Three hours unflinching on eiderdown turning cream pages sound of cat lifting window screen bending back in yogic form escaping house in black and white yawn to hunt the marigold colored birds maki…
Source: For the wasps to feast
MOST DEFINITLY READ THE REST OF THIS MOST EXCELLENT POEM by one of my Published writer friends on WordPress!
What shall I say of the mirage in you.
Bright eyes, delicate soul,
with tenacious heart
beating,
Blood running, spilling.
(or was it alligator tears)
It wasn’t until I slipped, did I finally
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.
Then you
suddenly
disappeared.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
I will not like everything you do
but I will still like you.
I will not love the moods you
fall into but I will
still love you.
I will see you as you are;
imperfect, unpolished, lost
but I will still take your hand
and squeeze it, letting you know I am
right there with you on that path.
I will laugh when you laugh, I will cry when you cry
I will hurt when you hurt,
through all the years
that we have left on this earth
I will.
There is beauty in you,
so much beauty
Like a child that sleeps
and dreams
of play and magical places to roam
and beasts to wrestle and hug
I will always be watching
you dream.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
I’m trying to capture
a lit bit of magic.
Distill out the mundane,
filter out the impurities,
and infuse a little energy
into this tired body and brain.
You have always been that
catalyst, that additive, that chemical,
or heat to speed the reaction.
Give me just a dash of you and
I will change this lead to gold
or this chunk of coal
to a diamond that
sparkles like your
eyes do.
Your kiss may be the final
ingredient to the elixir of life
that I have long sought.
Oh how elusive that magic is
at being caught
and wrangled like
lightning in a bottle.
But I am an alchemist, and
with my books, my bottles, my studies
my mythos, my faith, and you…
I shall wrestle with the five mysteries of life;
air, earth, fire, water, and the
elusive aether…
and condense their natures down into
a malleable creature from which
I can ride with you into the night.
by Philip Wardlow
Haunted eyes
wrapped in misery.
You are already dead,
so why should you feel pain?
Pain is your purgatory
little girl, a grand gift
from scales that can never
be balanced in your favor.
Haunted eyes they may be,
but I see defiance, strength,
lingering deep, always
ready to rise to the surface.
Never did death look so beautiful
A perfection in form chiseled
from stone beaten up and torn
down by the elements.
You wear your cloak well,
dark and tear stained, wrapped
tight around a body that
still flies free.
You are my beautiful dead girl.
with cold hands clenching tight around
a warm heart
that beats just for you.
by Philip Wardlow
The seas can be tumultuous at times,
unforgiving, relentless, a downright belligerent bastard.
So ride and revel in the stormy waves
Let the skies threaten and yell,
flash and complain, like the devil thrashing in hell.
Give him a smile, a wink, and a fuck you, and tell
him, “You know what you can do!”
Then go down, down, down
Letting the deep in all it’s darkness
console you in it’s mystery,
comforting, cajoling, ever
unfolding in its complexities.
Find peace in the quiet deep.
Tempests may knock on yonder door
while the slow rolling lies just below
while abed you rest, upon a pillow of
seaweed amidst strange trees.
“Knock, knock,” says the sky above
“Go away!” you say.
“There will be time enough for you in the bright light of day!”
by Philip Wardlow 2016
Landscapes of You
As I rise at dawn
and look out upon this landscape
It’s got nothing on you babe.
The mountains can’t touch your heights which I climb
In the morning light and the fertile valley
below is where I’ll go to set up my campfire
and have a weeny roast every night.
Let me fall down hard against your snowy soft skin and make
snow angels with my tongue as I go deep in.
The rivers and streams that meander around me can’t
get any wetter than your bed as I lie at your shore .
Maybe I’ll take a swim in your deep lake and paddle
down to the waterfall where I hear it’s a gusher.
The field of you lays lush and fragrant with undulating
colors of flowering pink and red peonies swaying
enticingly before me as you gyrate those hips below,
stirring the four winds to blow
me away off this wind swept peak
that I cling to with barely a fingertip.
I’ve packed lots of rations, trail mix, water and
peanut butter cups to keep my energy up.
My hike is not over by far, because I’ve got many trails to cover.
I can’t leave any one spot untouched or ignored,
The beauty of this mysterious place I call
paradise must be explored.
The smell of clover and dandelions pervade my senses
as I drink your sweet scent in.
The nearness of you is nature in its most erotic essence
bottled in the pores of
your skin.
By Philip Wardlow
The world needs to be taken and spanked
No admonishments, no time outs, no taking away
of their favorite pastimes, friends or toys.
Just simply bend them over, pull down their pants,
and SMACK!
Kick your legs, wail and cry if you must world,
but its long over due.
Like “Oh Fudge” there are certain words or phrases that cannot
be undone or taken back,
nor deeds that need to be reasoned or examined.
Vicious little children at times,
knowing sticks and stones do break
bones as their words
words sink in and bite them.
I want to spank the world until their breath
comes in shudders and they are barely
able to mutter, a single syllable of hate.
Feel the shame burn below,
Feel the lesson course in your soul
that begs to be enlightened.
Sit gingerly and remember the pain
and know it may come again
if you continue your childish
ways.
Grow up oh little world,
Grown up.
Philip Wardlow 2016
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Health, Reflection, and Poetry for the Journey of Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Health, Reflection, and Poetry for the Journey of Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 