Everything and anything
could have been that day,
yet I was there sitting in that place,
in that small little space,
in that time, that moment
plucked with you in
mind.
A hello, a smile, a small question
to catch my eye.
My attention never wavered…as something,
yes something…told me
there was more to this meeting,
more…
than just
the casual.
You were my Happy Accident
if I only chose
to embrace it.
by Philip Wardlow 2013
Blue Balls of a Gentleman
Never was a pain so great
as to leave a man almost
doubled over as he walked.
Such a foul wretch of a woman
she was; to taunt and to flaunt
her wares so, to sidle up alongside me,
yet hold back her ultimate
charms.
Never to help me find release
from the tension that she had
caused to exist far below.
True, I could have taken matters into my
own hands like any chaste man should have;
evacuate the cause of all my pent up
pressure and damn her back to the nine hells
where she surely belonged.
But I be not a man to take the easy course;
for I wished her to capitulate in the war
she had waged right outside my castle gate.
Cease this siege woman!
Acquiesce to the desires that I see burning
in your eyes and overcome your coolness
buried deep in your cold keep of a heart.
Grab hold of what you desperately
wish to conquer and I shall relinquish
myself to you with a flood of gratitude.
Perhaps dear lady you will grow
accustomed to my sweet taste.
By Philip Wardlow 2012
What a Woman Wants
She walks on by in her tight skirt,
as my brown eyes drink her in and
I say to myself, so it begans.
She smiles and I smile back,
I say hello in a way so she knows that
she matters in this moment to me.
I’m in engaged in her form, her voice.
Her smell of cinnamon must surely
taste like her lips if I were to kiss them.
I make you laugh as I tell you you’re the
sweetest girl I‘ve ever met and that I might just have
to take you home and put you on my toast in the morning
instead of my blackberry jam.
Would I be too forward if I took you by the hand
and looked into your eyes and told you to trust
me with your whole heart as I wiped
away a tear from the tale you told
me of your last man.
You see, I see you.
I get you, I see your quirks,
I see your moods, I see your passions
and I’m right there baby
Right next to you and I’m
not going anywhere
Now come over here
and let me show you
what love is my
Dear.
by Philip Wardlow 2012
 Life goes and goes…and nobody knows truly why….you can tell me you truly know…and I will nod my head and say yeah, I suppose, and not seek to dismiss cuz I’m like that – to each their own – …but deep inside I’m still surmising, guessing, hoping…I do believe there is some purpose to this space and time that we occupy. But could that be the secret? That we apply a purpose to begin with. Whatever the case, I believe Will, Desire and Intention have a power all their own..so we will see when all the lights are turned off and the door is finally locked tight and the sign is finally hung….what mysteries may await us after closing time. By Philip Wardlow |
Cruel Master
I have no opinions of which you would care to hear;
for the heart is a cruel master which binds you tight.
Cry out and you will only get more of the same I’m sure;
another beating to send you back into the corner whimpering.
So I slink around the edges of your eyes and live
in the shadows of the moods you cast.
And hope that you never see I am slowly
poisoning the master you have come to
love.
So one day you will be free.
by Philip Wardlow 2013
AT THE MARATHON (GAS STATION)
AT THE MARATHON .
CHEWING BUBBLE GUM
MY FORTUNE SAYS I’LL BE ENVIED
BY EVERYONE.
AT THE MARATHON
CHEWING BUBBLEGUM
SITTING AT THE MARATHON
WAITING FOR A FRIEND TO COME
AT THE MARATHON.
WHO’D ENVY ME?
THE ONE WHO OWNS A BROKEN CAR.
AT THE MARATHON
WHO’D ENVY ME
THE ONE WITH A BROKEN HEART
AT THE MARATHON
THE NIGHT IS GETTING COLDER
AS THE CARS DRIVE BY.
AS I CHEW MY BUBBLEGUM.
WHO’D ENVY ME?
AT THE MARATHON.
By Philip Wardlow 1989
(PS. And yes I sadly had just broken up with long term girlfriend at the time n my teenage years)
************************************************************************
A Brother Far Away
Stomp Clomp Stomp Clomp
Marched the Family of elephants
As they trod the dusty distance
To the watering hole.
A brother far away
Hears the tink chink tink chink of steel against steel
to announce the arrival of the Big Top to town
A tenderly nudge of a mother’s
Trunk gently directs her curious baby back on
Course.
Brother feels the pokes and prods of the steel
Tipped hook as it lashes out at him when he makes a
Misstep.
The chuckling of the hyenas and the
roaring of the lions nearby incite
The lead elephant to bellow a warning
to keep away.
Brother hears the hoots and hollers of the crowd
Behind the dark circus tent as the lion’s cage lumbers by
with the great beast still asleep inside.
A west wind blows pushing through the plains , flowing over
The feather dusted clouds encasing the moon which hangs like a
Fluorescent white pearl over the watering hole.
Brother dips his trunk into the bucket and
Comes up with the last drink to be offered that night as he
Strains at the shackles to get a glimpse at the moon.
By Philip Wardlow 1995
Nothing & Something?
Nothing
That’s what I feel like sometimes
Nothing
Nothing, nowhere, no how.
When I see sunsets casting purple hues and
pinkish wisps set in a bowl of vibrant golden orange,
It always reminds me that I’m nothing
And something
A nighttime sky, filled to bursting with a voluminous moon
And a menagerie of stars and planets spinning and coalescing in a
Constant rhythm we can’t begin to see. That’s when I feel like
Nothing
And something
A single stolen kiss in the dark with a girl who didn’t know I existed until
today, soft yet firm, gentle yet wanting. Nothing exists, not even
me.
And yet something…
Clues and misdirection, blind alleys and thorough fares, leads me by a
Leash to nowhere
Yet somewhere will be the end when the journey’s through
I am humbled at times but at others
I am petulant.
I am tired of feeling like nothing
Something sounds good
By Philip Wardlow 1996
Haiku Collection 1
Her car sped by mine
My pleasant day fell apart
Tears in her eyes hurt.
Little blonde girl laughs.
Jumps, smiles, eyes wide with wonder
Innocence still found.
Dark sun goes down fast
Warmth never there, fades away
Into the night glow.
Holes punched in the wall,
Door slams, tires screech away.
You never know pain.
I place the bottle.
It spins as her eyes grow wide.
Fortune favors me.
Pulled
A little girl stands with arms open wide.
How must it feel to be the rope in a
game of tug-o-war?
Win or lose, it’s all the same,
the pain of strained muscles
and sinew running down to the core;
almost ripping.
Braided rope is much stronger than a little’s
girl mind or her soul that must hold to a
reality that slowly unwinds.
Her psyche is soft and pliable and will
if pulled, stretched, and thinned out
to nary a whisper of herself, will
harden in the cold stale air and become
brittle and slowly break away in pieces for
all her days to come.
By Philip Wardlow 2012
Bloody Party
Your metallic sweet taste
drips from my mouth,
down your neck,
between your breasts,
and over your hips
to pool around
naked feet.
My bite, an aphrodisiac,
as you moan in my embrace
while my teeth sink deep
into veins drawing
life into my own.
Your river of red flows, it travels
pulsates, it beats, a rhythm
keeping time to a force where
I now control its course.
Slower, fainter, weaker.
You gasp in ecstasy at your
perfect death.
I lay you aside,
and move on to the next,
after all this is my party
and I must attend to all
my guests.
By Philip Wardlow 2012
This poem was originally published in the online magazine called The Carnage Conservatory in 2012.
Just in Form
My eyes linger a little too long,
as they dilate to drink her in.
Would I cut them out,
I would still remember her perfectly,
every line, every curve, every niche,
the photons press against her flesh
to bounce off to land upon my own.
But I am not her demon,
I am not her love,
I am nothing.
I will be forgotten
once my tribute passes from me
to her.
Why do I care then if my presence makes
an impression?
Why do I care that I see a false front behind
a hope that is slowly slipping away.
Perhaps I care too much
about everyone.
Even her,
who didn’t ask me to,
to see her sad eyes,
where a smile truly never
crept in.
The sensitive child of desolation
lends me my third eye
into her soul.
I need to learn to ignore it
for it never does anyone
any good.
More damages to be had
If my heart should linger
So I will only think of her in form,
as lines, and curves in space, to admire
and to put the order of
the world in its rightful place.
By Philip Wardlow 2012
undone in spectacle
she writes
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poetry, fiction, and musings
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undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Mind • Body • 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.. 