thief;

soft yet firm, gentle yet wanting.

Nothing exists, not even

me in that moment,

and yet Something.

Clues and misdirection, blind alleys

and closed thoroughfares,

leashed to Nowhere.

Yet Somewhere will be the end when

the journey’s through

Humbled and awed

but at other times

petulant and angry.

I stomp my foot inside my soul.

I am tired of feeling like Nothing

Something sounds good.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016