Tag Archives: women

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Encounters with women

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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

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Something Wiccan this way comes

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“Do as ye will as long as ye harm none”
Maid, Mother, and Crone
all intone.
Walk these woodlands,
inside and out
letting your spirit
thrive from bone, to eye, to mind.
This natural world is your playground
so play proud, head tall, breasts out
Be divine and in turn know divinity.
The hunt is on in fair woods,
Strength is foraged first, followed by Beauty unmarred,
then comes Power in the will coupled with Compassion,
Mirth as you dance the fire, Reverence as the trance
takes you in Honor of all that is known and unknown
as you finally kneel in Humility
to your Goddess
conveying nature’s kiss upon
each of your sisters
to seal the spell bringing
to bear the Cosmos
within the inscribed circle
upon this Earth you now
dwell.

by Philip Wardlow 2018

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

What a Woman wants

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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
Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Cri de Coeur

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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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, The EROTIC ZONE

Phrases just for Her

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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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Floating

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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

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

First Day to Last

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doubledutch

The hand moves on the clock

as the little girl skips down the block.

Sun up to sun down.

She laughs. and laughs, and laughs,

and sings in her heart.

Until one day the ground comes to meet

her head on.

Now, her trust in gravity is suddenly gone.

Yet, she still skips, but ever so hesitantly.

Just ever so, knowing the cost in her

lack of caution.

Her heart still sings

as she joins in a game

of Double Dutch.

The rope flies as her feet take flight.

But the other girls in their turning

are not nice,

as they

slow the speed of the spin

throwing off the girls rhythm

So once again, gravity brings

blood on a sidewalk and

scraped raw knees,

and a small wall.

On and on her days come and go,

the clock continually ticking

with the gravity of the Universe

never relenting.

Always there; spinning,

as this little girl still

continues to skip

and jump rope.

With that same song

deep within her heart

humming ever so slowly,

just ever so.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Haikus of the Sword

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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

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The many flavors of little girl/boy lost

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Foot

Therapists say the core of us, from the defining moments of our youth, make up a great part of how we see ours lives throughout our whole existence through and into  our growing “adulthood”  until the day we die.

We all walk a path, and that path we walk  sprung up to meet us whether we know it or not. Some have found that magical path and place among the trees where they know peace and a solid foundation under their feet as they tread a world still alien.

Most are not so fortunate whether you think they are or not.

Some of us walk it in seeming surety, with one foot right after the other; having all the answers to life at our lips and the tips of fingertips based on what came before.  Those types outright scoff at times at those who don’t know all the answers or have it all together.  They can truly be arrogant bastards; ridiculing the “underclassmen”  saying they will never catch up.

((Secretly)) they know they do not know everything;  no matter what they say. I have to imagine, that need in itself, to have to be sure all the time; it must drive them mad when their world falls apart at not knowing the answers when push comes to shove in their lives.

I truly do feel sorry for some of them.  For I do believe that type of arrogance is needed in the world to get things done. Else many of us would be sitting on our hands saying woe is me and nothing else. But these types must pay the price at times when the chaos finds them in their own mind.  For no one must see them weak you know.

Others  of us walk in a  meandering, stumbling,  almost drunken course down a  path where our footing is anything but sure.   Always needing that tree to lean on,  or that bush off the road to vomit up our urges and failings behind.

Yet, still they walk, for their is a determination in their lives that drives their legs into motion. They are not comatose. They are not in a vegetative state. They breath, they exhale, and they bring in life and let it out in small amounts.  They evolve in their own course;  through the volitions of some inner or external force which they cannot place,  but it drives them, much like the arrogant ones above, that have already embraced a reality and be damned to anyone who stand in their way.

What else can they do in life but to try?  And besides, they can’t look weak ; not to the  arrogant ones that depend on them to prop them up from time to time when they speak.

Finally, there is that brow beaten soul. That lower than low. The one that goes home to sleep and sleep and dream and dream until the day has disappeared and night encapsulates and settles the debate of who has won that day,  life or him or her.

They will not choose to try again the next day nor the next.  Woe are they, to not even attempt. For that voice that once shouted has been muffled and thrown into a cage of the finest steel made.  Never to be let out, never to be fed or watered, but instead to let whither and die in a lonely cage bound with a strength they gave away.

All because they believed they reached some end.  Some place in their  life they could not rectify, or redeem. Never realizing life is impartial, life goes on.  So go on, life says go on, and don’t be afraid to look weak and go on.

Be that person you lied to yourself about that you told you could not be. This is a lesson for all three of you who walk the path you think you should.

See…the path before you.  Just let yourself  simply really truly see.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Wee hours of the Night –

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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