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Weston - Poet - Phoenix, Az, USA

Martin Weston

Phoenix, Az, USA




I'm an inventive and rhythmic writer. I listen to the beat of what I'm writing and try to avoid the use of cliches. I tend to write more abstract and figuratively, using contrasting word pictures to convey deeper meanings. I'm interested in crea


Held ~ Song for My Wife

Like beckoning winds

I am tossed,

Swirled about

as spring rain.

What have you done with my heart?

Cocooned and ravished

I am held by your love;

Like an unadorned pebble

in a bejeweled hand,

you have caught me.

Lot's Wife

If I were Lot's wife

I'm afraid I'd be salt.

The lures of sin have been cast and I have

yielded to the bate; time

after time

after time


What once seemed nasty has become my

deepest appetite,

with nothing to wash the palate clean.

I have been warned, judged,

chastised and cradled.

But in the haste of my exodus

I did not refrain from looking back.

I should have.

Some decisions are permanent.

The Thorn

Fraggiss and Moakley

were the best of friends,

kind and thoughtful to no end.

Till one day

a thorn passed between them both

and their hardened hearts would not bend.

The thorn had pierced them thoroughly

and in its exit it did leave

a hole no larger than a pin

but all engulfing it was within.

In time the hole would disappear

leaving the smallest faintest scar

but deep within the ravaged hearts of

Fraggiss and Moakley both hardened hard.

Days passed

weeks then months then years

all fell away with few tears.

Now old and stooped both would agree

Once best of friends

were Fraggiss and Moakley.

Before You


As a weathervane stilled

By a winters rain

So too was my heart.


Like a million star cast nights

When fleeting moments of passion

Shunned me

Even then

You beheld me.

In your presence

The fragrance of the rose lingers

And the lifeless soul


Yet again.

Song for Anna ~


and full of wonder

is my golden haired daughter.

My, how her laughter peels through my heart.

The gleam in her radiant smile.

Her precocious spirit.

I love to be with her.

Brimming with effervescent life

and recoiled by little;

A great comic actress in the making who

Makes Coca-Cola seem flat.

Her eyes are the color

of the sand and the sea

against a backdrop of brilliant marble white.

Tanned and rough

gentle and childish

is my golden haired daughter.

How I adore her.

Stolen Years (for Stephanie)

So many days alone

with songs unsung

and walks not taken.

I miss you.

With hair the color of a blazing field

of poppies and eyes

as an early morning sky.

I remember your beautiful face

every day

and long to see you.

Stolen years

have left me grey.

But from the moment I knew who you were

God placed a well of love

within my heart

so deep

its floor is


A Song for Jameson ~

A petros from my petra ~ a piece of who I am
and wish I could be.

You have outgrown the crib which held your infant body,
shot past the lofty heights of our pecan dining room table and
the strength of my shoulders only

to tower over me by 2 inches, though
my shoes will always be 1 size larger.

Your gold hair has long been replaced by a dark mass of swirling curls cropped short
while the rising pitch of your voice when excited betrays its natural baritone timber.
Your eyes are a wistful blue,
and the once soft cheeks now darkened by the beginnings of your beard.

Lincoln logs are now but a sweet memory.

Who will you become, my little giant?
Who’s shoes will you fill exuberantly
and what greatness awaits?

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