Thoughts on a Train, 12th February 2015.

I saw our home
From a distance,
Once a woodland grown
For the wandering spirit
Of majestic premonition,

But, how could that be
When our dreams
Lost those days to lies
And wasted passions?

Life passed us by
And washed away hours became
Another calling, far from
Our covered hopes,

What pain came from them?
Captured and caustic,
Those still waters turn
To stagnant desires,
The loss of civilisation?

Memory should fade,
They tell me,
With each new episode,
But some carve further
Into your needs
With times subtle hand,

A blackhole
Of suffering that slows
The soul to infinity
And sins become gravity
Weighing us to nothing else,

I saw our home
From distance between two lives,
Governed by my denial
Once a woodland grown,
Now swallowed
By my failing black unknown.

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Poem © Phen Weston 2015

Untitled, 20th April 2015.

There were words laced through pupil and memory once,

Promises complicated by tarnished fiction, calling us home.

I could bear those eyes no longer! A history evolved 

Through sacrifice, those I love with bitter tenderness.

Now, to never look upon those eyes again

Where our microcosms become the fading truth,

Vanished serenity from azure nights,

Where we saw shooting stars through ecstasy’s haze,

And dreamed of commitment seeded in seasons sought,

Now, to hold my tortuous sleep in waking whim,

Each moment she haunts, Seraphim. Each good turn,

Each reckoning between lost requiems, hidden in deepening scars,

Committed to faraway winds, where those eyes 

Will never look upon us again… 
Poem © Phen Weston 2015

Symmetry (Sijo Poetry)

How far can time turn between us? Graceful in its touch of fall.
Where those colours cherish your smile. I’d never known it’s warmth.
Yet, in your heart, I lived. Bound to the world I’d sought in spring.

 

© 2016, Phen Weston.

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Sijo

A Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka and comprised of three lines of 14-16 syllables each, for a total of 44-46 syllables. Each line contains a pause near the middle, similar to a caesura, though the break need not be metrical. The first half of the line contains six to nine syllables; the second half should contain no fewer than five. Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure. Modern sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.

I Stitched Together a Suit

I stitched together a suit,
made from me
and made from you.
Your desires and needs.
My lies, trying to please
the remnants of what?
The pacified being
you turned me in too.
Holding on to those
moments when
we loved like love
is supposed to be.
Not the tattered, tainted,
mess we only now see,
where’s our happiness?
The hours of heartaches
outweigh the good.
Somehow I feel
you always knew it would.
Did you ever try?
Were we anything
other than high
on what we thought
this could have been?
Our outside mimics
what we turn each
other deviously into,
ravaging and obscene,
standing on the edge
of desperations ravine.

I stitched together a suit,
made from me
and made from you.
A perfect representation
of the grotesque mask
that sits so proudly
on your surreal head.
Together we flamboyantly
waltz to our freakish tune.
Are we finally ready for
our masquerade ball?

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Poem © 2014, Phen Weston.

Lamented

I’ve made mistakes. Flaked and chipped away at odds and stakes. Line by line. Symmetry by sympathy. And what more is there? What little lies can I tell that could hide the pain? Distinct and feigned, corrupt and weighed. An ounce of flesh would ripen in such heat. Flavouring the carcinogenic philosophies in my heart. Calculated misgivings that never seem to be forgiven by those who always demands nothing less from others. Forgiveness is a blessing that pricks the finger of deceit. To your face they love your very breath, behind your back they would quickly replace the air you intake if chance came rolling by. And I lied, and cheated, and hurt… I hurt beyond fanciful words, etched memories that cannot come across the wind with centuries of sorrow. The ice forms kingdoms of desire and life, lifting up the precious precursor to another fallen lament. In the shadows I see her staring back. Those black evoked ramparts of castles that crumble before dawn. I walk them alone now, each empty hall, each echoing parapet. Only seeing ghosts of yesterday. That living end to memories left behind. Will you find me there today? Through smoke and haze, to grieve once more for loves lost days…

© Phen Weston 2015

If (viii)

If I were to cherish you,

like the tides cherish the moon,

the birds cherish the skies,

the heart cherishes the touch,

would you always keep me close

so our hearts beat longingly as one,

our souls glide through the blue

and your love glows lastingly down

through the cimmerian darkness?

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Poem © Phen Weston, 2014

Idyllic Lullabies Murmur

Enchanted caprice,
you are my chrysalis,
protective over me
in each of our long days.

Crystalline meanderings,
as withered as they come
and go, the constant flow
that encompasses our hearts.

Enraptured sweet dreams,
your words encourage
me to carry on through
ephemeral, fleeting loves.

You soon became my epitome,
with each sentence
you gave epiphany,
revelation and embodiment.

Now I look for you
in each fresh ethereal day,
evocative with exuberance,
unrestrained abundance.

Idyllic lullabies murmur
quiescent susurration,
the mist of your grace
surround me completely.

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Poem © Phen Weston