La Douleur Exquise

Dew breached the hearth

and settled on placated embers –

It did not evaporate –

We lay in the vault and observed

the vacant walls turn from unfilled

to a visual transcript of nothing.

Draped in conciliatory memories.

The cats head butts your hand,

expecting warmth where only lethargic

dead eyed crumbling nonsense endured.

How did our days become so hollow?

We spoke of shock treatment.

Wondered if those volts would reawaken

the one, two, three, of something

felt in every place we placed each foot,

one in front of another. Discovered

each other in lands as sand-swept

and fanatical as the thrashing of our thoughts.

Rock salt in an open wound.

Does it burn?

I express the truth and you blank the remedies.

Does love between the soul we share

really adapt to insert another? You say

“the trigger doesn’t want to budge,”

but the bullet flies as swift as larks

and impales my heart like a snare

flung from the arms of a little drummer boy,

as shrapnel tears his eyes and mind

to blistered recognition of lies-

Pa rum pum pum pum –

Sleep seems such a distant meander.

Somewhere between the sketch of life

and those belongings that once seemed important.

I think

we placed them next to the impossible

when we agreed that once sharing forever

would last more than a season.

And now I think the course to take is alcoholism.

To drift through the reeling stern

of lineal precognition – your absence- absolution.

The handicap blank stare of universal

emptiness and flare. Day dreamer,

they call me with snakes forked tongues.

In the distance rises that song-

Vivere commune est, sed non commune mereri-

Distant dreamer, I have only you in my wound.

The constant companion,

the empty endless mood.

Once the stars begged to be in your light,

now engulfed by absent optic dusk –

La douleur exquise –

I am the ghost in your eyes.



Death and Other Love Songs

parade is static
to the parramatta of our words.
That come
and go in lay lines
with gradual departed struts.
in feathered dreams,
we loved
in simple drops and streams.
Evaporated by other means.
Where did our ending go?

was never a coach for such misdeeds,
I couldn’t
save you, and observed the world become
the sepulchre in which we fought our eldritch clause.
and anger
that took advantage of bonds on zephyr.
And still
we cling and cannot relinquish.
While you
share your bed in another woe.
Yet am I supernatural?

to remain the mask of death
as you
are there in all the glory
of our moribund crescendo.
“We are still soulmates,”
you attest,
filled again and again by others.
But me,
I wait.
Draped in shroud desires
to cleave
that face from your memory.
Watch him fall
and tumble into that apathetic wake.
to gaze upon my deathly siren once more.

The empty blues
and Parisian noose.
Tunnels to our abyss.
Our love
is more fierce than youths lust.
But feeling nothing,
we become
to dust and other love songs.
Playing our tune
on time-worn hearts.
When all you see is I.
The providence of our affections,
to love no other,
but always die
in another’s empty world…


She walked in,
drowning in your perfume.
A stranger, but
no less stranger than we
have become,
ghosts of a submerged scent.
Yet I wonder,
how do strangers
share that one empty soul?
Scent and memory
drenched distance.
And oh, how I hate
the bitterness of life!
When you are there
and nowhere
in those strange
empty days…


*For you, although you’ll never read*


Who knew those detached words
could conjure silent vows- flaming-
fide et amor*– nothing lasts forever-
not his arms around your wandering
hours- nor the strength of
ardent castles- fire seethes
and you shimmer- reflected
in my embers- silent- sprightly-
I’d always wondered how your
passion rose between those calling
stones- the roots of you
pushing apart the arcane soil to
blush and bloom- A menhir sculpture
of all the solace my heart could
hold- the lips I wish to plummet
against- grey in churning waters-
and I see you- roil emotions
in your absence- Illis quos amo
– abiding and adored-


*Faithfully and lovingly
**For those I love I will sacrifice


Poem © Phen Weston 2016


Autumn rolls against us-
outside the morning chorus-
you roll over- held in ivory sheets-
looking- dawning tenderness
in sleepy auroras sermon- animation
paved the simplest rule-
along those stationary moments-
and I fell for you in those words-
it’s so hard to get out of bed
with you there-

You are the problem-
the life beyond- when little
recall comes and flourishes
among the heavens- assembled
in the night to worship- bittersweet-
nor symphony of worldly intrigue-
I want to show you what it is
to be human- to walk away- but-
it’s so hard to get out of bed
with you there-

One Foot Forward…

So wonderful world of WordPress, I’d like you to meet Helen. Helen started a journey the same time I did. Several years ago (although we didn’t know each other at the start) we returned to education as “mature” students to the same college, and have been on our own adventures ever since. Helen is a beautiful person who is starting another journey and has chosen to blog about her experiences. I think it will become a very interesting read, full of wonder and inspiration! So please give her a follow!


One foot forward…

I had a teeny thought in my head over the past few months that turned into a kind of ‘epiphany’ on Friday…followed by much angst and general vomiting (my subconscious is now calmed thanks to a session with James at Incremental Training and a cuppa with my neighbour, Mia)

Actually, I’d probably better go back a little bit as this is my first blog post and you have no idea who I am (I’ll come back to that).

I am Helen; a Wise Hippo birthing instructor, massage therapist, soon to be paper recognized Doula and general advocate of all things women…particularly the birthing ones! I have to say this has been a pretty wiggly path for me, post childhood home, post four beautiful children, post long marriage, I am finally set on a path on which I feel truth, familiarity and passion. It has been a slow process…

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“How can I be reasonable? To me our love was everything and you were my whole life. It is not very pleasant to realize that to you it was only an episode.” ― W. Somerset Maugham, The Painted Veil.

I understood your cold feet. Understood the chill in your limbs, as it had always been that way. When you cuddled tight and pressed those icicles into my naked shins, I always shivered, but happily shared my heat with you. Yet those insecurities of your inferiority wrapped around you. Lamenting in each idea that you wouldn’t achieve those dreams you kept hidden in your heart from early childhood. You hated your work, hated your town, needed to get away and travel. Yet, I couldn’t understand how, out of all those things you desired to change, I became the one you did? When I never was to begin with. When happiness shone down into those pours with each day we shared, each moment we embodied the universe in skin form. Merry spheres danced in our heads as we stared into what we thought would be forever – and how did it come to shattered memories and black holes?

Maybe it was a mimicry of the society we could not escape. Where life was as fleeting as those devices we puke our souls into. Was swapping a relationship just as easy as upgrading to a new phone? If that is the case, I need to ask, do we really want to exist in such a world? I gave you all that was in my power, for so many years. Grasped the stars to wrap them in tinsel and tinfoil, presented them at your feet and offered you the world. Not because I thought that was what you expected, but because you had given me the universe. Before you, life created darkness, but you, you gave it light and beauty… When you smiled, nebulas sparked into creation, those spiralling galaxies fashioned around us as we held and, although we were far from alone in existence, for those moments we were and are everything.

Now you run, only weeks before our love was to be declared to gods, pressed into the verse as that which held together meaning, truth and infinity! You ran to him and, with all your lies crashing down like meteors and monoliths, our life falls apart. The world plunged to depths and fathoms that drowned all pleasure and passion, and you ran far and fast. Will he be worth our heartache?

Yet, like the technology you easily swap, the lives you readily trade, the ghost of you reaches out with promises and degrading fabrications, “I still love you. I know it’s a mistake. Be patient and I will return.” Perverse in your infancy, your stupidity and worship, you know that meaningless lexis was only thrown to the heavens to relieve your guilt and shame. And you know I will hear it all and come crawling with the little strength I can muster. Pathetic flesh bag that I am.

As I sink towards the void, your echoes swirl and spray, thrashing likes waves that remember so many futures that lay on our hearts only weeks ago. Were they as fake as technology and lies? I guess I will never know. Silence is all I can now take from your lips. The only dream that carries forward lie at those fractured feet. Those cold days of futures past. And you run, with your cold feet. But, do you know where such a race will end?


Poem © Phen Weston 2016


Love is entropy cast in bronze
and left to green in radiant truth-
and you were pure
until nothing more- but delusion
stole infinity in denial-
yet I wait to remould those fragments
that scatter in the winds-
scars and broken promises-
shattered memories in clay-
where I am ripe for your sorrow
and forgiveness waits
on my parched tongue-


Poem © Phen Weston 2016