Tag Archives: strength

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

My Beautiful Dead Girl

5 Comments

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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Nothing…yet Something

Leave a comment

 

 

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

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Delicate Strength

Leave a comment

A Delicate Strength~Delicatestrength

 

If I called her delicate
She might well give me
a dark eyed glare
and haul off and try and hit me
Then I would laugh
and push her down
Arms restrained
She would fight
Oh yes, she would fight
Tendons taunt
against muscles she
couldn’t hope to overcome
But I feel her strength
a quiet marching strength
in her soul.
It pours off her in everything
she says and does.
But she has a delicate
nature
For her heart has been strained
Pained beyond belief at times.
Yet she hangs on
through that strength at
her core
I feel it as she struggles against me
As I smile my mischievous smile
and get her to smile along with me
in that struggle
And let her win…

 

by Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Warrior Woman – A Poem

Leave a comment

WarriorWoman

 

Warrior Woman ~

Ah yes, she be a beauty…

never a finer woman did grace the land.

From the tip of the toes to the top of that pretty little head.

Ah yes, she be beautiful indeed.

But you would be mistaken my good sir at trying to take advantage of one such as her

whether in  body, mind or soul,  as she would send all three of yours  straight to hell for the

devil to collect his due.

Flaming  red be the color of her hair,   burning much like her heart that beats in a warm bosom that knows no peace, nor solace in the silence between the madness that is always sure to come after.

Every turn of her blade is poetry…every dance a death sentence to her partner.

Care to be clever, to compel her to be contrite,  or woo her with wicked words

and she shall simply cut your tongue out.

Yet, she hopes, endures for that day,  when a compliment to her nature crosses her well worn path, fights through all her misgivings,  deep protected fears, and wrestles her to the ground, flings her blade from her hand and drives the darkness away.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2015 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Strength of Her – A poem

6 Comments

Strength

The Strength of Her – A poem

She is solid.

A brick wall could not withstand the onslaught she takes

upon herself in a day.

Crumblings of broken mortar would be the only memory of it.

Limits in place may  try and take hold

of a body pushed to the extreme,

but her mind says. “Nuh, uh. I ain’t having none of that”

Tired, but tireless.

Her core is molten lava

never cooling,

always moving,

burning through

shit as it travels.

Stay the fuck out of her way.

Back up.

Let her work.

Just smile, and admire, and admit

silently to yourself

how you wish you were her.

By Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

My Beautiful Dead Girl – A Poem

5 Comments

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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

At my side – A poem

2 Comments

SWORDatSide

At my Side –

I carry this sword at my side.

It shines bright in the morning light

it reflects.

I have made it so,

for ne’er will you see it pitted or dull

while it lays in my hands.

Ne’er will you not see the blade as

keen of edge as when it was first cast

that fateful day from the folded metal within.

I count it a true companion for you will

ever see it at my side.

More faithful than the rest ever have been

from days forever gone and treacherous roads long

ago tread.

Ours is a pact forged of conflict,

Where we have both stood together

and tasted the promise of another

day as the blood dripped from both of

us to soil the ground beneath.

I will wake and it will be there.

I will live while it still shines,

for we have each other

My sword and I.

By Philip Wardlow 2012

This poem is about more  than a sword. It’s about what’s in us all. The will to to fight when hope may be lost but we fight and struggle and continue to climb out of it no matter what the odds. May you always keep your sword close by your side my friends…