Ingénue Paramour

I watched her from afar, the intricate melody
that bore soul and rhythm into listless hours
remixed by shortened susurrous reminders
of dramas to be the centre of deep affections.

She flickered in light, ephemeral to the touch,
yet more radiant than a thousand suns lingering
in clear nights and black penumbras promises,
I fell in love with each word she whispered

into screaming silence, the cacophony
of human interaction simmered down to letters.
She became the face of all my fugacious words
and I would have sacked Troy ten thousand times

to claim her as my own, but old crones hold the storms,
and I had no more honesty to her demesne
than the Gods she defied with spirit rekindled,
only beleaguered dreams to die inside her.

When she came close my body ached with denouement
for more than the tryst of swift emotions locked
into proposed temporal teardrops, impermanent elixirs
drained to droplets of dulcet desuetude.

Would she see me with chatoyant vision
if Rome fell before her feet? Soldiers all in a row,
with efflorescence halcyon to have us at her whim,
her panoply of hearts, lingering and redolent.

By sempiternal lagoons, I saw her bathe in love,
reimagining the strongest tenderness all around
her deiform naked form, fetching and evocative,
she waved her spell throughout my judgements.

I was week, and she was absorption born of heaven,
what stronger man could have met deliverance
with such intrigue? Would they carry her away on forbearance
lamented in emollient contradictions?

As eldritch fever took to winds with a special kind of gift,
the plethora of insanity inched around her lithe fragile neck
and I held my breath, I held my breath… I held my breath…
In pastiche hallucinations where petrichor scent conflate.

The becoming of dalliances plagued in brooding death,
she waits for me forevermore in demure and denouement
with each ethereal and evanescent breath,
in lissom grave garments, veneration and rippled theft.


Poem © Phen Weston 2015

Jay, A lizard by any other name.

*Not one of my best, I think, but I needed to vent over the loss of a true friend. It’s always amazing how much animals/pets can impact your world*


R.I.P Jay, the bearded dragon!


My heart shattered at your lost soul,

the empty shell still holds your smile,

but there is no flicker in those eyes,

no turn of the head as if to say

“God, what the fuck are you doing today?”

Just the remains of a friendship

that transcends species, removes death.

You were more my kin than most humans,

Who lived for life, crickets and blueberries.

But now, just a photo and an empty shell,

death comes to us all in turn, but some hearts

leave a mark bigger than the vessel 

that carried them.



Poem © Phen Weston 2015


I was misplaced air
that cradled all around you,
held to cobalt skies
to shelter your fledgling wings,
sweet perdition seems
the only time you’ll hold me,
regrets honest root
that feeds from unadorned hearts,
the crossed and convicted dream.

But, now I am free,
the lord of evermore hopes,
amid kingdoms lit
by azure fires, absolute
in self-remembered fortune.

Poem © Phen Weston 2015


The prolix extended to centre winds that blew,
forming fusion intent to allocate
the emptiness, succumbed, that grew,
new reflections journeyed wherever
strangers, suspended, threw your memory,
and I can’t breathe this stale air.

On dark mountains we walked paths lit
by moonlights lies and romantic twists.
Travelled softly, in quieter times,
to swim in shallow shores and let
the waters wash our naked sins away.

Idiots in love with the ticking hands of fate,
perpetual insignificance perpetually laced
through intensity and promise.
Scurrying to share the pieces of broken mirrors
that lacerate the tick tock leagues
we drew in mountain dew.

To feel alive, above the world,
we marched through tropical rains,
drenching our forms in warmer waters.
To feel more than the nine to five,
we grew into more than life expectancy,
feeling the sunrise form deformity.

Our return to that one rainy night,
between the darkness and steps of heaven,
the lives we laid bare beneath our cause,
became the shattered core of sunset.

And now I walk these paths alone,
observing your soul and promises submerge
without love. The forgotten worlds
where your footprints came undone.
Could it have been any other way?


Poem © Phen Weston 2015

Between the 80’s & 90’s

My childhood was torn between

Wednesday Addams and Veronica Sawyer,

speeches and phycopaths fascinated

with lust, love and social demise.

Do we just grown up, become adults, and die,*

Or were we made from real Girl Scouts after all?**

Poem © Phen Weston 2015


* “I say we just grown up, be adults, and die”, Winona Ryder, Heathers (1988)

** “Are they made from real Girl Scouts?” Christina Ricci, The Addams Family (1991)


The skin pulls tight against my aching bones,
erstwhile hands stretched through indifferent space
and sweeping relinquish between cyclones
toward captured darkness as aged as Thrace,
we stood on shorelines of hoarfrost combined
with all the dreams of spirits that hover
on tiptoe of our created divine,
simple promises curved and uncovered
to fill the citadels over measure.
Would i die for you? Would i die for you?
The earth has cracked to unspoken zephyr,
stormed memories to grope and ascend to.
In winter the charcoal dominions burned,
to be reborn in springs cool winds, unearned.


Poem © Phen Weston 2015