Name a monster some say and it's yours for life. Many may never know it's true name or nature yet they usually tend to make one up and ascribe to it all the foul attributes of hell. Why, they will be so proud of the monster they have invented as to shout its direness from the highest rooftops as they give it a blanket so it doesn't catch cold under their bed. All the while the real monsters slink and slyly wink as you share a drink with them over dinner along with friendly banter of the utmost esteem. by Philip Wardlow October 7th, 2021
Sketch me, sketch me, and I bet yea that you will not see me the way I wish to be seen.
Flawed and imperfect scribbles put down on paper, chaotic with no intention or care of staying within the lines at times. Sadistic selfish hard edges fading to soft featherings of delicious needs and wants at the corners of my contained fine lined darkened soul.
The eyes, the eyes, there is a beguiling light behind those shaded eyes, a light, a light, so fucking bright as to mesmerize, if you were to look too long, you would see everything, but most seldom ever do take the time.
Ah, but what is a sketch but a sketch?
A glimpse, a side eyed introspection. Am I not correct?
So there is no disrespect at not knowing the me of me when all the hours of my days and yours can’t be devoted to explore the why and where of us in all it’s full glory.
Perhaps though, that’s what keeps you and I coming back to each other over dinners, drinks and all some such.
To find the true picture in both of us.
by Philip Wardlow June 2021
Kah Thump…….Kah Thump………………………………………….. ……………….KahThump…………….Thump………………Ka Thump…………………..Kah Thump……………….Kaaaaaaaah Thuuuuuuuuuuuump
98.2 Fahrenheat Degrees, 98.1, 98.0 and so on and on, down, down, down, until I am a cold rigid plank, as rigid as a piece of flesh could be anyway.
Call me Rigor, Mr. Mortis if you’re nasty.
As I say this, I realize the parts of me that will live, will go on in pictures, videos, my writings, and half memories in other people’s distracted minds yet still alive.
That’s kinda cool.
Cry at my funeral or laugh…or do both. I would prefer both. Please also drink and dance afterwards. That drunk girl over there though, twerking over my casket has got to go.
Talk about the dumb shit I did, talk about a kind word or two I threw at you, or when I asked you for nudes. By the way, I’m still waiting on one of your butt. When you finally take it, send it UP. Or is that DOWN?
I’m sure it’s UP, I haven’t been that bad in my life;
I have never kicked a puppy, only petted. But I have hit many a pussy in my lifetime if you know what I mean, and they never complained, and I petted them before and after as they purred graciously.
I was kind, immature, caring, needy, a charmer, careless of others feelings, repentant, codependent, then dependent on only me, then I met Red, a magical creature needing a safe harbor and I gave it.
I loved all the magic which poured forth from her, for I saw it had been bottled up for so long and it needed a nurturing voice to keep it flow, flow, flowing. I am content that I helped her find herself and to show her she was always good enough from the very beginning of her life.
I’ve always wanted to be seen as a good person, but it took me awhile to realize you have to BE a good person to truly be seen as a good person; to yourself most especially. After you do, everything else that follows is just gravy.
Mmmm gravy…I wonder if they have gravy UP there?
by Philip Wardlow May 7th, 2021
I think perhaps I delight in you,
simply because there is a bite in you
a something quite not right with you
In the many fluid ways of you.
You draw me in with all kinds of sin,
but this poor delicate body can only
take so much abuse,
the fear is the itch that I scratch,
as it beckons
I answer, I bleed and bruise
my soul and mind continually
playing the fool of a tool
where your ways rule
of the day when we play
in decadent forays
of searing sensual
I meander down a shadowed road
upheaved, trees overturned and strewn about in my way, as a soft bird calls in the distance, beckoning me away.
It’s always the destructive, mingled with the mundane with you.
Drawn to mischief as the moth’s ass
is to a searing flame.
Who’s to blame in this story of us then?
Which of us needs to be grabbed and shaken, to fucking change
to learn to love “properly” in the mind
as the hand still explores the pain.
People are never simple.
All crying onions. Layer upon layer.
Until Time is forgotten.
By Philip Wardlow Dec 2020
Live fiercely while time abounds,
and stop biting at the bonds
of which you think constrict
you, for they don’t for a life lived properly
constructed in the spending.
Hold time’s hand as if as a friend, love
every nature of it’s passing and it shall
slow down and comfort every second
of your days.
Create a world uniquely all yours,
from the infinitesimal to the grandiose
inside or without, to implode
or explode into a world of your
Sluggish temptations will always pull at the
the very fabric of you, a quicksand
to drown, a meandering path to muddle,
entropy to trap, as Order becomes
undone and Chaos catches you.
Sleep not with Chaos long no matter how
charming her bed is.
Revel in the importance of your life
love, love, love,
yourself and others
Roll around in that word love
like a dog playing in a
pile of fall leaves,
Never fear the outcome for a life
you have lived fiercely.
by Philip Wardlow October, 2020
Let me close my eyes
and softly sink
my mind intertwininng,
your own tangledness.
I wish to sift through your dreams,
pushing away the debris
to see all the fallen wishes
and struck down desires.
I wish to ride the sorrowful
storms of a life stolen,
lost to the whims of the
Others, those demons
which rode you down and snatched
it all away, laughing,
as if your pain
was just a game.
I want to see all of it,
each and every dream,
witnessing it with you
in a tight embrace.
Holding you, I would whisper
that it will all
For you are home now,
and your dreams are
safe for I hold them
as dearly as I hold
you now and until
the end of
by Philip Wardlow September 2020
Let everything that’s been planned come true. Let them believe. And let them have a laugh at their passions. Because what they call passion actually is not some emotional energy, but just the friction between their souls and the outside world. And most important, let them believe in themselves. Let them be helpless like children, because weakness is a great thing, and strength is nothing. When a man is just born, he is weak and flexible. When he dies, he is hard and insensitive. When a tree is growing, it’s tender and pliant. But when it’s dry and hard, it dies. Hardness and strength are death’s companions. Pliancy and weakness are expressions of the freshness of being. Because what has hardened will never win.
By Andrei Tarkovsky from the 1979 movie ” Stalker”
I have met them,
The, I am Rights,
They give you a sidelong
glance and a chuckle
as you present
of you and of them,
of feelings simply
felt with no malice.
Yet they seem to be
able not to respond
with a kind word, but
they instead double down
in their derision.
It’s as if they have
already made up
their mind of what they
will say before you
ever uttered a word.
I am sorry the world
I am sorry life can’t
be a perfect scenario.
I am not your keeper
I can’t heal what is
broken in you.
That’s on you.
I can listen though, I can learn
I can open my own heart
So I in turn can
see the rights and wrongs
of it all in your world
and you can perhaps see mine
by Philip Wardlow – August 2020
She’s a fiery one,
that Red, a true warrior,
if there ever was one to grace
She carries with her a lighted voice
honed by a heavy, passionate
empathetic, mystical heart
so be wary
of her tongue
when directed at you,
best you go run and hide little man
while you still can.
She won’t say sorry
when she feels the truth
of a moment deep in
but all the same
when they turn away
not seeing their own blame,
she will shed a tear,
for every battle for her
against those she loves
is always a loss.
Apathy, ignorance, and
sinks deeps within many
a soul she might call
friend or family, and it’s a
cold, cold day
when she has to
bring that kinship
The backlash cuts deep
to be heard
to show the world that
you can’t shut her up
She will tell you what you
need to hear.
It was always meant to be so for her,
for she has always
been a Warrior.
by Philip Wardlow July , 2020
A man tells me he knows me,
has me all figured out.
He has got me all encapsulated
in a little box
Man, I don’t even know me,
so how do you?
So please just shut up
just shut the fuck up
Telling me I shouldn’t see color
Shit man, I can only be blind to color
once the world allows me to be blind to it.
I am black, I am a brown, I am white,
whatever shade you would like,
whatever hue, whatever tone,
Define me, ridicule and deride me,
you will never know the true me
beneath my skin let alone
what’s in these old bones I call my home
because you haven’t held them
and walked in ’em
feeling the full weight
You haven’t begun
to figure me out
But you will one day
as will I.
by Philip Wardlow