“People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for.” Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
There is a danger in knowing you
too well Miss Light.
like a stormchaser
racing after a tornado
down a back road
with no outlet.
Then the twister suddenly turns,
and only beautiful obliteration
No pieces left of me
Just a lonely road
as the funnel slowly
rotates up and away
to fade into the
as if it never was.
Philip Wardlow 2017.
I don’t need to connect with you on any level
that means anything.
Why should I?
Let’s keep it frivolous
Let’s keep it small.
But I’ll put on a smile for you
once in a while
you give you a reason
to hang on.
To show you that you entertain me
just a bit.
But we both know that there is a dead half
to me, she said
And it will never come alive for you.
Sure were friends, she said.
by Philip Wardlow 2017
What shall I say of the mirage in you.
Bright eyes, delicate soul,
with tenacious heart
Blood running, spilling.
(or was it alligator tears)
read the sign, “Be careful, wet floor.”
You think too much of yourself
and not nearly enough
All IN or ALL OUT.
Absolutes seem to be your trademark.
You are perfection.
You are lovely.
You are alone.
And you like it like that. ( no you don’t)
Mirages are only real to the person
observing, not the mirage itself.
It knows its not real.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
After a hundred bottles or more
that had been cast out to sea,
an answer finally washed upon my shore
one morn much to my chagrin.
For you see, it simply read,
“Stop littering the seas with your sad and woeful pitiful pleas,
and just leave us be you little fucker! Leave us be!”
by Philip Wardlow 2016
He watches her. She watches him.
The dog , he watches nothing.
Their eyes can’t hide what lies beneath.
A tilt of the head, a downcast look tells
me all I need to know about their inner
They hate. They love. They lust. They laugh at
Is there sadness behind that smile they
Some hide from each other.
Some hide from themselves.
Some hide simply because they can.
I wish I could see all the dreams buried
deep within their heads.
Dreams which they’ve never fed;
maybe a doctor, a lawyer, or a whore,
maybe a pretentious pious little bore.
Their thoughts are hidden;
a landscape of dark shadows and fog banks hung
I watch it all unfold.
They can’t keep it hidden long,
for like a cauldron bubbles, spews, and spits so
does their mind emit a gurgling of regret, a wisp of
weakness, or a hiss of hysteria in its’ attempt to lament.
I watch and I wait for it all to unfold,
for the hidden to be found and the found to be told.
I’m a spectator to the grand affair which is hidden within.
So know that when I look at you or you at me,
I will see you, see you indeed.
By Philip Wardlow
“And the fox said to you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world… One only understands the things that one tames, said the fox.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery
They bump along in their bubbles…
with all their different colors
at times comingling…a bright red meeting,
a dull blue or electric yellow sliding along a prim’s
purple slick skinned surface
grazing against, just ever so.
Electric, crazy, frenzied, varied, morphic, erotic
Dare I say fun? Yet…the bubbles eventually move on
Some in sadness…some not giving a shit….beep bopping
away in a rush.
Or they simply just
By Philip Wardlow 2016