Tag Archives: marriage

Cri de Coeur


When you are a minority in this country, be it a woman, or of a different race, gender identification, or a non-prevalent religion, you are already a second class citizen. You are simply tolerated and you are either outright told you are not wanted at times or its whispered in your ear at the most unexpected (or expected) moments in your life.

You often will just nod to yourself inside and say, Yeah, that’s right, I almost forgot I wasn’t different from you. How silly of me to have forgotten. Thank you for reminding me I don’t really belong.

A woman or man may become shamed, fearful, angry. Cry tears of sadness, frustration and/or indignation. They make drink, smoke, shoot up, live life to the excess all to assuage their disgust, their inadequacies, or the perpetual fight they think they may not be able to overcome for something they simply were born into. Nothing more. A chromosome here, a chromosome there, all amounting to being defined, boxed and put in your place. Categorized.

Becoming a category, a subject matter, a thing, provides disconnection for the majority. So when the times comes to fight the status quo it is simply met with indifference, ridicule, generalities, skepticism, and even outright suspicion.

What does the majority think we fight for? Why does a woman call out a man in power when he threatens her with her career if she won’t sleep with him? Why does a black man kneel when the anthem plays because he simply wants to make sure that flag really seems HIM in equal measure when it waves in the wind. Why does a man marrying another man, or woman marrying another woman rankle the majority so, when love is love is love?

Majority is the key.

Remember, Majority is the key.

Stop thinking of yourself as not the majority. Don’t acquiesce. Don’t bow your head.

Being a minority is only a state of mind you put yourself in.

So simply cry out from the heart. And say enough.

Philip Wardlow 2017

I will


 

Art by Pino Daeni
Art by Pino Daeni

I will not like everything you do

but I will still like you.

I will not love the moods you

fall into but I will

still love you.

I will see you as you are;

imperfect, unpolished, lost

but I will still take your hand

and squeeze it, letting you know I am

right there with you on that path.

I will laugh when you laugh, I will cry when you cry

I will hurt when you hurt,

through all the years

that we have left on this earth

I will.

There is beauty in you,

so much beauty

Like a child that sleeps

and dreams

of play and magical places to roam

and beasts to wrestle and hug

I will always be watching

you dream.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

Come with Me – A poem


Ромашковое поле

Come with Me –

 

I want to go with you in a field of flowers today,

so come away with me and we’ll play.

Grab your mitt, ball, and bat and

don’t forget to feed the cats.

 

Home plate will be the old tree stump, it’s still

serves as a reminder to our lives where

many a memory still reside.

 

First base will be the weeping willow where we have

dazed under on many a  hot summer day in its shade.

 

Second base will be the corner of the old red barn where

we have ventured with our son and taught him how to explore

life just for fun.

 

Third base will be the edge at a bend in a forgotten stream

that has been flowing for years with all our dreams.

It still sparkles as the sun over high catches the ripples as

it flows by.

 

So come with me this day

For with you there’s always time to play.

 

 

By Philip Wardlow 2013

What a woman wants – A poem by Don Juan aka Me :)


What a Woman Wants

She walks on by in her tight skirt,
as my brown eyes drink her in and
I say to myself, so it begans.

She smiles and I smile back,
I say hello in a way so she knows that
she matters in this moment to me.

I’m in engaged in her form, her voice.
Her smell of cinnamon must surely
taste like her lips if I were to kiss them.

I make you laugh as I tell you you’re the
sweetest girl I‘ve ever met and that I might just have
to take you home and put you on my toast in the morning
instead of my blackberry jam.

Would I be too forward if I took you by the hand

and looked into your eyes and told you to trust
me with  your whole heart as I wiped
away a tear from the tale you told
me of your last man.

You see, I see you.
I get you, I see your quirks,
I see your moods, I see your passions
and I’m right there baby

Right next to you and I’m
not going anywhere

Now come over here
and let me show you
what love is my
Dear.

by Philip Wardlow 2012

Pulled – A poem


Pulledlittlegirl

A little girl stands with arms open wide.

How must it feel to be the rope in a

game of tug-o-war?

Win or lose, it’s all the same,

the pain of strained muscles

and sinew running down to the core;

almost ripping.

Braided rope is much stronger than a little’s

girl mind or her soul that must hold to a

reality that slowly unwinds.

Her psyche is soft and pliable and will

if pulled, stretched, and thinned out

to nary a whisper of herself,  will

harden in the cold stale air and become

brittle and slowly break away in pieces for

all her days to come.

By Philip Wardlow 2012