♦ From my book 'Nothing But The Rain' ♦ Sky aflame with vermillion passion adrift Empty streets silently serenade silken Within my pocket Hemingway hums static. Poem © Phen Weston 2014


Xian (Revisited, 14th July 2014)

I stood among The hanging trees, Each hanging fruit Manifested destiny, Ready for its time To ripen in the sun, Upon the hill Sits an old old temple, Flutters of the womb, Resembled In the longing Of its ancient Wooden tomb, The temple exists Before language And definition, Before gods and gia, Before all the... Continue Reading →

The Waves Broke

Drums beat swift and time beat strong. 'Til all the night was gone with stringent devouring tomes, where I watched you swim alone in places meant for intimate dreams. We lapsed in time, and strayed for days before our thoughts first kissed. Upon us laid mothers delicate heart- afraid. They found our fascination with long-forgotten... Continue Reading →

To forget the snow

She wore desert sands Against naked infinity To remind her of betrayal And waterfalls just Seemed too thin When pressed against Prison walls Neither could remember The twist of old limbs And smell of earthly blues Tunes forgotten When played in prose And rain would rather gather At the feet of yesterday anyway

Roses Red and Violet Blues (1st March 2015)

We rose above the ashes of distortion, Piled high with countability ignored, Planting seeds to bloom with rose-red call, While Sedulously, we waited for a reprise Of those forgotten days, wasted away, The chosen wager of unrestrained youth, Counted minutes, clumsy hours, Those first days, before assiduousness, Now we play those tunes again, The same... Continue Reading →

Memoirs of Icarus

The old man sat staring out towards the ocean. A rushing serenity that lapped at more than golden sandy shores, taking hold. The tranquil touch of such a view shifted the presence of buoyancy and natural limitations to a new understanding, a vivid clarification of life that may yet come to pass, even if that... Continue Reading →


Worn, I twisted like an old dead tree bowing to the wind, but kings that bend were no man, and similar words were not your mothers name. We were taxidermy lovers, stitched and stuffed so many times that even moth-eyed girls could not find the light when all our worlds were drained and left remorseful.... Continue Reading →


Lucky to be featured again on this fantastic blog!

Night Forest Cell of Radical Poets

Outlandish dawns grow interchangeable,

audacious benevolence with rosin morality.

Holy – anointed in revered stance – she devours

ecosphere with harsh notes that fracture

each lover’s glance.

On buckled knees, the grave taught anthropoids

their birthplace – claw and crawl –

carved into their corruptible atavistic carrion.

To the ancestral memory of their kin,

disturbed tradition lied against forgiving.

The longing – with only lies – kissed her lips.

Raven with apprehension, eyes gazed into the blind;

their righteous claim, “Obscurity chained debt

to existence.” In abandoned hands,

brutal truth; cold and damp.

Abyss! She calls “mother” into the pitch.

Spleen tingling obsession; phantasmagoric dance!

Abyss! She screams “desire” beyond callous jaws,

and tears them from the skulls of men

to build her wilting walls.

But bones are deceptive; fractal in their wake.

When placed within a living shell, the meat suit

comes to perform, and, the spirit, to placate.

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Sometimes I want to carve emotions From hollow bones, And never kiss Life again. Sometimes It seems the only answer To the throes of life. Where everyone is, And I am not. Where I am Always forgotten...

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