Tag Archives: strength

What Defines Me


What do you see in me when
you see me?

Hair, raven black in
soft waves curling,
wisdom creeping, as
white snow streaks upon
the edges of a life
leaving.

Eyes of rich dark mahogany
seeking clarity to life
truly as it is and not
how it’s supposed to be
but often
failing.

Mouth, always smiling in invitation
yet reticent in divulging
all the secrets
accumulated lest
judgements pronounce
me false in your
biased ears.

My own Ears,
are sharper than most,
seeking every intonation
behind a word and it’s
hidden meaning,
but would rather hear
it freely given.

My Hands, strong hands,
loving and gentle hands
tools to create a home
and to hold you tight
yet balled and clenched
when it all becomes
to much sometimes.

What’s between my
legs you ask?
You thought I wouldn’t say
Ha! A passion some cannot
measure or take but would
love to try and
conquer

My feet have carried me
far, whether in a slow walk
or a run my Travels are far
from done.

And ah, my heart, my heart
it beats,
its full always to
overflowing
yet fearful
of spilling a drop
lest it gets wasted.
But yet I pour
my heart into
an endless
cup
Never quite filling
it up.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

Tacos and Tequilas


Sometimes its tacos and salt rimmed tequilas,
movies and lonely couches,
cold beds and cats, tongue twister
and tying up,
a plethora of pleasures in the grab bag
of life
followed by a deluge
of desiccated numb bodies
dumped on your front lawn.

Sometimes its a magical arc of light
swinging in the breeze
by a delicate hand on a dark path

It’s sweet sugar on your lips
tongue licking,
as you slowly, reluctantly
back away from the most
wonderful kiss.

It’s a flurry of heavy punches
to the gut
tickling, because you have been there
before, and you can take it.
Can you not?

So you emit a raucous laugh
at the absurdity
that the day has wrought.
Jaded in your green dreams
you wake to breathe
in new air
to expel the stale.

Grab a Bagel and go out the
door
as you think of the
sweet sugar
that still lingers
on your lips
from the night
before.

By Philip Wardlow 2018

 

 

Something Wiccan this way comes


 

“Do as ye will as long as ye harm none”
Maid, Mother, and Crone
all intone.
Walk these woodlands,
inside and out
letting your spirit
thrive from bone, to eye, to mind.
This natural world is your playground
so play proud, head tall, breasts out
Be divine and in turn know divinity.
The hunt is on in fair woods,
Strength is foraged first, followed by Beauty unmarred,
then comes Power in the will coupled with Compassion,
Mirth as you dance the fire, Reverence as the trance
takes you in Honor of all that is known and unknown
as you finally kneel in Humility
to your Goddess
conveying nature’s kiss upon
each of your sisters
to seal the spell bringing
to bear the Cosmos
within the inscribed circle
upon this Earth you now
dwell.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

 

 

 

Amongst the Stars


 

 

A deep brackish blue light filtered in through the curtains next to my bed crawling across my closed eyes. I let my head remain, resting on my pillow. Perhaps I could fool the world in to believing I was still yet asleep. Nudges came in thunderous pains, lightening strikes to the brain. I knew I was awake, that was enough.

In all night diner, I found my hands full of a ceramic cup filled with coffee topped with cream in the design of a mountaintop I had yet to climb. Desires awoke in me, spoke to me; whispered really. They never yelled. Never. Except to run. I hated them all. Weaklings all of them.

I slapped myself hard then. Sitting there in the crowded diner, coffee in hand with my mountain in a cup.

I yelled out loud, “I am not a ghost!”

Then I left a dollar tip and got up and left to stares and murmuring all around. I was their talk of the day.

I broke into a run down the sidewalk. If anything I was going to own the running. Fuck the illusions, fuck the dream. Fuck the quicksand of doubt. Ever forward…running.

Just find the rhythm of me. Left, right, left, right…pick them up…put them back down. Running towards it, not away…no matter the pitfalls.

“Viva la Vida” played as I ran by a outdoor bar, then I heard an old woman humming “Cest Le Vie” as she fed the pigeons in the park.

Well fuck, the Universe seemed to be noticing me. For good or bad? I guess we’ll see

As my feet suddenly left the ground to go running amongst the stars.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Down the line


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

Sally forth I say!


 

 

It’s a glorious morn for battle on the field of gold.

So be bold!

Attack the day lest you fall prey

to marauders at your gate.

Go forth and grind them to grizzle

pick your to teeth with their bones

while finding rapture in hearing their moans

Push! Push! Push !

through the tall grass.

Head low!  Be wary but

Go! Go! Go!

For its been said, that fortunes

go to the ones who are bold.

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Why I,  am the boldest of the bold can’t you

see!

So where be my fortunes, where be my wench

to console my pains, and give me succor

this day?

Where indeed.

Think not too hard on your gains not gotten

lest you fall ill to them before you

meet them my friend.

Be not so arrogant! Be not so aggrieved!

For any  man’s head can leave a

neck with but a peck of a well honed axe

unseen.

No man’s future is certain nor ordained

by the vicious gods who play

their crap game

in the dark corners of your fated life.

Wise words, so heed them

or only peril shall follow

all your days.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Beautiful Dead Girl


Marionnette

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haunted eyes

wrapped in misery.

You are already dead,

so why should you feel pain?

 

Pain is your purgatory

little girl, a grand gift

from scales that can never

be balanced in your favor.

 

Haunted eyes they may be,

but I see defiance, strength,

lingering deep, always

ready to rise to the surface.

 

Never did death look so beautiful

A perfection in form chiseled

from stone beaten up and torn

down by the elements.

 

You wear your cloak well,

dark and tear stained, wrapped

tight around a body that

still flies free.

 

You are my beautiful dead girl.

with cold hands clenching tight around

a warm heart

that beats just for you.

by Philip Wardlow

Nothing…yet Something


 

 

Milkyway

 

Nothing,

that’s what I feel like sometimes;

Nothing.

Nothing, no where, no how

as

I see a distant sun of vibrant gold

cradled in a bowl of purple and pink

on a horizon I imagine I will never reach,

It reminds me that I’m Nothing

and yet Something to even to be allowed

to see.

A nighttime sky, filled to bursting

with a voluminous marble of a moon

within a black bag of stars I can’t begin to sift through.

Yet I do, and that Something feels cool

on fingertips never finding purchase.

I know Life is a tangled sphere of yarn

wrapped around an onion

spinning and dancing in

an ordered rhythm with other crying onions

as they bump butts.

Nothing and Something,

A single stolen kiss in the dark with a girl,

yet readily given by her, for I am no thief;

soft yet firm, gentle yet wanting.

Nothing exists, not even

me in that moment,

and yet Something.

Clues and misdirection, blind alleys

and closed thoroughfares,

leashed to Nowhere.

Yet Somewhere will be the end when

the journey’s through

Humbled and awed

but at other times

petulant and angry.

I stomp my foot inside my soul.

I am tired of feeling like Nothing

Something sounds good.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016