Tag Archives: woman

Glass Heart


I am an  imperfect man.
and she has a beautiful perfect 
transparent heart
of which she lets me
hold in my rough hands.

Her heart is warm to the touch
never cold, for inside of it
it's full of fire,  a fervor for life
I see  burning bright, for her heart
is made of the most pristine glass
I see through it clearly
to the flickering flames within
that dance and dance
always before my eyes.

Yet I am flawed, and my 
seeing leaves me sometimes blind
at the warmth and wonder of
her heart I hold in many hands.

I wish her heart to never break
nor the one to be the cause of 
the breaking. 

I hold it delicately lest to crush it,
yet not too firmly for it to slip
from my hands
I hold it with a willful assurance of self
as I marvel  at  the magical
glow that pervades from 
within.

Her glass heart is stronger than it
seems, more than she even knows.
Tougher than any Titans mighty
blows could wrought asunder.

Her glass heart's unwavering 
transparence
mesmerizes my eyes, for it is true,
so very true  straight to
it's core.
and beckons for me  to hold it in my hands
for all the rest of my days.


by Philip Wardlow , August 31st, 2022













If I Didn’t have her


If  I didn't have her in my life
I would be  less than
My days would be dim,
and my  smile would be less inclined.

I would know loneliness, 
I would know isolation
and I would cry the fool every night
of my life if I didn't have this woman
to hold on to when
all the world swung from wrong to
right and back again.

She's a sweet one, my woman,
she's a handful to, but she's 
grabbed a handful of my heart
will all the strength she has in
her, and I don't feel her ever wanting
to let go anytime soon.

If  I didn't have her in my life,
I would ask the Universe why
But I don't have to ask that question.
Because she's right here,
right now, in my arms.

By Philip Wardlow Aug 22nd 2022











Encounters with women


Six masterpieces Titian painted for Philip II of Spain have been reunited  for the first time since the 16th century - Washington Post

As she  walked down the hall,  every up and down turn of her hips mesmerized me more than a  snake charmers dance with  a cobra…

She was  a petulant child trapped in  a woman’s body  with the insatiable  appetite of a sexual succubus, 

She  confessed her desires, let me have all of her, then used me up, cast me aside,  and then knocked on my door and asked for it again and I obliged her with a smile and let her in.

I would have come and danced with her in the rain but sometimes I liked to watch  from afar and get lost in the beauty exploding from her smile.

Neither one of her two sides were her but both together made her who she was.

Her  curves were  beautiful, from hip to lip, from breasts to almond eyes, She took delight in letting me help her with all her secret sins that her mind meandered to.

Even the want of  death is life because its a feeling. Hold on to life through that feeling and claw your way out of your loose soiled grave dear girl.

When ever she bent over or reached up for something upon a shelf, did she know how absolutely enticing her body  looked when she did  it?  I’m thinking she did…

Violence never solved anything but it sure did look sexy on her in that moment in bed…

When she leaned her  face first  against the wall  wearing that silk dress knowing I knew she was  not wearing anything beneath, the invitation was too much to bear.

She  was  a magnet to me the first time I laid eyes upon  her and she has  been every day since.

by Philip Wardlow June 1st, 2022

 

The Seven Hearts of Her


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A Broken Heart
Love let her down and pushed her aside,
it didn’t keep her company, it didn’t give her a hug
and it never chose to know her

A Passionate heart
She’ll fall into your arms
Into a full on embrace
Warming to a kiss<
To be wanted to be taken
Over and over

A Dear Heart
She keeps a love close
as a treasure finally found after
a millennia of seeking
Precious, Priceless and Dear
as she thinks the same of her own.

A Fearful heart
Eyes wide and brimming
hands clutching, gripping
holding tight
Voice imploring for her love to
never disappear

Empathetic Heart
She pulls the sadness and plights of others within her
exploding with a comforting
balm of wise words and consoling

A Humorous Heart
Raucous and irreverent
with an infectious fun
soul along with a smiling
laugh that others always
long to see and hear

A Delicate Heart
Strong yet brittle
A fighter yet fear filled
Hard willed yet may fall apart
in your arms in a moment

All her hearts want
is to love
and be loved, and not
to be precariously left
upon a shelf
and forgotten.

By Philip Wardlow April, 2020

Her Many Ways


She says she wants to go before me
because she says she’s not strong
enough to see me go.

She often casually calls me darling
from across the room
likes we’ve always been.

She pulls the positive from me
and pushes the negative away that
at times I let invade.

Whether in darkness or light
she takes my hand knowing
I will protect her in an instant

She seeks to know my day
whether it’s mundane or magical,
she seeks the knowing of me.

She often asks what was the best
part of my day, and my answers vary,
but I never say what I should,
that it’s the drive home in knowing
I’m going to see you.

It’s not easy for me to love.
Distance is my friend, for closeness
lets the hurt creep in.

Yet, I wish her close.
I want her near.
I want everything she
has to offer
I want all her tender
ways.

By Philip Wardlow Feb, 2020

My Red


She often asks when I first knew I loved her.

I smile, because I know how she likes
to turn back to a memory of our love
from either just yesterday
or the very first day.

I tell her a different answer in a different way every time
for I find I discover myself and us in the asking.

There were a myriad of moments where
I fell in love (and still do) with her
and they always feel like the first time.

Kissing her passionately in a strong embrace.
Feeling the rhythm of her body as we dance
across the floor.
All her sweet affections for me in
caring about my well being.

Holding her tight why she cried in my arms
and then watching her sleep peacefully in them.

Delving the myriad of wonderful funny avenues her
mind takes in conversations over dinner.

Feeling special like no one else could when
she looks at me drinking me in, not wanting to
forget that scene of our lives and her filing it away
for future reflection.

It’s taking her to bed, and her trust me in the
taking of her, and sharing of all those intimate
precious secrets between just the two of us.

I knew I loved I her when she told me to just let
go and fall into what I was feeling and I didn’t
realize until that very moment I was allowed that
in my head and wanted it so badly to feel it
with her.

The moment when every minute, and hour and week
was filled with her in my head, and I didn’t want
to lose that feeling…it was everything.

My Red, I loved you from the start
whether I knew it or not.
I did.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Marita Growing Thunder


 

Marita Growing Thunder is her name, she is just 19 years old, and on a mission to bring a voice to the growing lack of concern regarding the almost epidemic, and systemic issue of  the Thousands of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Woman  (MMWI)  in the US and Canada of over the last few decades.

Click the links below to read her story and the cause she is fighting for the woman who no longer have a voice and for future women who will SURELY go missing themselves or be murdered.

Online Articles related to her Movement and Awareness Outreach:

https://www.truthdig.com/articles/walking-with-marita-growing-thunder-and-the-young-revolutionaries-among-us/

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/long_reads/native-american-women-missing-murder-mmiw-inquiry-canada-us-violence-indigenous-a8487976.html

That thing she does


My Red can be annoying,
unconsciously ignoring,
as she falls into a world all
her own
with me almost fully removed
as she dips her toes
into that other place, that’s
hard to reach when she’s in it.

But I’m not a thin skinned,
needy meek man
I have my own thing
and she gives me the me in me
that I need to be.

Besides, I like when she goes there
for it’s beautiful to see
that intensity
that determination
to grab part of life
Her life.
I love that most about her,
It’s inspiring.

Oh, and when she finally looks up
and gets up
and saunters over smiling
mischievously
I know that the
attentions gonna
soon be all on me.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

What a Woman wants


What a Woman Wants~
She walks on by in her tight skirt,
as my brown eyes drink her in and
I say to myself, so it begans.
She smiles and I smile back,
I say hello in a way so she knows that
she matters in this moment to me.
I’m in engaged in her form, her voice.
Her smell of cinnamon must surely
taste like her lips if I were to kiss them.
I make you laugh as I tell you you’re the
sweetest girl I‘ve ever met and that I might just have
to take you home and put you on my toast in the morning
instead of my blackberry jam.
Would I be too forward if I took you by the hand
and looked into your eyes and told you to trust
me with  your whole heart as I wiped
away a tear from the tale you told
me of your last man.
You see, I see you.
I get you, I see your quirks,
I see your moods, I see your passions
and I’m right there baby
Right next to you and I’m
not going anywhere
Now come over here
and let me show you
what love is my
Dear.
By Philip Wardlow 2017

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