Tag Archives: inspiration

I think that’s my problem


 

 

I didn’t use to care where the day took me too much.  I didn’t care to have a grand plan on where my life was going.  I was enjoying the journey, the experiences, the places, and the small changes in me that lifted.

Now, I think too much.  Way too much on the proper placement of a day, an hour, or a minute.  I want those self imposed puppet strings cut and to walk this life unfettered, unknotted, from my limited post of reason stuck in the hard hard ground of a seeming need to control a life that doesn’t need controlling, but living.

I get angry, tense, anxiety ridden, depressed, melancholy, or lost at sea when the world in me doesn’t sync up with the rest of the outer.

But that feeling flows away, when I remember all the times when the world did make sense, gave comfort, seemed on my side, or drew me into a content embrace telling me a secret I didn’t know I sought.

You are home child. You  are home.

Enjoy the morning rising. Feel the flash of life.  Take a breath , now really breath it in and exhale it all out.

That’s all you need says the Universe,  that calming breath.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2018

 

Take Courage in Oz


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Take Courage in OZ ~

You have a brain
bespectacled girl.
You have a heart
as the tears flow.

You are on the road
even though
the yellow bricks
are all  faded and
cracked

You are on the road.

Take courage
as the forest for the
trees
grow up and around,

Dark arms reaching,
menacing.

Its all they are,
menacing arms

Its all they ever are.

Take courage in the night
for the moon lights
your path.

The lions, tigers and bears
are friends

For who could resist your charms.
Oh my!

Who could indeed?
And if they did.
Well what kind of friend
would they ever truly
be.

Take courage  in Oz
for you walk the same land
as them.

By Philip Wardlow

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

To Forge


It’s not easy creating something from
nothing.
But actually,
you always start with something,
The tools in your hands,
the piece of metal before you,
and the knowledge and creativity
to wield
a whirlwind
of beautiful
possibilities with but a thought
at first strike.
The exquisite toll it takes
on your body.
As the sweat rolls,
the blood mingles
all poured into
the making.
Coming straight from
the heart and soul of you

But this cold forge
has not been stoked
in months
No immense heat emits from the
concaves of the mortar and brick.
The bellows are silent.
The bins are still full of rough stocks of metal
Waiting
Just Waiting.
To be struck
on the anvil
and for my spirit
to finally stir up from
the dust.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Down the line


I may slip
in my stride
but I try.

I may even fall off the wall
with all various sorts of cracks
in need of repair.
But I try.

I will apologize but once.
feel sincere in my remorse
on its reckoning
but I shall not, will not
lay down on the tracks
as you push the throttle forward
on the engine as the
train of my destruction

I will simply wave instead,
as you pass by and disappear
down the line
and I will not look back.

by Philip Wardlow

The Needle lifts up


 

Round and round and round and round and round
the needle gliding effortlessly
dragging over the unseen bumps
in a well worn groove
where it can’t climb out.

Of its own accord,
the needle lifts,
and shifts
back to the start and begins again
its shitty little song.
You might think robotic seeming in its prescribed nature,
but there is oh
so much less thought behind it’s action
For it’s been simply
fit together with
molded parts long ago
just so
to enable this
action over and over.

This spinning piece of compressed black vinyl
on edge, dips and wobbles
to mine eye.
Warped beyond belief.
Perhaps once laid out in the sun
or caught in the hot backseat
I never did take good care of them.

So as the needle lifts up yet again,
I remove the old record from its place
Hold it delicately in hand
Then gripping tightly
Swiftly bring it down to
meet the wooden corner edge.

I pick up the broken bits,
deposit every last piece
in the trash.
Then remove the plastic wrap
from a newly minted song
never heard
and carefully put it down
to spin.

Lifting the needle up
off its cradle
I kiss it softly to the
disc.

To hear something fresh.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

The Me you See



The me you see, is just a pale umbra of whom I’m supposed to be.
I’ve come to  a wall and I can’t make the jump,
I try and I try and just bounce the hell off.
But what I really don’t know is that I’m just a toad in the road
and it’s just a small curb on a street.
It’s a cliff so sheer and high that it’s a trick to belie the eye.
I tell myself one more jump…kerplunk!
My little toad head hurts like hell from all the bashing
against the wall.
If I can just find that perfect crack to start me on my crawl to wind my way up.
But that would require luck…fuck!
Where the hell am I going to get any of that?
So I’m a toad.
Not a frog a princess can kiss
to relieve me of this predicament.
Sorry, no frog underneath this frog-like veneer miss.
But I will be the prince of toads one day.
Fuck the frog I say!
So I look for that crack in the wall,
no matter how small,
to eventually make my way
up and over.
To that other me
that I don’t yet see,
The Prince of Toads,
in all of his bumpy
brown glory.
by Philip Wardlow 2017

My Alchemy Persists


 

 

alchemy

I’m trying to capture

a lit bit of magic.

Distill out the mundane,

filter out the impurities,

and infuse a little energy

into this tired body and brain.

You have always been that

catalyst, that additive, that chemical,

or heat to speed the reaction.

Give me just a dash of you and

I will change this lead to gold

or this chunk of coal

to a diamond that

sparkles like your

eyes do.

Your kiss may be the final

ingredient  to the elixir of life

that I have long sought.

Oh how elusive that magic is

at being caught

and wrangled like

lightning in a bottle.

But I am an alchemist, and

with my books, my bottles, my studies

my mythos, my faith, and you…

I shall wrestle with the five mysteries of life;

air, earth, fire, water, and the

elusive aether…

and condense their natures down into

a malleable creature from which

I can ride with you into the night.

 

by Philip Wardlow

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