When the world winds down may there always be someone there to wind it up…
by Philip Wardlow
My mistress, she is exacting,
she accepts no excuses,
No whining is allowed,
no knees in the dirt
in supplication
with fingers grasped mightily
looking upwards into her
eyes.
I fear I will fail her.
The thread runs through me,
as a snake crawls through the trees
at night where I cannot
see to kill it.
My mistress will accept
nothing but my pure devotion
shown through my sweat, blood and soul
split open.
I will not fail her.
I am the sun,
I need no warmth,
I need no sustenance from the satellites.
I am brilliant in my own space,
look upon me mistress
See how I shine for you.
I will not burn out.
by Philip Wardlow
In a Dark Cave
I see the unseen
knife twist in your gut.
It slices into me as well,
a pale shadow to yours,
but I feel it just the same.
If I could take it all I would,
to eliminate what you feel.
from sunrise to sunset.
I admire your strength,
I cry at times
I love it so.
Your torments deserve accolades but instead you
just get more of the same pain
day after day.
I wish I could name your enemy,
put form to the intangible,
call out your pain to the floor
and wrestle it into submission.
I dream of being a knight,
riding out to the field to slay the dragon
that breathes its fire into you
from afar.
I would cut off its head and stab it
through its evil heart.
But your pain is hidden,
in a dark cave it dwells deep.
I have no torch bright enough
to enter its depths to pull the
foul beast out.
So I will sit,
I will watch,
I will console
The night with you
next to the fire in your embrace.
and I will simply wait.
By Philip Wardlow
The Opposition
I think I could see the good in you
If I slapped you hard enough
for it to fall out,but I think my hand would break first.
I hate your smugness, your arrogance,your assuredness
that resides in your countenance and the flippant careless words you fling.
You’re a lumper, a categorizer, a generalizer,A stereotyper.
All to isolate and perpetuate the status quo.What am I then, I ask?
A fucking asshole that hates you?
But I’m oh so much more.
I am your opposition, your reflection you look away from,
the child you have stomped into the ground, I am your forgotten regrets,
your hope, your Jiminy Cricket with a baseball bat held high over your head,
and I will always be there to beat you back from the massacres
you wish to inflict,
because you can only cheat death for so long.
by Philip Wardlow
Alchemy
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
My fortune has forsaken me for I am stranded in this cold wasteland
next to a flickering flame about to die.
All I have are my fears, a quilt to keep me warm and the labored breath of life.
The thick heavy fabric enfolds me in warmth from my head to my feet.
It is a comfort as I try to calm my restless mind and fall
to sleep.
I feel warmer yet still as I pull it closer to me in the night.
This warmth seems to come from a different place as I hold
the quilt to me tight.
Like a close friend it is a barrier against the bitter cold that wants
to suck the life from my chest with every stolen breath.
I began to reflect in my minds wanderings
Does this quilt have a story, a past to explore?
I picture strong delicate hands, patient hands, cutting and sewing in
endless hours to reach an end.
A quiet anticipation to see the job done with the reward of creating
a piece of art as a gift for a friend.
Did her mind wander while she worked? Did she daydream and get lost
in a world of mystery of her own design while her fingers danced from
seam to seam with the passage of time?
From mind to hand, to hand to cloth, did these wanderings, these dreams seep
into the fabric?
Is that why I feel as I lay on this cold hard ground like I could float up to the
dark heavens above me and touch the stars that twinkle down.
Is this quilt that I’m wrapped in imbued with a magic that I cannot see for it seems to
be reaching inside me and guiding me to a place where I can be free.
I dream of a woman and see her smile. Is she the one who has sewn this quilt for me?
Am I now part of her wanderings and fancies?
Is that why my heart is so light?
Is that her embrace I feel as the quilt consoles me in the night.
My mind is not restless , my body is at peace.
I lay wrapped in my quilt next to a fire long
gone out and forever asleep.
by
Philip Wardlow
Into the Woods
The young man walked into the darkening woods
few dared tread even in daylight,
for there were many a tale of a sly fey or evil
sprite who walked there at night.
Not caring for rogue or dark highwayman to
lay upon him on the open road as he slept,
he sought the sanctuary of the deep forest
instead for his bed.
He bunkered down next to a dead fallen tree
and built a small fire against the cold that crept
as the sun crawled deep and fled into a hole
in the ground as he prepared for sleep.
He stared into the fire and being young let his
fancies take flight, beginning to imagine eyes in
the woods contemplating him, waiting for him
in the burgeoning night.
He wasn’t a child to lose himself,
so he shook off his disquiet and the cold and closed
his weary eyes pretending to be bold and found sleep
even through his fear of the unknown.
Into the night he slept until the crescent moon
shone high overhead casting pale blue shadows
across his face and breast as he slept on his
forest bed.
Now some say if the moon finds you in the forest
other things may as well, like a beacon to a boat
far off shore.
The young man started awake to the feeling
of a finger lightly brushing his cheek,
cold but oddly yet full of heat.
The fire was mere embers casting a feeble light,
but he could see the outline of a figure nearby, one arm
outstretched toward him, sitting in a low crouch
swaying to and fro and cooing as if in love.
The young man sprang up and backed over and
behind the tree and clutched at the hag bone which
hung around his neck for encounters such as these.
A good thing his talisman he wore for he may have
found himself dead in the morn.
“Come hither, Come closer.” It seemed to whisper in
his very ear, even though the creature was across from him
and not near.
It moved closer and the light from the dying fire
caught its face just so to reveal black pupils set against
black orbs which should have been bone white.
The face sneered at him with a clown like grin showing
a full set of razor sharp teeth within, while all the while green
flecked saliva dripped and slipped down its pointy chin.
It licked its lips with a tongue as red as blood and smelled the
air seeming to mark the man’s scent if he should run.
“Sit and talk brother, I am alone I just wish a little company
in my forest home.”
“I am no brother of yours darkling, be gone from my sight!”
the young man yelled back shaking his talisman as he held
it tight.
“You are more kin than you know, do you think it mere
happenstance that I appear before you so?”
The creature looked at him from across the dim fire and
stared into him deep. Shadows danced on the creature’s face
as its dead eyes bore into him full of dead life and fathomless heat.
“You are my brother, for your heart is as dark as mine, for it beats
within you and called to me for it keeps the same time.
No moon called me to this place, nothing but your blackheart
pulled me to your presence and this forest space.”
The young man said nothing but continued to clutch the talisman he wore.
The creature smiled and looked at what he held so desperately to his breast
for it knew the man’s secrets and oh so much more.
“Why should that help you in a time such as this? Should it not turn
on its owner and prove itself dead instead?”
“You will die as they did, oh yes. I see your eyes tell the lie on your lips
as you twist the truth you try to spit.”
“You saw the little farm house, deep in the wood and all alone?”
“A husband, wife and daughter safe in their home
in the night, as you stared in their window and
crouched like I do now so low.”
“You crept inside when the night was still and killed the man while fast asleep.
Then you had your way with mother and daughter both and
all the while you smiled and laughed as if it all a joke.”
Like a lightning stroke the creature grabbed the young man’s hand and
ripped open his grasp and flung the worthless talisman from the young man’s
hands into the cold dewy grass.
The young man eyes opened wide and
implored to the creature “Please I don’t want to die.”
“Hmm..that was the same said by the mother and child”
“Remember what you replied?”
Then you should not have taken up residence so deep in these woods.
With that the creature buried its teeth
into the young’s man’s neck and drank deep
of his brother all the while the young man
screamed for release.
Now the tales say if you go deep into the woods you
may run afoul of dark things at night, but the tales also
say be wary of the darkness in your own heart.
Your skin breaks just like
the skin of an apple would
as my teeth sink in.
The taste of you floods
my dead mind with memories
of sweet Riesling fair,
Days gone, best left dead,
parties of friends buried deep,
a grave gone long cold.
Content I had been,
but did not yet know it then.
Death opened my eyes.
Sweet isolation,
now follows me everywhere,
a pale hallow friend.
My blood lust sated,
you fall to the rocks below,
a victim of me.
I could have turned you,
forced a light friendship to dark,
misery to share.
But love lingered still,
trapped in these immortal cells.
I did all I could.
You sleep the sleep I
seek in my dreams while I sleep
on a bed of nails.
Come to me lost ones,
I will take away the pain,
drink it into me.
I am your pardon
to a life God has sidelined,
your dark god on earth.
Your skin breaks just like
the skin of an apple would
as my teeth sink in.
The Whole
All of us in this world
are made up of bits and pieces.
The failure of a father, the loving
kiss of a mother, the slap to the face,
the hug when most needed, the stomp
to the head, the shove in the right direction,
the mysteries from out of the elusive aether.
Puzzle pieces from an endless box
are continuously being dumped on to our table top
of life that you must pick up
and put together to form
a solid picture from.
Place your pieces carefully one at a time
into the spaces that fit.
Dwell not on the picture you think you see forming,
for it is an illusion, a trick
most dire to the eye and mind.
Your puzzle is not yet finished,
if it ever can be,
for how are we
to ever know
the whole.
when so many
pieces have
yet to be
placed.
by Philip Wardlow
I said I would keep you abreast of my progress in the world of writing regarding my submission for my stories/poetry to various publishers so here goes.
I have been racking up a lot of rejection letters lately for my writing of my stories and poems.
I received my first rejection letter for my 23,00 word Novella, “Roadkill“. that I submitted approximately 60 days ago. One good thing I guess is I got it back early so now I can submit it to other publishers for consideration. Always gotta look on the bright side. The only things that bugs me is all they said was “We have finished reviewing Roadkill for publication and have decided to pass. Thanks for submitting to us and best wishes.” I know there probably busy but they could they have least thrown me a bone. Like, feel free to try submitting again with another story when you are ready. Something like that maybe. Just a little encouragement would be nice.Cmon!
Trouble is I’m realizing that Novella length stories are hard to push to most publishers. They either want short stories from 1,000 words to 15,000 words with the average being accepted being about 8-10,000. There a few out there who to take them but only a very few I’m learning want the Novella Length. They want full length Novels in the 90,000 + Word Count or Short stories period.
Don’t get me wrong I’m not sitting on my hands waiting for rejections on one story. Hell no! I’ve still been writing new stories and submitting & waiting on rejections for those as well…ha ha. I have recently sent in a much shorter story at about 3,300 words called “Devils in the Details” to various publishers. Two have since rejected it. I have just sent it to another publisher just the other day so we will see about that one.
I did already find another publisher to submit “Roadkill” to so I will be sending that one in again soon; and the countdown begins all over again.
I have submitted some of my darker poetry into various publications with no luck yet as well. One called “Into the Deep Woods”, I think is really good. I am waiting on one online magazine response so we will comes of that.
I am also just finishing up another story in the 7000 to 8000 Words range that I will try to be turning into a publisher soon as well.
I am pretty pragmatic about my writing. I know its a long shot careerwise. I do know that all this writing is shaping me into the writer I am supposed to be one day. I am really trying to work on my prose by fine tuning character development, plotting and scenes along with conflicts that insue in all that goes with it. If anything these short stories help me with that greatly, and besides to create a character and building a new world, for me is a satsifying thing. I want to know what happens to that man who is cast out into a boat in the middle of stormy night on an open dark ocean. You wanna see what happens to him.
Wish me luck in my endeavors and I wish you luck in yours as well
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 👽
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 👽