Tag Archives: poem

Dark Days Perhaps Fade Away – Poem#1 through 3 Collection


Poem #1

Snuggled down deep with the dark at our backs, intense heated light upon our cheeks while tales are told of places and times either long gone or yet to be of the bold; fighting, with either triumph or death to unfold in stories so unreal as to be real for truth lies in the darkest of tales, ever mercurial and seeking a willful ear…

 

 

Poem #2

Lost little monster of the dark auburn woods . She is hidden, ever hidden deep within. A hideous beauty.  Sweet dark girl with eyes that burn with a magic earned in dark fires held sway by an intense and longing angry pain. More fearsome than the darkness that seeks her or so she thinks. Beguiling and devilish yet unknowingly selfless. Just you wait, you’ll see. when the blackness truly and finally comes to knock upon all our doors and hers, she’ll be the only one strong to stand in its way.   To right the many wrongs of a life stripped away.

Poem #3

If there be real magic, I shall discover it in my travels upon my boat, with its sails made of flicks of flame billowing and full, pulling me across a crystal ocean through the night and day of this worn out world.  Alone I shall go, but you may accompany me  if you so wish. But please know dear companion, I shall seek that magic even if I should fall off the edge of it all to find a new more inviting place…

 

 

All poems by Philip Wardlow 2017

Excerpt from “Everything on It” by Shel Silverstein


A spider lives inside my head
Who weaves a strange and wondrous web
Of silken thread and silver strings
To catch all sorts of flying things,
Like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles
And specks of dried-up tears,
And dust of dreams that catch and cling
For years, and years, and years…

Killing the Agony


 

Bob Marley sang, “I don’t want to wait in vain for your love.”

Neither do I.
So get over here little girl,
because waiting for you to come to my bed has been agony,
Sheer as a red red curtain.

Painful in its pronouncement deep down in my
sexual soul.
So please, please
Bring home that honey pot. Yum, yum.
Oh you’re the one, little bear.

Drip,

Drip,

Drip… I won’t miss a drop.

Sting sang, “Let my kingdoms fall into the sea, for I’m mad about you”

Mad, mad, mad like the Hatter,
so come join me in the Chaos
as Order soon finds itself and all becomes calm
within your pretty head as
your body hits the bed.

A kiss on the lips,
a greeting for being missed
A bite on the lips,
a spectacle of compulsion
of what’s to come

You know the drill
Mon ami.
You know it all to well
So let me kill your agony.
Euphorically.

by Philip Wardlow

 

More than he knew ( for my Father)


 

I didn’t cry for you when  mom told me you had just died. I don’t cry in front of most people.  It’s too much to give them of me.

My two brothers had.

I remember my older brother wailing something awful, eyes full of anguish while my younger brother’s eyes filled over, tears  flowing down his cheeks like a runaway river in full flood.

Like you, I never showed anger nor did I ever show sadness.  But I remember your smile and your silence.  Such was I.

Three days later we drove the hour and half to your house in another town to collect your things and attend your funeral. You always felt a world away but you had always been close really.

There it sat,  your house, small, non-descript,  dull in color.

I recalled as we entered, me  visiting you once all by myself staying for a weekend.

I had baked you a nice big chocolate cake because mom used to bake for you and I knew you missed it and I wanted you to smile and be happy because I knew deep down you were not.

I wandered the house slowly taking you in.

In the bathroom your razor still sat at the edge of the sink just waiting for you to come back to pick it up and use it.

The chair you once sat in,  still with the noticeable impression from the gravity of your body filling it as  you watched television.

My brothers started fighting over something of yours they wanted to keep for themselves. My mom began to complain loudly about something frivolous like she so often did.

There I stood in the middle of the living room. Lost. Thinking of you.

A soft light spilled through the living room window to fall on the wooden floor  at my feet lighting upon the dust motes which filled the empty space.

I pictured you there. Like me. Lost . Forgotten while the world worked around you.

A deep welling up of painful pressure begin to rise in me, to think of you perhaps feeling you were not loved in your last years here on earth.

To think you perhaps felt alone in this world at the end of it all, your life coming to a close and no one there to send you off with a held hand, or a kiss or heartfelt word.

Then I silently begin to cry standing there.

I couldn’t have stopped if I had wanted to.

Then mom noticed and pulled me in close with a hug, my brothers turn to me and I didn’t care

For these tears were for you not me.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2017

 

 

 

 

 

They Call Her


They call her autumn
because she
wraps around you
like a flurry of golden leaves
in a whirlwind

You WILL fall for her
simply because her
violent nature demands it,
commands it.

A Tempest,
a wild child
which rides lightening
and flashes a grin that
fucking drives you
to your knees

Just try and stand against
the forces within her
and you will be taught
a cruel lesson about
natures full fury
once unleashed.

But autumn, she is a beauty
a conundrum
a magical journey
if you be so bold to take it

Be you so bold?
To capture the surreal
and hold it close

Could you ever be so lucky?

Bun Bun Go!


Swing Swing Bun
do your thang
see the sky
greeting
Your floppy ears
and your
cottony bunny
derriere
You don’t care
you don’t give a
flying fuckity fuck
as you soar through the air
letting the luck of your
life
good or bad
Fling you into probabilities
and possibilities!
Bring it on! You say.
So you pump and you pump
your little bunny legs
causing the swing
to reach ever higher
and higher
Climb Climb
climbing…

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Something has Died


I feel the husk of its dead shell
rubbing against my innards.
Grating,
poking
No piece of it breathes
yet it prods.
Reminding me it’s always
there.
Just sitting.
Drained and desiccated,
where once
it was full
to overflowing,
now nothing
but decay
absence
a void filled
only with
black matter.
A negative life if you will
The blackest of
black
Gouge out my eyes, then tape them
over times ten and
throw me in a capped well
type of black.
Something has died
in me
And I don’t know what.
But I want it back.
Alive.
So I go in search.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

 

Mystery Girl


She flits
amongst the tangled
night in dreams
that I have not known
Yet the desire is
there to partake
of the darkness
that abounds and
surrounds from within her
Mingle me in your madness
Tangle me in your limbs
crawling across your skin
With my warm lips
against cold body
gradually gaining heat
the more you encompass
me.
Your disguise is my own
you think you wear
unbeknownst.
I know.
Mystery girl,
still a sad
forlon whistling tune
hanging in the wind,
a shadow dimly cast by
a light trapped in a closet
from a future not promised
nor sure
she sits tap, tap, tapping
her index finger
on a desk that hardly
ever saw a word written
upon it.
I listen for
her echo
Deep, hallow,
beautiful
wanting.
I listen for it
in the night
as she flits and flutters
in the dark.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

I am


IMG_20170821_000146_767.jpgI Am…

I am a rogue, a scoundrel, flirtatious and a smart ass like Han and Lando.
Have been since I was eight
its my nature
sorry…not sorry
I give grins
Sexual Innuendo
But with a sincere affection
Behind it all
I will give you an ear
a hug
advice
and not always what
you want to hear
But I’m real
No bullshit
But just don’t catch
me drunk
then I can’t be trusted
I see beauty every where
And try to hold it tight
But it often flies away.
But it comes back in
One form or another.
I am mischievous
A dork
Passionate
Love sex and do it well…:)
Also love the value of sexiness
Because life is meant to be
brash and fun
As serious shit abounds
I apologize way too much
to myself
for actions I have
Yet to perform
I am a work in progress
at times too slowly.
But I’m learning.
My way works for
Me
For I am me and that’s
what I will continue to
Be.