Tag Archives: poetry

Down the line

June 22, 2017 Philip Wardlow 1 Comment

I may slip
in my stride
but I try.

I may even fall off the wall
with all various sorts of cracks
in need of repair.
But I try.

I will apologize but once.
feel sincere in my remorse
on its reckoning
but I shall not, will not
lay down on the tracks
as you push the throttle forward
on the engine as the
train of my destruction

I will simply wave instead,
as you pass by and disappear
down the line
and I will not look back.

by Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Ever hopeful

June 12, 2017 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

Fists balled in anger, soul sad and fed-up,
yet ever hopeful that his carefully balanced cup
stays half full for the days he knows to surely come
will be worse than this one.

So he drinks a toast to life still here, full and bright.
Dances with a half drunk girl
he’ll never know,
as he smiles at himself for the kiss he stole.

Then goes home to his empty home;
unless you count his cat Jack
with the biggest eyes you’ve ever
seen for him.
Oh what a wayward lover he is.
Yet, all it ever does, is make him wish
that a girl would look at him that same way.

He is ever hopeful
for he’s built that way,
he’s always been
since he was a small, wee
lad.

Ever hopeful,
even as it all crumbles away.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Dog

June 12, 2017 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

There is a dog on a porch
that never gets to be let it in,
His head gets patted,
his belly gets rubbed
Occasionally.

He gets told he is a good boy
as his bowl of food is set
before him,
Right before
his owner jumps
in the car and disappears down the road.

The sunsets are his favorite as
the day departs
and the night entreats
with possibilities to
be found in the roaming…

But the leash restricts.
He can never venture too far.
from this porch.

So he just sits.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Needle lifts up

June 1, 2017 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

Round and round and round and round and round
the needle gliding effortlessly
dragging over the unseen bumps
in a well worn groove
where it can’t climb out.

Of its own accord,
the needle lifts,
and shifts
back to the start and begins again
its shitty little song.
You might think robotic seeming in its prescribed nature,
but there is oh
so much less thought behind it’s action
For it’s been simply
fit together with
molded parts long ago
just so
to enable this
action over and over.

This spinning piece of compressed black vinyl
on edge, dips and wobbles
to mine eye.
Warped beyond belief.
Perhaps once laid out in the sun
or caught in the hot backseat
I never did take good care of them.

So as the needle lifts up yet again,
I remove the old record from its place
Hold it delicately in hand
Then gripping tightly
Swiftly bring it down to
meet the wooden corner edge.

I pick up the broken bits,
deposit every last piece
in the trash.
Then remove the plastic wrap
from a newly minted song
never heard
and carefully put it down
to spin.

Lifting the needle up
off its cradle
I kiss it softly to the
disc.

To hear something fresh.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Phrases just for Her

May 25, 2017 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

You can only look at her and get tongue tied
as your mind
gets mangled
That girl over there in that short skirt
wearing those black
thigh highs and garters, along
with sharp heels that could most definitely hurt.

Oh, and when she smiles,
simply sexadorable.
A storm walking, dream of a nightmare on the prowl.
The sensuosity
she exudes, the magicalicious
way she crosses the room.

It’s not fair I tell you.
No simple mortal stands a chance.
For they are all in thrall.
Pupils dilated to drink her in.
Lips wetted just in case of a kiss

Let’s not forget,
her charmtrap of a stare,
dark eyes that scream you fucking
better be aware
Because I’m here,
“I’m always on when I’m out, and you
look pretty cute,”
she almost seems to whisper
just to you.
Even though you are nowhere near her in
the room.

She’s got a confoundous amount of play
in what that grin directed
might say,
“Hey, I spy with my little eye,
a guy I might let take me for a little drive tonight.
but oh,
does he even have the key, let alone the gas
to get me there where I need to be?”

I jingle my keys as the
bojangle in me wants to bodangle
with you in so many delicious
ways

I take your hand and lead you
home, climb the stairs,
and close the door.
The stars are forgotten
as the man in the moon seeks
to peek in my room to learn a
thing or two of what
I am about to do to you and
for you.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Floating

May 17, 2017 Philip Wardlow 2 Comments

Her world is a private
dream
a myriad complex thing
juxtaposed within
pains that run deep
like a slice with
a wicked knife
into the fruit
of a well worn life
that drips it juices
onto the floor
where others tread
its sticky mess.

Yet she floats.
Always she floats,
above and apart
she floats.
Wrapped in a delightful
viscous vicious
violent delicate
sustaining way.

She floats.
And I, can simply only
wonder when, she will
ask me to join her.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Down at the Crossroads

May 5, 2017 Philip Wardlow Leave a comment

I’m down at the Crossroads, but the Devil is late…
He must be on another date.
Think I’ll sit a spell.
He’ll come along, oh he’ll come along
I’m too good a treat.
Just you wait
He’ll come along.

Time is a crawl,
the sun dropping like cold molasses
down a stuccoed wall.

I spy a crow staring at me
from across the road
he sits in shadowed tree.
He knows.
This crow has seen many a men such as I.
Whether from the East, out of well worn dreams
the West, where disillusion abounds,
the South, where love was lost a hundred times.
or the North where the hidden want to be found.

All I know
is that I’m boned tired.
As raw as a bone can be
One, any dog would love to gnaw.

So I sit, for there is still
somethin’ deep within
residing, abiding the day.
And all I need is for him
to set it free.

A thousand times a thousand
A million sunsets,
A million souls
bartered and bought
I’ll just be another on his roll.

My ears never hear an approach
As my back feels his grin
licking
I turn to him
as the sun drops away
into hell I suppose
to keep the fires burning
below.

Nary a foot separates
as he sits
legs folded delicately
as if he’s always been
He looks left
He looks right
He looks behind
Then ahead at me
and smiles
so confidently
like a fisherman
with his catch
flopping on the deck of his boat.

In that moment, I see,
he needs me.
No matter the grin
or the dark eyes.
He is afraid

This creature
is Lost.

He can do nothing
I could not.
So I jump up from that spot
Give him a grin of my own
and turn with a tip of my
hat to the crow.
Who only caws at me with
a laugh,
as I walk the road that
faces me.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Savage Meeting

April 27, 2017 Philip Wardlow 3 Comments

You drive me to want to look you in the eye with a primal challenge when meeting you for the first time across the dark forest floor in the dead of night.

Your body bathed in the meager light of a crescent moon, wrapping around your delicate frame, yet I sense there is nothing delicate about you.

The cold doesn’t quite touch you fully. The night entreats your presence…you belong here…you have always belonged here.

The night is a comfort to me as well, my senses focused. You shine in the meager light. I see a nobility in you, a raw wildness , pure in its essence distilled before me , running like a river as you stand there.

Laying down on our backs naked on the ground, shoulder to shoulder, all senses attuned, to the night, to ourselves,
to each other…

Nothing needs to be said as we are wrapped in the comfort of it all.

I smell you , almost most tasting you with the tip of my tongue, from deep in your core, it calls.

I don’t ask as I force your legs open and take what’s mine now and forever as you look at the stars above as a cool wind hardens your nipples to points in the night air.

I will never surrender your body pleasures until you shudder and explode within my grasp, until you are sated fully and surrender them to me..

I want more of you this night …bite me, claw me, lose yourself in the nature of me, my wildness for you is pure and freely given.

You have me in full as my nature demands it , I please you while you do the same…leaving you spent and sore, scratched by the forest floor with its branches and rocks cutting us as we take each other in good measure.

In the end, we look to be half feral, at the end I shall give you your first kiss as I will truly know you then in truth.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Seeing You

April 8, 2017 Philip Wardlow 4 Comments

If I were a blind man
and had only a touch
to trace a picture of you
I would kiss you first
as I made a joke
My lips against yours
along with a feather stroke
of my hand against
a fully rounded cheek
I would be in that smile
as I breathed your
essence in.
A flock of goosebumps
springing up upon your skin.
as a fingertip slowly just ever so
traveled down a
shoulder and arm to
trembling hands
in anticipation of
wants to come.
Your body leaning in
your curves filling into
the niche of me.
A puzzle complete.
Heat transfers
Coalescing
Two minds mingling
You are a picture
complete.
with other eyes
that have always
seen you.