Posts Tagged ‘Philip Wardlow’

Lazy Days



Orb bright over head,

Naked we lay…tanning.


I kiddingly ask if I can lay the palm

of my hand on your ass

and just leave it there.


I tell you casually while the sun bakes us,

that we have about another 100,000 yrs

of evolution to go before we stop believing

the bullshit we speak now.


Dark clouds move in, Mr. Nimbus blows.

A storm is coming…hopefully it only

blows away the shit we don’t need in

our lives.


Sorry babe…

Feeling melancholy again I guess.


I get lost in the fantasy, because the reality of it all,

is so much different than we suppose.


Fantasy….Reality?  Each one has its place.

Haven’t  decided which of the two is

stranger yet.


We grab our towels as old Mr. Nimbus spits on us

and go inside to have nice a cold beer .


Philip Wardlow 2013


Desolate Dame



You give him a grin

and forget it all when he

grabs a breast.


He smiles that same stellar smile

that trapped you so long



You sweat it all out through sexual labors

and forget…

all the moments meandering


in the frontal lobe of your brain that aches

to cut him loose and send him downstream

to go cascading off a cliff.


Yet you play the martyr to his Mussolini,

tied up and tortured in the town square,

while all the passerby’s look the other way.




Doesn’t become you.


Defiance should rule.


But yet you grin all over again

when he grabs your breast.



Philip Wardlow 2013


KISA Syndrome



“Why ME?”  she asks


I don’t know.

Because you let me in.

Because you’re a good person.





But most of all because you’re so full of despair.


…and I have a sword.




Philip Wardlow 2013

Blue Balls of a Gentleman


Never was a pain so great

as to leave a man almost

doubled over as he walked.


Such a foul wretch of a woman

she was; to taunt and to flaunt

her wares so, to sidle up alongside me,

yet hold back her ultimate



Never to help me find release

from the tension that she had

caused to exist far below.


True, I could have taken matters into my

own hands like any chaste man should have;

evacuate the cause of all my pent up

pressure and damn her back to the nine hells

where she surely belonged.


But I be not a man to take the easy course;

for I wished her to capitulate in the war

she had waged right outside my castle gate.


Cease this siege woman!


Acquiesce to the desires that I see burning

in your eyes and overcome your coolness

buried deep in your cold keep of a heart.


Grab hold of what you desperately

wish to conquer and I shall relinquish

myself to you with a flood of gratitude.


Perhaps dear lady you will grow

accustomed to my sweet taste.

My Beautiful Dead Girl

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.