Tag Archives: woman

Cri de Coeur


When you are a minority in this country, be it a woman, or of a different race, gender identification, or a non-prevalent religion, you are already a second class citizen. You are simply tolerated and you are either outright told you are not wanted at times or its whispered in your ear at the most unexpected (or expected) moments in your life.

You often will just nod to yourself inside and say, Yeah, that’s right, I almost forgot I wasn’t different from you. How silly of me to have forgotten. Thank you for reminding me I don’t really belong.

A woman or man may become shamed, fearful, angry. Cry tears of sadness, frustration and/or indignation. They make drink, smoke, shoot up, live life to the excess all to assuage their disgust, their inadequacies, or the perpetual fight they think they may not be able to overcome for something they simply were born into. Nothing more. A chromosome here, a chromosome there, all amounting to being defined, boxed and put in your place. Categorized.

Becoming a category, a subject matter, a thing, provides disconnection for the majority. So when the times comes to fight the status quo it is simply met with indifference, ridicule, generalities, skepticism, and even outright suspicion.

What does the majority think we fight for? Why does a woman call out a man in power when he threatens her with her career if she won’t sleep with him? Why does a black man kneel when the anthem plays because he simply wants to make sure that flag really seems HIM in equal measure when it waves in the wind. Why does a man marrying another man, or woman marrying another woman rankle the majority so, when love is love is love?

Majority is the key.

Remember, Majority is the key.

Stop thinking of yourself as not the majority. Don’t acquiesce. Don’t bow your head.

Being a minority is only a state of mind you put yourself in.

So simply cry out from the heart. And say enough.

Philip Wardlow 2017

I want a girl by the band Cake (then totally smashed up and changed by Me.


 
I want a girl with a mind like carbon
who gives life to everything
in my world.
I want a girl who knows me well
and holds me to it.
I want a girl with heels that click
And eyes that dance like fireflies
I want a girl with deep sentiments
Who’s passionate, thorough, and true
She’s playing with her hair
She’s giving me a smile
As her laughter fills my ears
as I  bend her over the chair.
I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket.
I want a girl who stays in bed
I want a girl who stays up late
I want a girl with corruptible possibilities
Who’ll go skinny dipping with me on a  first date.
With fingernails that dig deep
And a voice with dark menace that invites me in.
I want a girl with a meteoric sense about her
I want a girl with delicious resolve
At  Barnes and Nobles we will meet periodically
We’ll start to kiss over fantasy and the occasional
sonnet.
She wants a car that uses a stick
She wants a car that will get her there at times
instead of my d*$!
She’s changing her name
From Miss to Mistress
She’s trading her life  for something better not found in life
I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket
by Philip Wardlow sort of  2017  🙂

Phrases just for Her


You can only look at her and get tongue tied
as your mind
gets mangled
That girl over there in that short skirt
wearing those black
thigh highs and garters, along
with sharp heels that could most definitely hurt.

Oh, and when she smiles,
simply sexadorable.
A storm walking, dream of a nightmare on the prowl.
The sensuosity
she exudes, the magicalicious
way she crosses the room.

It’s not fair I tell you.
No simple mortal stands a chance.
For they are all in thrall.
Pupils dilated to drink her in.
Lips wetted just in case of a kiss

Let’s not forget,
her charmtrap of a stare,
dark eyes that scream you fucking
better be aware
Because I’m here,
“I’m always on when I’m out, and you
look pretty cute,”
she almost seems to whisper
just to you.
Even though you are nowhere near her in
the room.

She’s got a confoundous amount of play
in what that grin directed
might say,
“Hey, I spy with my little eye,
a guy I might let take me for a little drive tonight.
but oh,
does he even have the key, let alone the gas
to get me there where I need to be?”

I jingle my keys as the
bojangle in me wants to bodangle
with you in so many delicious
ways

I take your hand and lead you
home, climb the stairs,
and close the door.
The stars are forgotten
as the man in the moon seeks
to peek in my room to learn a
thing or two of what
I am about to do to you and
for you.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Floating


 

Her world is a private
dream
a myriad complex thing
juxtaposed within
pains that run deep
like a slice with
a wicked knife
into the fruit
of a well worn life
that drips it juices
onto the floor
where others tread
its sticky mess.

Yet she floats.
Always she floats,
above and apart
she floats.
Wrapped in a delightful
viscous vicious
violent delicate
sustaining way.

She floats.
And I,  can simply only
wonder when, she will
ask me to join her.

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

Landscapes of You


 

 

Landscape

Landscapes of You

 

As I rise at dawn

and look out upon this landscape

It’s got nothing on you babe.

The mountains can’t touch your heights which I climb

In the morning light and the fertile valley

below is where I’ll go to set up my campfire

and have a weeny roast every night.

Let me fall down hard against your snowy soft skin and make

snow angels with my tongue as I go deep in.

The rivers and streams that meander around me can’t

get any wetter than your bed as I lie at your shore .

Maybe I’ll take a swim in your deep lake and paddle

down to the waterfall where I hear it’s a gusher.

The pinks and reds that I bring out in your cheeks and lips

as you gyrate those hips below

stir the four winds to blow

me away off this wind swept peak

that I cling to with barely a fingertip.

I’ve packed lots of rations, trail mix, water and

peanut butter cups to keep my energy up.

My hike is not over by far, because I’ve got many trails to cover.

I can’t leave any one spot untouched or ignored,

The beauty of this mysterious place I call

paradise must be explored.

The smell of clover and dandelions pervade my senses

as I drink your sweet scent in.

The nearness of you is nature in its most erotic essence

bottled in the pores of

your skin.

 

By Philip Wardlow

Hug me


hugs
Artwork by Christian Ward

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hug Me~

 

A woman will always want  a hug more than a man

but a man will always need a hug more than a woman.

Neither knows why.

She will want his presence close; his arms and his heart.

In that very moment as he embraces,

he will be her harbor for all the days

that he holds her.

He will need her light and the one

she sees in him when he cannot.

Through that embrace, her light will envelop

him and strengthen him for all his days

to come.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haikus of the Sword


One Breath~SwordB

One breath forming calm

Eyes tight on adversary

Bound energy flies

 

 

 

 

Beguiling Death~SwordC

Dragonfly wings cut

Up, down, left, right superbly

Entrancing your death

 

 

 

Young Sword~YoungSword

Childish eyes unveiled

as a keen blade drawn for blood

Fire heart goes cold.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

Wee hours of the Night –


Jeans pulled down to her ankles…Hours
Knees up
Thighs slightly parted
She thinks of him in the
wee hours of the night
as she touches lightly between
her legs.
The sweet spot where he wishes to go,
to live if only for a moment.
To take her like she wants to be taken
in her secret room
as she lies on her bed
To give him what he wants;
all of her.
She opens her legs wider
to let him take what he wants
she turns over and presents her
ass.
She wants all his gifts.
His hard slap on her is the sweetest
reward she could receive from him as
she pushes her ass upward
to meet each strike of his palm sooner.
She wants it so badly, as she lies in
his bed…
She calls out his name as
her fingers move inside herself
opening and filling her
as he would in the wee
hours of the night
if there.
Written by PhilipWardlow 2016

Fill up my time fish


 

 

goldfish

 

 

Fill up my time fish~

 

She said,  “Fill up my time

while I wait for something

that I can finally keep

to drop on by.”

 

He said, “You’ll do,

you beautiful thing you,

now hurry , spread your legs as

my want of  you is  almost up.”

 

You are my novelty for the day,

the week, the month, the year,

as my desires

run their phases like the moon

runs its course across the skies

a hundred thousand million times.

You didn’t know it, but you did.

You hoped, but you still did.

Our original sin, over and over again.

That seems to be half the fun.

 

Are we all hobbies? Habits?

Frivolous fantasies and disastrous

desires run amok?

Dear affections that grab us like

a child holding tight to a goldfish

in a brand new bowl.

We all know what  happens to that fish.

 

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016