Tag Archives: poem

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

October – A poem

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October – October

The winds which whip

have a different flavor.

A taste, sweet

and fervent as a

caramel apple when

first bitten into.

The night shrouds more

treasures, unspoken

in shadows but implied

deep in your soul familiar

with such darkness.

Colors abound and break and burst,

escaping their confines of

staleness and tepid tones.

Never has this world been more alive,

more robust,

more rambling,

and shambling to and fro.

Unbounded and limitless

in scope and measure.

This time is the great mystery

come to call.

To hold magic in your hands

if only for the briefest instant

Until it finally

fades

away.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2014

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

My Third Eye – A Poem

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Patipat Asavasena

 

 

My Third Eye –

 

It’s been plucked.

Right out of my head.

There it is, pinched between

that raven’s beak.

It has been reclaimed it seems

since I never chose to use it.

An eye always closed.

grows dark and distant.

Best to give it to someone else.

Yet, I feel the pain of its

loss already

My mind, my spirit, my heart

has already dimmed.

I want it back.

I have learned my lesson.

I promise.

I will use it,  give it back…

give it back,

please give it back.

I will use it

just give it back.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2014

 

darksiders_raven_by_eldeivi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds

Come with Me – A poem

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Ромашковое поле

Come with Me –

 

I want to go with you in a field of flowers today,

so come away with me and we’ll play.

Grab your mitt, ball, and bat and

don’t forget to feed the cats.

 

Home plate will be the old tree stump, it’s still

serves as a reminder to our lives where

many a memory still reside.

 

First base will be the weeping willow where we have

dazed under on many a  hot summer day in its shade.

 

Second base will be the corner of the old red barn where

we have ventured with our son and taught him how to explore

life just for fun.

 

Third base will be the edge at a bend in a forgotten stream

that has been flowing for years with all our dreams.

It still sparkles as the sun over high catches the ripples as

it flows by.

 

So come with me this day

For with you there’s always time to play.

 

 

By Philip Wardlow 2013

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Eeyore’s quiet Sad Rage – A poem

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This poem is for all those who have ever felt left out, unloved, neglected, uncared for or ever underappreciated…we all have been Eeyore  at least once in our lives I am imagining –

 

 

Eeyore_1

 

Eeyore’s quiet Sad Rage –

 

Pooh has Piglet, tight friends to the

end.

Roo has his mum and oft’ times Tigger’s

bouncing annoying presence.

Rabbit has his attitude of

self-importance.

and Owl, his arrogant wisdom

as he sits in his tree.

Christopher Robin visits, but rather

infrequently.

The Hundred acre woods are a lonely place for  a donkey.

Thistle only comforts so much.

The wind whistling through the trees

is a pale companion.

I have much poetry to recite,

much I wish to say, hugs I wish to share

and smiles to give.

Perhaps my worth shall be found

one day by eyes

that see more than past the noses

on their own heads.

Until then I will meander and mope

because that is what is expected

of me.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2014

Gloomy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds

Library Fantasy – An Erotic Poem

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Library  Fantasy –

 

Black spectacles perched upon her cute little nose,
hair done up in a bun with neck exposed,
tight skirt that falls just shy of the knees,
she is civic in her duties as she gives me
a smile that beckons to pursue a little
light reading.

I spy her shelving books upon the shelf,
A wish comes to mind to take her behind those
shelves and fuck her in a pile of soft paperbacks.

Preferably fantasy or science fiction,
Yes, I’m a nerd like that.

I want to stroll over and grab a
nice thin book of poetry and bend
her over my knees  and smack her
bare bottom until Yeats, Frost, or Poe
make her release an earth shattering moan.

Shh…please I’m trying to read.

She will kneel in front of me as I
lounge in my reading chair.
She will hand me a book to peruse as
she unbuttons my pants all the while
giving me a very stern stare.

She will go down on me with lips that
love to talk of bibliographies, bestsellers
and her favorite man named Dewey.

I will whisper to her tales of erotica, and
caress her breasts and nipples with
delicate flutterings from the pages of
my book.

Before her work is done,
she will become very intimate with
Shakespeare,
Cyrano,
and my favorite character,
Don Juan.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow

ReadingBook

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Taken – an Erotic Poem

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Taken –
In silent repose in bedtaken
she read.
Night enshrouded her.
Eyes heavy from the day
as sleep was soon to come.
*
*
A creaking of the stairs
revealed of his approach
A small kiss goodnight
then to leave again as always…alas
*
*
Book put aside as he entered,
his handsome rugged smile
found hers as he approached
bedside.
*
*
A light kiss on full lips
along with his lingering cologne
clinging to his pores
caused her to sigh inside.
*
*
Light kiss turned to an insistence
pressure as a rough hand found
her breast…squeezing hard in intention.
*
*
Blankets flung back,
quick hands grabbed at panties
pulling them down thighs, to calves
to feet, then off in a flick.
*
*
Dark brown eyes dilated to drink her
in like a heady red wine.
*
*
Strong hands grabbed at knees forcing
legs open wide,
asking for no permission.
Head dove between thighs
sweetly kissing her other lips.
*
*
She bucked and thrashed as
his attentions below
had taken her well in hand.
The dance with tongue so delicate and
precise.
*
*
He grabbed both her arms by the wrist,
holding them tight at her sides to calm
the body that could not resist
the rising within.
*
*
She rode on wave after wave,
with each successive one ever higher.
*
*
His ardor had risen complete as his
hardness moved up her thighs
pressing, wanting a deep kiss of its
own.
*
*
His eyes found hers as he
entered, sliding into her tight wetness
They moaned in unison at the shared
pleasure as he filled her with him.
*
*
Time evaporated for the next
minutes or hours as he owned her.
Completely.
He was denied nothing as he took
her savagely, pushing and pulling
himself into her.
Biting a shoulder, or her neck, enveloping
a breast with his mouth.
No part of her body was left untouched.
In this instant he lived within her body
This was his domicile to come and go as
he wished.
*
And she welcomed it all…
by Philip Wardlow 2014
Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Santo Mon – A Political Poem

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The Santo Mon-  

 

Monsanto.
Yeah Mon…You know the one.
Mon
san
to.

Remember it.
Founded in 1901 by
a rich family full of ambition.

Your grandmother’s mother washed
her linens with one of their first brands
and hung them to dry in the warm
afternoon sun.
ALL, the detergent of the ages.

Other products flew off the shelf.
Who do you think made Coca Cola taste so
sweet?
Saccharin, supplied by the Santo Mon.
Here, have a drink.

It set them up real good for what was to come.

If your head was aching, grab some Aspirin.
Pop a little salicylic acid to turn that frown
upside down.

Why stop there Mon, because chemicals were theirAgentOrangeDumping
specialty ya know;
DDT, PCBs, Agent Orange by the barrel load.

Ya see, the US government had this little war in Vietnam,
They had this idea that they could keep down the Vietcong
simply by killing off all the foliage mon.

All it did was deprive the good citizens of growing food,
causing them to flee to the city
where they crammed into
the slums by the millions.

The Santo Mon knew the dangers of what he sold, it was all in the notes as the studies showed; what it did to animals surely it could do to us,
cuz we be but animals as well bro.

Those wonderful products broke the bodies of the natives living there
and the vets who came back.

Woe be war, but woe be more the chains you still wear, for it never be over for some.

Misshapen babes born to proud
Papas and Mamas who are already themselves half in the grave.

Kiss your wife dear solider and hug her tight, for something burns inside you and it ain’t
never coming out.

It’s gonna strike
When?
Who knows.
Today,
Tomorrow.

But you will be the fool
to feel Santo cares about your
welfare.

Don’t hold your breath if you don\’t want to turn blue.
Men in suits;
lawsuits been settled they say,
reparations be done.

Some say it would have been better
to have pissed into the wind to get what
the victims won.

Go about your way,
we be the New Monsanto
all improved.

Our business is growth and nature.
We want to show you the way.
The New Santo Mon only engineers seeds nowadays.

Oh, you haven’t heard that story either?
Well sit down my friend I’ve got a lot
more unpleasant things to say

 

by Philip Wardlow

monsanto-kills-art

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Instruments of Us – A Poem

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SwirlingInstruments of Us –

 

Mind, mouth, eyes and hands;

all potential  instruments of

sin.

If left unchecked.

Wantoness awaits

Mind your mouth.

Keep your eyes cast in their proper place

Keep your hands

at your side,

Lest it give rise to illegal transgressions

on this wild ride.

Always fighting the feelings.

Always fighting the weakness from within.

Why not follow the beat, beat, beat of that other instrument

so often ignored.

The heart, heart, heart…

It sings true,

even it is

a fool.

But yet it does tend to keep the other

instruments in line

from time to time.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Another World – A Poem

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WaterGirl

 

Another World –

 

Always a flash she is,

the light  of the moon catching her at times

when I am out upon the dark deep waters

of the great sea.

I remember locking eyes with her once.

Just once.

A look which pulled at my soul.

A look of wanting, a look

of yearning to approach,

to be seen, to be known,

to be not so alone in

the darkness

below.

Fortune to find me,

but fate made us all fools to believe.

She another life force

beating in an alien world.

Where she dwells, I cannot go, nor can she

venture out.

Locked away in the skittering

of the waves

below.

Just as I am locked in the salt stung air above

never to mingle

never to dance

never to share

a kiss as

the need arises.

 

by Philip Wardlow  2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Spinning – A Poem

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Spin

 

Spinning –

 

The little blue eyed blond girl told

me it made her smile

to see the top spin.

A thousand colors coalescing and mingling

in infinite layers

as it made this little blonde girl grin.

Broader than the Milky Way

with pearls of white undamaged

yet by tooth decay.

Gloriously it stretched across her face and

there was no finer secret to be had in the universe

that day.

 

by Philip Wardlow