The Ravenprince
He will always know a certain darkness,
always dwell in it no matter how
light the days.
And that is all well and good.
By Philip Wardlow Nov 16th, 2022
Tag Archives: raven
Prince of Ravens
Prince of Ravens~
Brown eyes
wolfish grin
With a sword well
used and dangerous
once unsheathed
and finally released.
Shall we dance?
In a ballroom or in
bed.
For both skills come
naturally
to the Prince.
Once he takes you in hand.
Dark, and darker
as the lights are dimmed
to hide what some
others call sins.
The ravens fly high
over castle keep
ever watchful
as their prince
delves deep.
Into the many mysteries
of the mind
found between her
legs and more.
What chaos
What wonder.
What beauty will he finally find
In himself
When the dance is done.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
The Crow Waits ~
The Crow Waits~
I see it on high sitting in a tree, a Crow amongst the sparse fall leaves
that yet hang to the branches, even though winter fast approaches,
no one told them it seems that they are dead and should already be on their way.
The crow with its pitted black eyes knows me it seems, for it calls my name
across the wind while I languish on the ground in my own blood which spills
from my body and forms around me like a macabre picture frame.
Funny thing, how the crow knows my name, a simple carrion bird waiting for
this warrior’s death so it can pick me clean and leave nothing but my bleached bones,
rusted armor, and a forgotten sword as my only legacy.
Long has the battle been gone from this place I now rest in, the victors have gutted me
like a fish on a stone and left me to the flies and the maggots to fester inside.
But yet shall I live, ever stubborn to die and only the Crow truly knows why.
I hear it laughing at me, calling me a fool for an adventure I sought full of folly
with only death to be met at its end.
It has seen many a fool I am sure and feasted contently before the sun has set.
But still I live! You will not have me fool or not!
So sit your perch and wait for you shall not have me this day or the next,
for even if I should pass these earthly bounds so shall my shade pick up
my blade and strike you down!
The sun has set and the night grows cold, the crow sits in his tree and
waits; for it has seen many a warrior born and bred and knows full well their
strength, courage and the valor which fills their head, but it knows when dead is dead
by Philip Wardlow
My Third Eye – A Poem
My Third Eye –
It’s been plucked.
Right out of my head.
There it is, pinched between
that raven’s beak.
It has been reclaimed it seems
since I never chose to use it.
An eye always closed.
grows dark and distant.
Best to give it to someone else.
Yet, I feel the pain of its
loss already
My mind, my spirit, my heart
has already dimmed.
I want it back.
I have learned my lesson.
I promise.
I will use it, give it back…
give it back,
please give it back.
I will use it
just give it back.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
Crow ya know – Short poem
Crow Crow don’t ya know, know. know?
What you looking at Mr. Black?
Inquisitive one, smart one…
oh you know, know, know.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
The Night Entreats – 30 day Halloween Challenge A poem a day – Poem#5
The Night Entreats
The crows rested in the trees;
for the killing was all done and they
were full.
Their caws as they conversed,
sounded like laughter to my ear;
as if the murders they had committed
had been all in good fun.
The wind whistled in the trees
and nudged the dead leaves
to life across the road.
Brown and gold skittered like roaches
and hopped like bulbous toads
traveling in a disorganized parade
for the dead.
The bright moon held no warmth
for it worked with the cold wind
and played through the trees to
cast pale blue shadows upon me.
Figures of dark demons, witches, and imps
danced in front and behind as I softly crept
lest they hear me trespass in their day they
called night as they played.
My step quickened as the wind seemed to thicken
and pushed at me like a hand on my back.
I grabbed myself against the chill which
ran deeper than it should this fall night.
This hallowed eve, it seemed, held more magic than ages
past, more power, more darkness than the last.
An ancient magic flew on a mystic wind
That brought to my soul a feeling of dread and
memories of evils best left long gone and dead.
The night entreated and beckoned
me to come and walk off the path I was on,
to follow the dead parade as it marched on.
Perhaps I could join in the fun
and dance with the minions
of the night who ate and drank of sweet
things they called treats.
They grinned at me from out of the dark,
but I saw the trick in their eyes
as they wiped the blood from their lips
I would not be fooled
So I ran,
faster than the wind could find me,
Faster, faster, faster I ran.
until I reached my hallowed home.
and clicked the lock shut tight.
The night retreats.
by Philip Wardlow
Death Waits – 30days till Halloween Challenge – a Scary Poem a Day. Poem #1
Death Waits
Blackness stands vigilant
over a life you deemed
of no worth.
It sees your path laid out like a meandering stream,
soon to dry out in a dead valley gone from tall green
to wilted brown.
Patience is one of its skills for
the time it will take you
to slowly unwind from your mortal coil.
But unwind you will.
With a keen blade
as sharp as the sickle moon which hangs the sky,
it shall cut you from the
thread of life
you never cared
to hold.
By Philip Wardlow
You Cheeky Raven, Nevermore! A Poem
Oh Raven, you may tap,tap,tap,
incessant in your endeavors to ever trap
me in your tangled lies ten feet deep.
I be not such a fool to fall sway to your unearthly rules
of tortuous maladies you delight in inflicting on ever passerby
you do seek to see that lies in your line of darkest sight.
Your taunts as you perch and preen on pedestal high
do naught a thing to one such as I.
Your guile lies transparent as a ghost.
A thrown token. shiny and bright to fall at my feet.
Yet, as I do bend down to pick it up,
you no sooner pilfer my pockets of my weeks hard earned
fortune as you seek to simply
call it black luck where I would be none the wise.
Nevermore you say!
Bah, I say . Be gone this night before the morn
brings the dawn and turns your cheeky words
to flotsam to be carried away on the shore’s
of my discontent.
You may know the depth of many souls
as you may know mine,
but there is no barter to be had, no wager to be paid.
MY soul is my own.
No matter how dark and cold.
By Philip Wardlow
Raven’s Journey – Poem
Raven’s Journey
We cut the night air with wings of black,
we cut the life strings at twilight’s blessing.
My brethren and I see far and wide,
for we are many.
There is no escape,
no hole can hide you,
nor disguise
mask a spirit
so foul.
We bring you home to purgatory to sit and
roost in a black shed of despair,
to dwell upon a life where dark leanings
led you to dissolution of a soul that
sought heights they were never meant to fly.
So contemplate, ponder,
wander this dim world between
darkness and light,
and perhaps we shall
return.
By Philip Wardlow
The Night Entreats – A poem for Halloween and the coming FALL next week!
The crows rested in the trees;
for the killing was all done and they
were full.
Their caws as they conversed,
sounded like laughter to my ear;
as if the murders they had committed
had been all in good fun.
The wind whistled in the trees
and nudged the dead leaves
to life across the road.
Brown and gold skittered like roaches
and hopped like bulbous toads
traveling in a disorganized parade
for the dead.
The bright moon held no warmth
for it worked with the cold wind
and played through the trees to
cast pale blue shadows upon me.
Figures of dark demons, witches, and imps
danced in front and behind as I softly crept
lest they hear me trespass in their day they
called night as they played.
My step quickened as the wind seemed to thicken
and pushed at me like a hand on my back.
I grabbed myself against the chill which
ran deeper than it should this fall night.
This hallowed eve, it seemed, held more magic than ages
past, more power, more darkness than the last.
An ancient magic flew on a mystic wind
That brought to my soul a feeling of dread and
memories of evils best left long gone and dead.
The night entreated and beckoned
me to come and walk off the path I was on,
to follow the dead parade as it marched on.
Perhaps I could join in the fun
and dance with the minions
of the night who ate and drank of sweet
things they called treats.
They grinned at me from out of the dark,
but I saw the trick in their eyes
as they wiped the blood from their lips
I would not be fooled
So I ran,
faster than the wind could find me,
Faster, faster, faster I ran.
until I reached my hallowed home.
and clicked the lock shut tight.
The night retreats.
by Philip Wardlow
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 