Tag Archives: poetry

My Vows


As I take you in hand
I give you my heart
As I give you my heart
So do I give you my soul
to interweave with your own

I have long sought you
and in now finding you
knowing you,
feeling you,
loving you,
I am home.
Home like I have never
been in all my life.

I vow to always sustain you,
and lift you up in all the days, hours
and seconds left to us in this
life and hopefully beyond
this earthly boundary in
a heaven of our own making.

I vow to be faithful to our
friendship, and to always
be loyal in seeking understanding
of any your pains should they come
and to always share my own with you
in return, trusting in you
to understand as well.

I want to walk a shared path with you Maria,
through any trials, through any challenges,
through any storms,
hand in hand, held tightly
never letting go.

I vow want to sit with you watching
every sunrise and sunset offered to us
with smiles and much laughter.
Bright eyes, hugs, and most
of all with love.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Don’t know


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Don’t know if I’ll
ever be able to show the world
what I see
Really see
Not a facsimile
Of ifs and buts
But of What’s
and Wherefores
And art thous
And
Not “I suppose If you think so”
Mentalities,
But maybe,
It
has to be that way
as its always been,
To be found guilty
By ignorance, history, and apathy
Your worth only
found after your long
gone in a
cold
cold
grave
when the writings
all done.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2018

The Rush comes not in Lazy Days


The rush comes not in the lazy days
where modicum rules the self,
and the mediocre distractions
gestates the soul,
feeding it the sweet
sugar it needs
to bloating,
instead it comes
in the quiet asides
in bed,
head to pillow
eyes up in darkness
flashing lightning like
self betrayals upon the
ceiling,
played out as a silent movie
in fits and starts
with no ending or
denouement.
It comes in the hectic
angry busy
same shit different day
hours of
needle piercing the skin
confrontations to
a life squandered
to the delusion
that the next corner
coming will
turn you to
find a
glorious parade
in your name
A name you never earned.
Nor fought for
but expected nonetheless.
So rush,
rush,
rush,
those
days when found to your liking,
for they are few and in between,
a mess of tangled
leavings that you
should have left far
behind
but sought to
carry,
making you
all the lazier
for it.


by Philip Wardlow 2018

Coming with


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I’m coming with,
if
we’re close in death
and your spirit wants
to go before
I’ll be hugging you tight
as the heroin goes in us
both
Then my dear friend
with my hand in yours
we’ll let that
euphoric concoction
swim through
to envelop to a quiet warmth
until we walk off that
cliff
And we go flying
High
High
High
Away
Letting go
in search of the
far
far
far
away.

By Philip Wardlow 2018

 

My Porcelain Princess


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She’s my porcelain princess,
precious and breakable
smooth like soft white cashmere
I love her most
wrapped naked up
under a blanket
Let me get it in under
and keep you warm
Let me get
In you
and ignite
that body
Setting it off
to melting
Drip, drip, dripping
Pale, snow thighs
opening
As I settle into my
home away from
home
Where, there is no place like you.
My caramelness
mingling,
In your pinkness,
My amber hands exploring
Pearly curves
waiting to be found
as I delve deep
into your embrace softly
electric
Your kiss kinetic,
falling with potential
Into you as you beg
for more and more
of me.
And oh,
I give it to
My little porcelain girl

The Best Feels


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It’s the best when
your need of me
matches my own
for you.
When our passions
demands the best
of us
to open up,
seeking our truths
that we can only reveal
in those delicate
secret hours
between dusk
and dawn.
Coming out either
In the deep penetration
of the physical
or the soft
pulling of intimate
words exchanged
with a kiss.
No love comes
closer.
Cuz I always
strive for those
feels
And you are
the best
at the
giving
I have ever known.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2018

 

The Wheel of Emotions


My  world is a colorful multitude
Spinning
An intense electric ecstasy  mixed with shallow peaks of disassembled anger
covered with the taint of unfocused sadness
I swim through admiration of a love language
overflowing .
Yet fearful of drowning in inadequacies
of not being good enough
That it will all fall apart
every single stitch to come
undone
leaving the garment
in loose piles upon
a cold uncaring floor.

Yet, trust leads to anticipation
Possible acceptance
I choose you
over and over again
I choose you
with vigilance
I choose,
Steadfast,that love
can win
while the
rest continue
to spin.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

The Twistings of Feeling


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I don’t want to
fight the tight
winding tornado
that spins and ravages
within,
Let it rage I say
It’s been corralled
too long
way too long.
But what of
of its desolation?
Tornadoes
are not creatures
of creation
but of beautiful obliteration.
What good
could ever come
of its release?
Perhaps,
Just perhaps,
Once the whirlwind
Dies upon
Release
A silent peace
will follow
and the
world will
right
And settle,
Slowly
Bit
by
Falling
Bit
Into
Place
Again
On a clear
swept
Field.

By Philip Wardlow

Tensions and Potentials


Funny how a day plays
Out
From all the rest
In
the moment of a crash
Between
worlds never knowing
Upon
the other’s shoulders
What
weights they bear in silence
Who
they fear in ignorance
Why
roads are traveled
When
all the open paths
Array
around them
Pulling
at heart strings
Confounding
A mind conflicted
toward
either violent ends or
after
internal deliberation
to
peaceful meditation
where
past sins
are
finally
put
to bed
And wistful dreams
meander
in now a
serenely
quiet
head.

By Philip Wardlow 2018

I Dreamt of Francesca


 

Her face is always shadowed
in my dreams
Yet, if I ever saw her in
the waking world
I know she would shine
like warm magic
radiating across
a darkened room
like a beacon.
No matter the distance I
stood,
her gaze
would find my own
staring into the heart
of her.
Deep and knowing,
she would see
that missing part
long sought
Seen only in her own dreams of me.
I would kiss her then,
without a doubt.
My hands on her waist
pulling her in,
just ever so.
No resistance would come
Only a heavy sigh
of her finally
coming home.

by Philip Wardlow 2018