Tag Archives: struggle

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Two Sides to Me

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I was told today to be decisive.
I was told today that my response
to stopping racism was the typical
answer that would never work and
has never worked.

I was told that my ideals were not enough

You don’t think I want to do a Boston Tea Party
on all their asses,
to burn and pillage, boycott and tear down
all the apathetic institutions and cold corporations that
turn a blind eye to the
many colored man,
to turn my back on authority while giving the middle
finger to it all?

Fuck yes. Every damn day.

Yet, I don’t want my world to burn
around me even though
it burns from within.

I don’t want a black old man crying
in the streets because his
business burned to the ground.

I don’t want a white old man
bleeding profusely after
being knocked to the ground.

I don’t want death, I don’t want destruction.
I don’t want hate. I don’t want fear.
I want compassion
I want cooperation
I don’t want division
I don’t want disdain
I want respect.
I want justice.
I want inclusion.
I don’t want any more Martyrs
for the cause.

There has never been indecision in me,
only the resolve
for all the world
to finally
wake the fuck up.

by Philip Wardlow June, 2020

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Half-Century Man

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Soon I shall be the Half-Centennial,
a hundred years sliced neatly
down the middle I will be, with
a plethora of histories
passings buried deep in the
very blood that flows
through me.

As gray touches lightly upon
the mostly black hair upon my head
I take solace that it is
thicker by far than
more than half the men in the world
at half my age.
And my grin still
causes a girl
or two to smile
my way in wonder
at the mystery
I may hold for her.

Though my skin may yet
be smooth
the wrinkles of time
have burrowed into
me, scarring a tired
soul once
remembered young,
once vibrant
once foolishly bold
once innocent
once true
and I weep
at that lost
for it was that not
long ago.

I fear more than I did
of death, now weary of friends
and of dreams only to become abandoned,
to relationships nurtured
only to be tainted.
Yet, I know
with each fear, each lost,
comes wisdom, perseverance,
resolve, and epiphanies to be
unbound and courage to be renewed.
for old dogs
who still wish to learn
a new trick or two.

So as my candles are lit,
my cake is set before me,
and the song is sung,
I will close my eyes
and make a grand
wish for the ages
yet to come
my way.

by Philip Wardlow 2019

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Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

What Defines Me

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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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Carousel of Life

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First,
You are originally packed,
innards carefully selected
for the long trip
Zipped up,
thrown into a trunk,
weighed and tagged
with declarations
nay or yea about the  status of your
being.
Then you are stuffed in
with the others,
in coldness,
while others may
sit in comfort, warm and secure.
You are very cold
so very cold
and its hard to breath
as you sit in an
unknown darkness
not knowing up from down
Abruptly,
ungentle hands throw
you about,
disoriented,
you tumble, fall and
are crushed,
to finally be dumped out into
the light
to traverse
around and around and around
walls flitting by, legs
and arms of non-distinct color
not wanted by you,
pick the
others
alongside you in
the endless revolving
journey.
Soon, you are the last one
on the turnstile
still circling and circling and circling
until you simply
stop
and wait for someone to pick you up
and you keep waiting
and Waiting
and Waiting
Waiting…

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Reaching Her

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Some days are often dreams
she wakes from,
half remembered.
Perhaps best
forgotten.
Tears are given,
gravity catching,
taken by a lover far below
the sheer cliff she sits.
He climbs to her,
tears clutched tight
Ever ascending
Slow, ponderously,
Inch
by
Inch
By
Inch
He is a patient man
looking up,
giving her a full
loving smile
There is no other
place he’d rather be
For the view is
spectacular below
and above
to the girl
he’s trying to
reach.

By Philip Wardlow

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Soulful Cure

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Soulful Cure

Guide me past the fog and
low valleys into the sunlight that
should be my life.

Mix your elixir and give it to me
Quick, let it flow into my thoughts
and down my throat and suffuse
my body and mind with a healing
balm of bliss.

For my soul aches just a little
and I wish it to stop.

I want to move from this dark crossroad
sitting under this dead tree while these
brown leaves fall around me.

I will ride with you oh wise shaman if you
have that soulful cure that I seek.

I will trust in your wisdom
as you trust in my fortitude
to see things right.

Then can I finally go to my dreams
knowing that I truly sleep
tonight.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Take Courage in Oz

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Take Courage in OZ ~

You have a brain
bespectacled girl.
You have a heart
as the tears flow.

You are on the road
even though
the yellow bricks
are all  faded and
cracked

You are on the road.

Take courage
as the forest for the
trees
grow up and around,

Dark arms reaching,
menacing.

Its all they are,
menacing arms

Its all they ever are.

Take courage in the night
for the moon lights
your path.

The lions, tigers and bears
are friends

For who could resist your charms.
Oh my!

Who could indeed?
And if they did.
Well what kind of friend
would they ever truly
be.

Take courage  in Oz
for you walk the same land
as them.

By Philip Wardlow
Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Bravery

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I have seen them,
the brave ones
with head down
rushing in
challenging the
world, waiting for it
to slap them down
they ride the sharp edge of insanity
until it either finally
lifts them high
or cuts so deep
to the bone they
bleed out
blood coagulating
at their feet
and either die
or get sewn up,
and given a bottle
of red in transfusion
from another
who says
go ahead take mine
I don’t need it
I’ve got plenty
yet they do need it.
But the world
is better for it
in the end.
The brave ones.
with
head down
riding the sharp edge of insanity.
And
so I begin
my ride.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2017

GiFs for your Entertaiment, Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Something has Died

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I feel the husk of its dead shell
rubbing against my innards.
Grating,
poking
No piece of it breathes
yet it prods.
Reminding me it’s always
there.
Just sitting.
Drained and desiccated,
where once
it was full
to overflowing,
now nothing
but decay
absence
a void filled
only with
black matter.
A negative life if you will
The blackest of
black
Gouge out my eyes, then tape them
over times ten and
throw me in a capped well
type of black.
Something has died
in me
And I don’t know what.
But I want it back.
Alive.
So I go in search.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Needle lifts up

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Round and round and round and round and round
the needle gliding effortlessly
dragging over the unseen bumps
in a well worn groove
where it can’t climb out.

Of its own accord,
the needle lifts,
and shifts
back to the start and begins again
its shitty little song.
You might think robotic seeming in its prescribed nature,
but there is oh
so much less thought behind it’s action
For it’s been simply
fit together with
molded parts long ago
just so
to enable this
action over and over.

This spinning piece of compressed black vinyl
on edge, dips and wobbles
to mine eye.
Warped beyond belief.
Perhaps once laid out in the sun
or caught in the hot backseat
I never did take good care of them.

So as the needle lifts up yet again,
I remove the old record from its place
Hold it delicately in hand
Then gripping tightly
Swiftly bring it down to
meet the wooden corner edge.

I pick up the broken bits,
deposit every last piece
in the trash.
Then remove the plastic wrap
from a newly minted song
never heard
and carefully put it down
to spin.

Lifting the needle up
off its cradle
I kiss it softly to the
disc.

To hear something fresh.

by Philip Wardlow 2017