Tag Archives: people

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Some think they know her

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She is a beauty.

Full of humor, wit and sarcasm with

a laughing smile that compels you to

smile in return.

When she invites you in she holds you close to her heart.

Her passion enthralls you, her empathy calls to you.

But do you know her like I do?

Do you see her open wounds

laid plainly on the table for all to see,

for ever has she been an open book

Stories of many a woe wound through her

various lives and lands she has traveled.

Read her story. See her.

Think her veneer made of steel, impervious

to your blows, constant and unrelenting?

She is fragile as any other soul in this world.

What battle is so important to be won that you

would scourge the field of her feelings til nary a blade

of grass stands underfoot.

Be warned, she is but a calm tempest

held at bay on the horizon that you invite in

with your callous words you sling so blindly.

I fear you would not survive her storm.

by Philip Wardlow January 16th, 2023

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Sketch ME

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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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The, I am Rights

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I have met them,
The, I am Rights,
They give you a sidelong
glance and a chuckle
as you present
the realness
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
broke you.

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
too.

by Philip Wardlow – August 2020

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Skin Hunger

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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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

I dream

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I dream of dumping
the sadness
at the curb for the
trash man to collect
I dream of punching a wall
until my
knuckles bleed out
all the hurt
collected in my
heart that
I can never define.

I dream of jumping into cold, cold water
and finding the funny
in the deepness of life
Laughing at redeemptive jokes
over and over
of life sagas played
out by man.
Being seen and not being seen
being alone to think
or sharing a moment
with another that
sees life exactly as
I do.
I dream of communicating a thought
in it’s entirety by
just sending it to
someone.
Going home through time and
seeing my father
hearing his voice,
knowing his face
again.
Laughing with my brothers
cooking with my mother
I dream of a
peace to finally
find the me
that resides
within.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

In knowing

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There is a danger in knowing you
too well Miss Light.
Indeed,
like a stormchaser
racing after a tornado
down a back road
with no outlet.
Then the twister suddenly turns,
No escape,
and only beautiful obliteration
Follows
No pieces left of me
to find.
Just a lonely road
as the funnel slowly
rotates up and away
to fade into the
heavens
as if it never was.

Philip Wardlow 2017.