Happiness was
A Parisian engagement
captured in film
through an antique eye.

Yet sorrow masks the world
when you lay in his arms
and I am left as nothing.

Bitter, broken memories
that used to be my breath…

Ubiquitous Parallels

“I know the pieces fit ’cause I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering. Fundamental differing.”
– Tool


Draw the futures of generations past
into the shining utopia that oft’ swells
against the turning tide of grace
and projects the naked cosmos
into indifferent haste.

Strung, like the darling buds
that scamper and scarper
into those lost translucent dreams,
draped into forgiving lines, the
Nazca promises of streaming

consent into the crumbling doors
of convent and covenant, rapier
of sanguine cries, “oh, the fallen hive”.
Striving for nothing more than to
generate futures erased before

the ruined gods of Man. Simple tasks
in each own hand creates
the destiny of the grave,
while around and around,
floating in our heads is static execution,

claiming and reclaiming death.
That we were the earthly pest, wrapped
in self-indulgent obliviousness, knowing
we are the bearers of our bread,
of our last supper and solution. Instead,

calling our kingdom to the ground,
the rubble paradise, lost in sweet emotion.
Flawed against our abyss and light,
the lifeless cohort leading
self-inflicted cataclysmic blight.

And I watched it all fall away.
Enfolded in the shade of a world
that turned too many times, and circled
infinity, a cosmic death glide, bounded
by the vulturistic committee of Men.

And I watched it all fall away
I watched it all fall away
watched it all fall away
it all fall away
all fall away
fall away
Poem © Phen Weston 2016



The Cat Has Nothing To do With It

By Phen Weston and Willow Stancombe
10th July 2016

“Meow, went the cat,”
Silence filled the empty
Spaces between bone walls,
Subtle confusion engaged
The senses when placed
On the sacred spot,

I look at you, elegance
Cosmically claims the pages
Of the world we write,
“The cat has nothing
To do with it” softly said,

“Softly said by whom”
He asked, laughter entwined
Her puzzled stance,
Kissed promises placed
Within our beguiling kingdom,
“I don’t get your wording”

She may not get the disordered
Whirl of words that only
Make sense within my head,
But the love flows through
Our finger tips, touching
Wordless tenderness without,

Light surrounds her beauty,
And life fulfils her promises,
Wide eyed universe reflects
Foretold hopes between us,
Rippled effects send neither
Future nor long forgotten past
Crumbling to the floor.

“Seriously! The cat has nothing
To do with this…!”

(This is a collaborative poem with the beautiful and talented Willow Stancombe. She doesn’t have a blog, but she should… She won’t listen to me though!… Update: She now has a blog and can be found here:… Only took 2 years!)

© Phen Weston 2014 & © Willow Stancombe 2014

Intrigue, Subversion and Nympholepsy


I fashioned soul from depiction,
the wild men ravenously adored,
not love, nor attention, but thirst,
need that ignited between your thighs,
craving and contagious conviction,
they became the model of your yearning,
perfection that singed your wings,
trajectory strung to feathered life,
becoming the hornet within my beliefs,
Would you wish my sting as willingly?

You smile at each and covet their core,
and all I hope? More than misted promises…
our distorted friendship… You are lust.
And longing. As naked as your individuality wrapped
around the stalking fiend of dusk unsympathetic.
I strived to own your body and soul,
memory and moment etched into our granite.
I am your slave, but desire mastery,
from dying worlds, to new unseen chaos,
could I be your teacher and lover too?

Wicked sin spoken in whispers.
I longed to dominate your being,
showing little care for those passions
that came with days and dreams,
creeping through underworlds
to starve you of false dawn.
Give me more than friendship
and I will tell you all my sins…
Each sheathes your name in shadow,
Behind concealment and mask.


Poem © Phen Weston, 16th June 2015.


My Penumbra Illustration

I remember your shadow- those faded lines
between the cracking clouds above- strained
in hues of solitude- a simple kiss- against
the night we forced among the stars- locked
into places fashioned from old snapshots- we
were exposed to the calling of lost skies- empty
birds in whirlwind frames- transparency
for her longed requested kiss- bliss bombarded
from soft voice to bromide- another element-
saplings washed ashore as driftwood becomes
sentiment of time and again- there were lines
in your shadows I remembered and placed
as waters come and go- the shore- the cause
I believed in- you ’til the end of colour-
shadows of those times we smiled- study us-
like those impressions of the night- lights
depiction of abstraction- calling to the wind-
and I question- again- your hold of smoke-
the nocturnal precipice on which I stand
for shadows and dancing against the storm-
and if I fall- would you be there- calling
to sweet absolution- as each nightly show
crisscross solatium- and in the smoke I wait
for all you tears to turn my shifting way-


Poem © Phen Weston 2016