Tag Archives: poetry

Sketch ME


Sketch me, sketch me, and I bet yea that you will not see me the way I wish to be seen.

Flawed and imperfect scribbles put down on paper, chaotic with no intention or care of staying within the lines at times. Sadistic selfish hard edges fading to soft featherings of delicious needs and wants at the corners of my contained fine lined darkened soul.

The eyes, the eyes, there is a beguiling light behind those shaded eyes, a light, a light, so fucking bright as to mesmerize, if you were to look too long, you would see everything, but most seldom ever do take the time.

Ah, but what is a sketch but a sketch?

A glimpse, a side eyed introspection. Am I not correct?

So there is no disrespect at not knowing the me of me when all the hours of my days and yours can’t be devoted to explore the why and where of us in all it’s full glory.

Perhaps though, that’s what keeps you and I coming back to each other over dinners, drinks and all some such.

To find the true picture in both of us.

by Philip Wardlow June 2021

I know I won’t cry


They say parents shouldn’t outlive their kids, but should an older brother outlive their younger?

Much like a parent, the older brother directs, and protects the course of the younger.

Unlike parents, the older brother can also be a partner, a fellow perpetrator of many a fun misdeed gone awry. That is where bonds lie deepest, where intimate secrets are kept and held between a kin closer than that of the mother or father.

Sharing of sins, and the punishment of those sins, sharing in the joys and adventures that is youth in its whole.

You share a core with that little brother that none may know. It’s unspoken but known to the bone between you two.

To the Bone.

It’s honored, it’s delicate. It’s something that always dwells.

So when you see your little brother, dismal and seemingly damned, fallen and fragile, raging against an unknown foe and miles from the place in him from where he was once was, you know.

Where in the core that you share, now only dwells despair, you weep, and you weep, and you weep in the silence where no sees, because a man doesn’t cry, they simply don’t.

You know you won’t cry as he lies in a casket, all dressed and prettied up. You know you won’t cry when other’s speak of him in passing or come up to you with a hug, and “I am sorry for your loss”

You know you won’t cry simply because you have already cried so much as bit by bit of your little brother was pulled from you, excised with a sharp knife, and put into a blender and pureed to mush.

By Philip Wardlow June 2021

The First Time


 

love
I love recalling the past of  you when we first met, when the Universe nudged me into you, I remember your first smile,  shy but sly, your  first
laugh, full and inviting.  your body as it danced, swaying and in sync with my own.
I remember your eyes looking at me with a lust of a thousand lovers, 
then later with love like a thousand poems 
I don’t want to forget
the first time of knowing you
and everything that pulled
me into those eyes, running.
I want all the songs that are ours
to wrap up around us
every time you walk into the room
I don’t want to forget you the first time.

Because those first times always bring me home to you and I  love you all over again just like the first time.

 

by Philip Wardlow  May 19th, 2021

My Curvy Goddess


She can be full  of fun and frivolity
or a chaotic mixture
of intensity and crazy passion
all in one day.
She may travel a trail in the
dark dark woods
wanting to be pushed against the rough
bark of a tall tree
as the sun peeks
as  I give her a kiss on her pale freckled cheeks.
She’s exasperating as a girl can  be with
adventurous
ideas such as she.
But I wouldn’t trade her for the world though,
for my own world pales next to her
and all her lovely curves, from smile to almond eyes, to her hips divinely held in my hands, oh, and her heart, her heart, the loveliest  curves of all.

She is the softest of the softest, a  woman that needs to be touched, she is a bundle of wanting that compels me to please her, every day, every hour, every moment that transpires.

I don’t wish to let my curvy girl  down, to fail her, to not show her she is everything to me and more.

I adore her. I love her in so many little ways.

I want my curvy little Red always to adventure with, laugh with, & travel the many ways of this life for ever and always.

by Philip Wardlow  by  May 19th , 2021

Flowers Growing


The cold is creeping
as the flowers start
to grow thanks to a weeping sky that often never lets up
Yet the shy sun peeks
eye intent then
runs away as the clouds fly and dissipate their desires and the flowers grow
as the cold still creeps.

Warmth rides the skin, plays
with it, hugs the soul, the
world sees potential in
the what-if, but the cold
creeps into their bones
as they grab and hold tight to
frayed blankets full of holes
But the flowers are growing, can you see the buds, the ground birthing green?

Many beautiful rich colors to come even if the bold cold wishes to persist.

By Philip Wardlow ~April 2021

Mystical You


She discovered me in the darkness, coming to me wrapped in alluring music and
undulating waves of red and blue light, she burst into me
with a beckoning and a proposal to envelope her in
all that was and all that ever would be beautiful
in the universe.
So I jumped,
Fears falling away,
Her soul enthralling
enchanting, calling
to my own that I had
forgotten, and I fell
and fell and fell.

She’s my mystic, my medium,
my witch, and my fortunes
come home to rest
in arms wide open

She’s my princess,my queen
The Milady of my heart

She’s all the magic I’ve ever wanted.

By Philip Wardlow March 2021

Dark Francesca


 

Dark Francesca, they call her.
In the darkest of hours
they say to watch out for the
raven haired one,
for she’s trouble
…oh so much trouble.
Even as she claims
to have an angel’s heart
she’s got the devil’s glint
in her eyes.
Be wary, for she
collects conquests all
the while she makes
you feel you are doing
the conquering it’s
your soul she’s
devouring.
So make no mistake,
steer clear.
And Don’t!
Don’t, look in her eyes
lest you become
mesmerized
Yet even spying her hips
as she walks away.
is enough to enthrall,
with her pendulum
undulations lulling
your senses,
falling
falling
falling
under
as you fall prey.
Perhaps though
if you are lucky
enough, she
may take you home
and simply
use your body up
But if she takes
a fancy to you
more than that
well I’m sorry.
All bets are off.
It was nice knowing you
But there
could be
worse ways
to go
from this world.

by Philip Wardlow November, 2020

Live Fiercely


Live fiercely while time abounds,
and stop biting at the bonds
of which you think constrict
you, for they don’t for a life lived properly
and wisely
constructed in the spending.

Hold time’s hand as if as a friend, love
every nature of it’s passing and it shall
slow down and comfort every second
of your days.

Create a world uniquely all yours,
from the infinitesimal to the grandiose
inside or without,  to implode
or explode into a world of your
own making.

Sluggish temptations will always pull at the
the very fabric of you, a quicksand
to drown, a meandering path to muddle,
entropy to trap, as Order becomes
undone and Chaos catches you.
Sleep not with Chaos long no matter how
charming her bed is.

Revel in the importance of your life
love, love, love,
yourself and others
Roll around in that word love
like a dog playing in a
pile of fall leaves,
just being.

Never fear the outcome for a life
you have lived fiercely.

by Philip Wardlow October, 2020

The Madman’s Furious Tolling


Atop a distant hill
sits a bright white church
constructed of weathered wood,
brick and mortar
crumbling at its corners

It takes the right or wrong eye
to mark its edges,
as either true and straight,
or jagged as an age-old eroded
crown.

Green rich pastures roll around
its foundations,
capturing the height of its walls
in the folds of a land
that endure its weight,
pressing ever down
while far below its
hallowed grounds
the roots have become
diseased and begun to whither.

Through a dirty pane of glass
you will spy a seeming man
in shadow residing.

He is a slumped, disheveled figure,
silhouetted by a dying day,
chafed hands always holding
rough hewed ropes secured tightly
to the bell higher up in
the proud tower.

He waits for the sun to fall
to horizon’s knife edge,
for everyone knows
all devious deeds are best
done in the dark.

Death has come
to this cursed land
and that man
is Death’s sonorous
escort, pulling on the bell
furiously like a madman, as
the pale rider
stampedes through the town
to take its rightful claim
in the night on through til
dawn’s first morning
light strikes.

Yet, all the town knows
Death shall surely
return again
when the madman
continues
his furious tolling
in the bright white church
high atop the hill.

By Philip Wardlow Oct 20,2020

Let me rap on my girl who’s like None Other


I gotta tell you guys
something,
there’s this girl I got married
to…a redhead
just October last.
A little sexiness
wrapped all up
in spontaneous fun
like a toy gun
that you don’t
know when its about to go off
BOOM!
Getting me all undone,
my god she’s been the one
since the beginning
of the meet up
Eyes dark and delicious,
kind and genuine.
Extraordinaria
That’s Spanish for extraordinary,
now I lavish her with the
extra ordinary
whenever we go out
Cuz, she started as my Princess
and I made her my Queen
And she know who the King be,
especially in bed,
where she can just Be
with me, as she let’s
me take the lead
sending her to a little slice of
heaven.
Empathically deep
Evolved intentionally
beyond the word weak
that life
tried to pin to
her early.
She grew and she climbed
always seeking
the sublime
She bled and she wept
she endured
She flew beyond the
bonds of other’s
dead expectations
and found her
own song to sing.
I knew she was a
woman I could I fall in
love with,
was my final thought
After
she walked out the door
of our first meetup.
with me wearing, I’m sure
a boyishly sad grin,
wondering if I would ever
see her again

by Philip Wardlow October 2020