Tag Archives: life

Mischievous Summer


“Pull, pull, pull the strings of my heart,” she said, “just you pull off these clothes that seem to be in the way between you and me, and I will gladly give you what you pretend to see.”

In your ear, I shall whisper, “Dear, dear, dear , my love knows no bounds, for a dalliance with you is truly profound, well except until the morn. Then it’s on to that cute blonde. You know the one you yourself were with just last week down the street.”

Ah summer,
A fickle thing, a merry thing, a melancholy sad thing
tis almost like that hot beach breeze that whipped on
by as I licked vanilla ice cream off your thighs
It all mingling in my mouth as a gritty sweetness.

You laughed then, telling me that was a ticklish spot
I have since learned of more places upon your
skin where my tongue likes to wander about
and cause you to laugh along with other
sounds…

My grin always matched your grin
as the twinkle in my eyes mirrored yours
in return.
Partners in the clandestine
hand in hand
with a twist of the knob
we entered
into that waiting bedroom
in sweet anticipation
always knowing in
our minds
our mischievous summer
soon would end.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

A million pieces


How do you tell if you
are broken into
a million pieces?

And how do you tell when
you are whole?

I’ve cut myself
a hundred times
with the sharp edges
of my many pieces
as I slipped in my
own blood,
slick upon the floor

I have beat the walls
with fists used to
the abuse and the
comforting pain that comes

But there is a time when
the pain lends no comfort
and there is a time
when the tears falling
give no relief
It all just reminds you
how truly broken
you just might be.

I want to linger in you.
Caress the what-if of
our potential even if it’s
fleeting.

See some of the fallen pieces
In your eyes and pick them up
One by one
Knowing I will never be whole
and that’s okay
not to be.

 

by 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

Your heart


They all want your heart
This confused piece of meat
which beats inside of you.
Or Nothing,
except perhaps
a small tryst or
deep kiss in the park.
Friendship?
All well in good in intention
Yet execution
is a muddled thing.
When the heart beats
of its own volition
No permission granted,
it takes from you
the choice.
So best leave it be,
this seeming
intention.
Your heart, your heart.
It sits heavy
oh so heavy
take it out
drop it
and it would
dent the Earth
And someone
would come along,
stumble and fall.
Best leave it hidden
this heart.
For when has it
ever
really done you
any good.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Song of Her


 

She’s now my melancholy,
my folly
my quarter note
never full.
She’s the one that spun
away
after I played her over and over.

A glissando of whims, wonderment, and woe
up then down
Sliding, ever sliding
to that natural progression
where our music was surely meant to go
Inevitably
to fade, fade, fade, away
and come to
its final
rest.

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 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

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