Tag Archives: travels

Carousel of Life


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

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

 

 

 

 

I trudge – A Poem


I Trudge~
Through snow I trudge
heavy of foot with boots to insulate from the cold that creeps
always its creeps….
lost imprints of foot prints
swirl away to nothingness
as I look back through the raging blizzard
surrounding mesnow
I am not lost
For I am forever moving forward in the night.
towards that one star that peeks.
Wringing frigid calloused hands in gloves
never quite warm up to stave off the cold
I find these tired legs and cold hands
are a badge of honor
through a life sought to beat me down
I’m still standing
still walking
still wringing my cold hands
even they may look worn
they are strong
just as my legs are
which trudge
even though ever losing the imprints
of a past I have earned in sheer exertion
of a spirit that will always burn in me.
by Philip Wardlow 2015