In my youth,
on a dare, I walked up the crumbling steps to a dilapidated house.
Why? Because I was bold, fearless, and a little
touched in the head.
I pushed at the door,
The hinges squealed like the tortuous squeals
of pain inflicted a hundredfold.
My two friends stood there in the front yard like tall petrified blades of grass,
looking on, probably wondering how far I would take their dare.
“Go inside,” they said “and say Trick-or-Treat.”
So I had went, to the dark threshold to the
mouth of a house, said to have seen murder and mayhem
many years hence.
Then I did cross to the inside.
All was quiet.
Darkness advanced through the windows as
the sun finally set behind the dead trees outside.
Tattered curtains fluttered as the wind flowed
through broken panes of glass.
I was sure time had slowed. I had entered another dimension,
stepped into the netherworld where only ghosts lived.
Yet I felt no fear…only a calm curiosity to see
what might happen next.
Footfalls fell upon the floorboards, almost
skipping as if in play.
A little girl’s laughter filled my ears
as my bag of candy was pulled from my grasp.
“Trick or Treat?” I asked, already knowing the
answer to my question was both.
She materialized before me, munching on
a piece candy she had found in my bag.
I watched, mesmerized as I saw the contents of
the candy go down her throat through the opaqueness
that encompassed her form.
“No taste” she said sadly to no one.
Her eyes turned dark, reflecting a lonliness
compiled in a century of misery in this dank
forgotten home.
“Take this.” I said, handing her my sword and pirate hat.
“Happy Halloween, for tonight is your night…” I whispered.
She smiled a devlish grin and bowed, returning my
bag of candy back to me.
“A treat indeed.” she said, laughing
and swinging her pirate sword,
lost in her world of make believe
as she slowly dissolved away.
I smiled a secret smile as I walked
down the steps to my friends,
and began to tell them of
my encounter they would
never really believe.
by Philip Wardlow
.
by Philip Wardlow
.
They hold hands at night
and dance a little jig in the graveyard.
White as bone they say because that’s
all they are.
Skeletons gotta have just a bit of fun.
What would you do on Halloween if you were dead?
Do little a jig, make a little love…get down tonight.
***************************************************************************************
***************************************************************************************
I can’t say why the darkness consoles me.
No fear exists as shadows flow around
and enscroll my body
in etchings of lonliness
and comforting coldness
which is all I’ve ever known.
I shall walk this long road in silent solace and perhaps find my
answer in the ravens which
circle overhead.
***************************************************************************************
***************************************************************************************
The negative of me is the mask that I remove
when no one is looking.
It slips on and off so easily.
I forget at times which one is in control.
Perhaps one day I shall show you that piece of me
But would you run away screaming?
Hellhounds –
Known by many names,
Gwyllgi, the Dog of Darkness,
Black Schuck, the Dog of Doom,
Dip, the little black hairy one who likes
to drink blood.
All hellhounds, demon dogs, omens of death
cast from the same malformed
misbegotten blackened molds.
An acrid, odorous smell precedes them,
brimstone wafts in their wake as they stalk
lost souls in the great hunt.
Paw prints burned into cold dead stone
give away their passage.
Eyes yellow of burnished bright gold.
or eyes of red, glowing like hot coals
Eyes that seek and search.
Be you the one?
Lost?
If so ,they shall drag you down and through
Hell’s doors where in your
new home you shall dwell
evermore.
By Philip Wardlow
The Dark –
I’m in the dark.
I look at it, as it looks at me.
Silently it sits.
The minutes draw out to what seems hours.
I move left, it moves to follow.
So I stop. It stops.
The sound of heavy breathing, like the bellows of a fire
emit from its mouth. My heart speeds up.
It seems to be waiting for something. But what?
I raise my hand as if to wave. It waves backs.
Oh you fool, it’s just your reflection in the mirror.
Calm your breath, its your own lungs you hear
expelling in your ears, your own movements which
track from across the room distilled from the dim
photons which bounce back to your misguided
eye.
“You idiot” I tell myself out aloud.
“Yes, you are” it answers back.
by Philip Wardlow
.
Spider Crawling
Did you know they crawl mostly at night?
Spinning their webs to snare their prey in the day.
They like warm places.
They dwell in dark recesses .
Sometimes as you sleep they select
an ear or a nose.
A slight tickle may make you fidget as you dream
I suppose.
They just wish a home to feel safe in.
So let them crawl;
over blanket, over pillow, on cheek,
over lips, to the darkness within.
by Philip Wardlow
Take Me –
If I should die before I wake, I pray thee Lord my soul to take…
Let me wander free of me,
Let me wander far of field
of the flies and maggots
which fester upon
my rotting flesh.
My mind is not my own
as I walk this earth I once
called home.
Take me, for I do wish to remain
a husk of hunger
never knowing peace.
Take me so I may
finally fall asleep.
by Philip Wardlow
Only when all the angels have fallen and the demons have awoken from their dark sleep will the world know true peace.
By Philip Wardlow
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Health, Reflection, and Poetry for the Journey of 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
Health, Reflection, and Poetry for the Journey of 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.. 