Tag Archives: poem

Encounters with women


Six masterpieces Titian painted for Philip II of Spain have been reunited  for the first time since the 16th century - Washington Post

As she  walked down the hall,  every up and down turn of her hips mesmerized me more than a  snake charmers dance with  a cobra…

She was  a petulant child trapped in  a woman’s body  with the insatiable  appetite of a sexual succubus, 

She  confessed her desires, let me have all of her, then used me up, cast me aside,  and then knocked on my door and asked for it again and I obliged her with a smile and let her in.

I would have come and danced with her in the rain but sometimes I liked to watch  from afar and get lost in the beauty exploding from her smile.

Neither one of her two sides were her but both together made her who she was.

Her  curves were  beautiful, from hip to lip, from breasts to almond eyes, She took delight in letting me help her with all her secret sins that her mind meandered to.

Even the want of  death is life because its a feeling. Hold on to life through that feeling and claw your way out of your loose soiled grave dear girl.

When ever she bent over or reached up for something upon a shelf, did she know how absolutely enticing her body  looked when she did  it?  I’m thinking she did…

Violence never solved anything but it sure did look sexy on her in that moment in bed…

When she leaned her  face first  against the wall  wearing that silk dress knowing I knew she was  not wearing anything beneath, the invitation was too much to bear.

She  was  a magnet to me the first time I laid eyes upon  her and she has  been every day since.

by Philip Wardlow June 1st, 2022

 

Life Be Trippin’


The sex was going great until the pills wore off
and the world spun out irate.

I had only just started  really getting into her when it was
suddenly all done.

Disappointed?

Fuck Yeah, Life Be Trippin'  like that...

Why can't it be like when I was six,  just
daydreaming and having fun.

Forts, bicycling, and ice cream under a
frantic delicious daze of days in the sun.

Nowhere and everywhere at once I was.

Life be trippin'  now boy.

I've  never been the same since that 
feeling of being six. 
After that was when the world
stopped making sense.

Everybody a problem, and every problem
of theirs belonging to you.

Yeah, life be trippin' deep. and I'm drowning,
Drowning in this life that keeps coming, and flowing 
and washing over me.

Feet grounded,
because I have forgot how to
fly.


By Philip Wardlow   June 1st  2022











My loose change


Ah melancholy you, melancholy me.
Twins of pains throughout our separate travels
in lands and time blown away by great
distances and choices right or wrongly
made.

You clutch dearly to your past like a child does a doll
all tattered and torn since received from her inception 
from the womb that bore here into this world.

Myself in that journey I took. and of which
I am still on, I fumble  in my pockets, fiddling with the
 loose change of memories I have always kept close
and collected throughout time.

Both predilections  in the way we cope in our
own entanglements are  either 
a solace, a penance, a nuisance, or
constant curse.

Why not us both seek a new  habit?

You throw down your doll 
I shall let my change fall
through my fingers as I grab
your hands tight in mine
and  continue 
our travels
together.


by Philip Wardlow  March 29th, 2022



The Dance


To and fro we go in life and all its pains  collected along the way.

In the beginning, a Tango,  feet sliding down the floor,
full of exuberant steps of youth with a crazy devil may care.
Never tiring,  head up, steps sure even if we fuck up
with every other step made. 

We are in motion, forward or back ,we are in motion
and that  is everything to  the youthful 
whether in body or the heart
it is everything.



By Philip Wardlow  March 21, 2022

My Perfect Heart


She loves me without question.
Adores me in the fullest.
Leaves me wondering what she sees in little old me.


This sweet, wonderfully funny, bombastically beauty of a woman with her chameleon like gorgeous sexy,  flourishing soul that beguiles me from her red hair to her dainty toes, from an arc of an eyebrow to the sway of her luscious hips in play, she always seems to get her way with every delicious day I find myself with her.

I have the clover, the horseshoe, the rabbit’s foot, and shooting star all wrapped up in her.

She’s my lucky charm I hold tight to, that magic that I delight to.

She is my wife, my perfect heart.

Forever my Valentine.

By Philip Wardlow Feb 14th 2022

The Monsters we Name


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








From her eyes,to her smiles and hips


There is no greater story than us…

To meet during the chaos of our lives as the cruel planet revolved endlessly around.

The Universe said, “Here, take a look at this, isn’t it all you have ever wished for?”

“Yes, yes it is,” I replied inside, “she’s the type of girl I could love.”

From the come fuck-me eyes, to that open sweet smile, to those hips which told a future tale of open thighs letting me inside, from her warm heart to her internal heat.

When the Universe speaks, you better listen hard, for she may only whisper but once.

I didn’t blink, I didn’t turn away. I smiled back.

I saw her that night, fully. Her and I, laid out together for the next years of our lifetime and perhaps well beyond if the myths be true.

She was the one, she is the one.

From her eyes, to her smile, to her hips and well beyond.

By Philip Wardlow Aug 26th, 2021

Sketch ME


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

Cog in the Wheel Feels


coggy

Definition of cog. 1 : a tooth on the rim of a wheel or gear. 2 : a subordinate but integral person or part.

Round and round the tooth of me goes.
My path well worn in the rotating
pre-ordained woes  of  a day.

If I squeak, then oil me
so I shut up,  for no one appreciates a noisy cog.

Push the wheel harder, so my momentum carries me away from thoughts that cause me to stray to the screaming in my head that always implores me to run the fuck away from this boring ass, numbing, plodding of a distant and dismal day.

I am integral though,  I am integral

So thinks the cog  in this spinning wheel forever at play.

By Philip Wardlow Dec, 2021

I know I won’t cry


They say parents shouldn’t outlive their kids, but should an older brother outlive their younger?

Much like a parent, the older brother directs, and protects the course of the younger.

Unlike parents, the older brother can also be a partner, a fellow perpetrator of many a fun misdeed gone awry. That is where bonds lie deepest, where intimate secrets are kept and held between a kin closer than that of the mother or father.

Sharing of sins, and the punishment of those sins, sharing in the joys and adventures that is youth in its whole.

You share a core with that little brother that none may know. It’s unspoken but known to the bone between you two.

To the Bone.

It’s honored, it’s delicate. It’s something that always dwells.

So when you see your little brother, dismal and seemingly damned, fallen and fragile, raging against an unknown foe and miles from the place in him from where he was once was, you know.

Where in the core that you share, now only dwells despair, you weep, and you weep, and you weep in the silence where no sees, because a man doesn’t cry, they simply don’t.

You know you won’t cry as he lies in a casket, all dressed and prettied up. You know you won’t cry when other’s speak of him in passing or come up to you with a hug, and “I am sorry for your loss”

You know you won’t cry simply because you have already cried so much as bit by bit of your little brother was pulled from you, excised with a sharp knife, and put into a blender and pureed to mush.

By Philip Wardlow June 2021