Even the Devil got a Valentines Card what’s your problem?
Tag Archives: lonely
Skin Hunger
If you had told me I would have
yearned for a simple handshake,
months from now,
I would have scoffed at such a silly notion.
If you would had said a hug from
a loved one was a distant memory
and that only through dreaming in bed
at night could such an implausible embrace happen,
I would have laughed in your face.
No light touches, no manly shoulder to shoulder hugs,
no holding hands, no fist bumps,
no incidental brushing of skin against
skin in the everyday going on
of life.
None of that.
I am bereft and unaware of the warmth
or coldness of a cheek or simple palms of another,
stolen is the smile behind
a mask that might have touched my soul
as they looked my way in the incidental
happenings of a mere
day.
There is a gnawing
Deep
A pang
Inside
Screaming
A hunger
threatening to consume
To feel
To know
the innocent
intimate
touch
of another.
by Philip Wardlow, May 12th, 2020
Outside the Something
7.7 Billion
and counting
Of them all,
tell me,
am I Outside or
in?
Cuz, I feel like
something’s wrong
when the Outside
feels like my home
when the Something got their groups
cliques, committees, each
of them knowing the others
favorite songs.
Something to call theirs
and theirs alone.
Right or wrong
they got theirs
and theirs are,
mad strong
numbering in
the thousands, hundreds, tens
I’m not even looking for all
that
hell I’ll take just three
like minded souls
similar to me
I am betting nothing
can beat such intimacy
but I’m
Outside the Something
and it
feels fucking
lonely.
by Philip Wardlow 2019
Tacos and Tequilas
Sometimes its tacos and salt rimmed tequilas,
movies and lonely couches,
cold beds and cats, tongue twister
and tying up,
a plethora of pleasures in the grab bag
of life
followed by a deluge
of desiccated numb bodies
dumped on your front lawn.
Sometimes its a magical arc of light
swinging in the breeze
by a delicate hand on a dark path
It’s sweet sugar on your lips
tongue licking,
as you slowly, reluctantly
back away from the most
wonderful kiss.
It’s a flurry of heavy punches
to the gut
tickling, because you have been there
before, and you can take it.
Can you not?
So you emit a raucous laugh
at the absurdity
that the day has wrought.
Jaded in your green dreams
you wake to breathe
in new air
to expel the stale.
Grab a Bagel and go out the
door
as you think of the
sweet sugar
that still lingers
on your lips
from the night
before.
By Philip Wardlow 2018
Love your Hedgehogs!
Carousel of Life
First,
You are originally packed,
innards carefully selected
for the long trip
Zipped up,
thrown into a trunk,
weighed and tagged
with declarations
nay or yea about the status of your
being.
Then you are stuffed in
with the others,
in coldness,
while others may
sit in comfort, warm and secure.
You are very cold
so very cold
and its hard to breath
as you sit in an
unknown darkness
not knowing up from down
Abruptly,
ungentle hands throw
you about,
disoriented,
you tumble, fall and
are crushed,
to finally be dumped out into
the light
to traverse
around and around and around
walls flitting by, legs
and arms of non-distinct color
not wanted by you,
pick the
others
alongside you in
the endless revolving
journey.
Soon, you are the last one
on the turnstile
still circling and circling and circling
until you simply
stop
and wait for someone to pick you up
and you keep waiting
and Waiting
and Waiting
Waiting…
by Philip Wardlow 2018
Reaching Her
Some days are often dreams
she wakes from,
half remembered.
Perhaps best
forgotten.
Tears are given,
gravity catching,
taken by a lover far below
the sheer cliff she sits.
He climbs to her,
tears clutched tight
Ever ascending
Slow, ponderously,
Inch
by
Inch
By
Inch
He is a patient man
looking up,
giving her a full
loving smile
There is no other
place he’d rather be
For the view is
spectacular below
and above
to the girl
he’s trying to
reach.
By Philip Wardlow
Stingy Jack
Good Old Jack,
walks in the twilight between our world and what you would
call the other.
Into the out of, on paths that only he can see
with Fool’s Fire held in a hand-carved gourd to light his way.
A Ne’er-do-well if ever there was.
Cursed to wander the earth.
Never to know heaven or hell.
You may see his spook light bob in a graveyard or two as you pass,
especially on All Hallows Eve and on through to all Souls Day.
Wise men say, Old Jack’s looking for a way into heaven or hell
on such nights as these when the veil is thin.
If you see him, it’s best to keep on walking.
He has anger in him, a deep abiding bitterness swells.
like the ebb and flow of time that has trapped him.
He will have no hesitation to collect your soul should
you cross his path.
So beware or you may find yourself dead or a mindless
freak.
by Philip Wardlow
Mr. Heavy
It can compress;
this day
on temples, on back, and mind.
Tons and tons and tons
I feel it all the time, this gravity
like a thousand suns.
It rips, it pulls, it pushes, it smashes
This day in ruins.
And you cannot explain it away.
Why?
Why this heavy thing?
Where did it come from?
Why did the lightness simply go away
where once it resided.
Filled up like a helium balloon.
Now a lead thing sinks
into sands.
And no strong hands
could pull such a mass
free of Earth’s cold grasp.
Oh why, oh why Mr. Heavy do you bother?
Leave, just leave
and find another.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
Flying…
Flying~
Flying….I…ME…Searching with my lantern,
alight on currents of cold dusky air
The darkness below doesn’t feel the light
that leaks out and dribbles out like
bits of cold rain.
Fall, Fall, Fall
little light of mine….fall
a trickle of a smile
a patter of patience
a sprinkle of spoken
words full of regret.
Flying…lost…ME
in coalescing clouds
fusing, binding,
here I am, mingling
with the molecules as
I shift through the
atmosphere
Ever Apart…ever Onward.
Flying…as the light drips
down to the darkness
below…searching.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 