You only get brave by doing what
you don’t want to do, you gain
strength by lifting that weight set
before you, no matter how large
or small.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
Tag Archives: poem
My appetite
She comes home
and does what she wants.
Does what? We don’t know.
She wont say.
But it’s not much,
because she’s cut off and closed away.
Far and in-between the what-if
of her.
She is a melancholy angry mess
I can’t put my thumb on her
and she’d break it if I tried.
But I do, because I can, and she lets me pry;
however reluctantly,
because that’s all I have ever done.
I speak the truth, because lies are boring vicious things.
Even though the truth is often painful
as a motherfucker,
it’s freeing,
casual and a sweetness
rolled into a ball and
swallowed down
that speaks to my
appetite.
Which always
hungers.
By Philip Wardlow 2016
Mini-Poetry of Many Flavors
Mischievous
Her dress unraveled
Falling slowly, suddenly,
clothed now only in a grin
to mirror my own.
****************
Perspective
Circling, ever circling
around and around
eyes shaded to what is, what was,
what might be. When all
we needed do was to stop and leave
this fun house to truly see , and never
buy a ticket again.
**************
Cookie Cat
Oh fat cat, where
did that last cookie go?
Do you suppose
it went down
that big mouse trap of a mouth?
I’m thinking so.
************
Shadow Play
Kill your shadow
before it kills you.
Your shadow doesn’t lead.
You lead you.
A Do Over?
If you could,
set a coordinate in time and space.
Push a button. Click…
and in a flick
of an eye lash or
the time it takes
for a humming bird’s heart
to beat just once.
You’re there.
Beside yourself, in yourself
telling that old new person, who’s just
starting to breath life into their lungs,
To Think.
You would hesitate, that younger state.
For an instant, in listening to the older.
But, you would still follow through;
for their is no do over, no amending.
no take backs.
Time is a tricky bastard, giving and taking
in all the wrong places.
So you float, waiting.
Anxiety of the day always building.
Until it all unravels to reveal
the mystery of those moments in obvious hindsight
as pieces of you fall through an aperture
to allow only minute grains
for you to view.
Bit by bit, little clues to life why
a person such as you or I might exist.
So travel ever forward, explore.
And try just a smidgeon to listen
to that future self when they
tell you not to fret.
By Philip Wardlow 2016
I could Never
I could never have chosen a more difficult woman.
Defiant brown eyes always challenging,
yet soften when I lean in with just the right words
whispered in your ear.
I may be scruffy but I know you secretly
like a man with a little hair and to warm
your hands with my own.
So, I will give you my best grin and tell you
I’ll swing by in the Falcon at eight
and we will travel to Dathomir
for a wild and fun filled date.
And never mind what Lando says,
for he’s just a Rogue like me.
They can’t be trusted;
unless you have stolen their heart.
Know that you have, even
as you push me away to pull
me in tight.
I know you need a good kiss
and I have many to lend.
For I could never
leave you wanting
Unless it was all according
to my devious plan…. 🙂
by Philip Wardlow
I play
She knows not that I watch her soul
smiling idly out behind eyes blue flecked
with bits of gold.
I play a light and airy tune with wood and wind
Nestled deep in forest glen,
Just for her, as always promised.
Notes ride the air,
seeking purchase within her mind to push aside
a raven’s deep abiding dark claim.
For there resides a tumultuous churning,
ever undulating
as I try and intertwine
and weave, a melody
with my fool’s flute,
dipping an octave or
two going in.
Delicate…invisible…searching.
Enveloping.
Again, I spy your smile sneak out
as my delving takes.
And a shadow or two
that was once another you
loosens it purchase
and takes flight.
by Philip Wardlow
First Day to Last
The hand moves on the clock
as the little girl skips down the block.
Sun up to sun down.
She laughs. and laughs, and laughs,
and sings in her heart.
Until one day the ground comes to meet
her head on.
Now, her trust in gravity is suddenly gone.
Yet, she still skips, but ever so hesitantly.
Just ever so, knowing the cost in her
lack of caution.
Her heart still sings
as she joins in a game
of Double Dutch.
The rope flies as her feet take flight.
But the other girls in their turning
are not nice,
as they
slow the speed of the spin
throwing off the girls rhythm
So once again, gravity brings
blood on a sidewalk and
scraped raw knees,
and a small wall.
On and on her days come and go,
the clock continually ticking
with the gravity of the Universe
never relenting.
Always there; spinning,
as this little girl still
continues to skip
and jump rope.
With that same song
deep within her heart
humming ever so slowly,
just ever so.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
Come Back as you Fall Away
Autumn rose from languid bed, out of her naked repose
alongside my own.
Against the soft light of day the shadows lengthened
around her curves.
She turned to give a smile as her hair
fluttered in a wind that wasn’t there.
Leaning in, she whispered her discontent
with a delicate kiss, cool and crisp
meant only for me.
I saw her truly then,
a desperation sought after,
a sorrow borrowed,
a beguiling mystery to be followed
But eventually lost.
She was my season, my breath
drawn and exhaled so slowly
as to stop time in its tracks.
Yet, she fell away, eyes downcast
always knowing the direction
she would eventually go.
Don’t, I begged.
but instead live in me.
Through all the dark
and the cold to come, and scorching rays
of days
stay within,
stay within,
And come back to bed with me.
By Philip Wardlow 2016
The Big Top
By Philip Wardlow 2016
What say you?
Wee moments stuck in thought
stuck in the thought
of too many thoughts.
Where does life go when you let it go?
Does it strap on sneakers and have a run.
Not caring the road its on.
Well I care for scenic, something with a view,
a journey,
challenging but not reckless or cruel
to the soles of my shoes.
Mountains peaked, craggy and windswept,
leading to dreamy sittings on precarious ledge,
fertile valleys , dark and deep, muddy and froggy with
all the chirps and burps to be offered in the sun
either draped in shade, or tinkled on
by a rainy day.
What say you?
What do you really say?
As you crouch upon your porch
seeing the world run away?
Ah, you have no sneakers?
A poor excuse.
Grab your slippers, or those
old flip flops.
And simply start out for a little walk.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 