Tag Archives: travel

Vintage Dreams


 

Time,

a funny grain

that gets stuck

like a piece of

grit between

clenched teeth.

And spitting never helps, so purse

your lips

tightly.

Dreams,

A fickle fable

held in high esteem

as you tell the story

of a wonderful what-if

while the stars loftly

laugh at you in the dark ink blot above.

Grip the grass you lay upon

as the earth tilts just ever so.

Love,

Oh love,

Where for art thou?

Romeo was a fool to seek

a party where all the players

knew their part  while all the

while Juliet had cotton stuffed

in her ears like a silly Teddy bear,

seeing  only your pretty little

mouth move without a

sound.

 

 

By Philip Wardlow 2017

 

 

 

 

My Pillow – A Poem


My Pillow ~

A heavy heart leads to heavy eyes

often in a night with no end.

The pillow knows me

well this past year.

Tears accumulated in its

cotton fabric could

tell many a tale.

to any stranger who

would care to ask.

But my pillow knows

how to keep secrets

to my detriment it seems.

From loneliness,

To envy, from fears to

lies, unknown desires, on to

shame, and honor

lost.

I am but me,

with a ready smile

and an open heart.

and a soul

frustrated at its

wonderings.

Learning, seeking

self, as I do not

trust that seeking

in its self.

For I lie to me.

Wonderful me

I lie to me.

Where do you go wish to go?

And what road do you

want to take to get you there?

My eyes finally close.

and only my pillow

knows those

answers I pose

to myself.

By Philip Wardl0w 2015Ostrcichpillow

Far Away…..


Moon

Far Away ~

 

 

In a distant land I travel…

new sounds, new smells, new vistas

to grab the eye…to capture the heart anew

Yet the sun is same, the heat, its  glow,

The moon as it hangs like a bright bauble on a peg in the dark.

all its phases and it meanderings across the sky

the same.

This land, these people, these animals

they are not.

A new mystery, a new way of thinking to be discovered.

Yet the sand feels the same as I grab a fistful of it

and let it run on the wind.

There is an ancient history in it..

you can feel it in each grain that flies

through my fingers to be scattered

to the four corners.

Perhaps a grain will be captured on a thermal updraft,

and reach  heights to carry it across the globe

to  home.

To settle gently at your feet.

In silent company with you.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2015

 

 

 

The me you see… – A Poem


The me you see, is just a pale umbra of whom I’m supposed to be.

I’m just a toad at the wall who can’t make the jump up,

I try and I try and I just bounce off.

It’s a cliff so sheer and high that it’s a trick to defy the eye.

But what I really don’t know is that I’m just a toad in the road

and it’s just a small curb on a street I’ve come up against.

I tell myself one more jump…kerplunk!

My little toad head hurts like hell from all the bashing

against the wall it’s felt.

If I can just find a crack and crawl in and wind my way up.

But that would require luck…fuck

Where the hell am I going to get any of that?

So I’m a toad,

not a frog a princess can kiss.

Sorry no prince underneath  miss

But I will be the prince of toads one day

So fuck the frog I say!

and I look for that crack in the wall,

no matter how small.