Adultery – Poetry


By J. A. Weymouth


Honour slips past vague eyes and is placed away from the window.

Red skirts wave mockingly through rigid movements as they catch each stair.

Her lips are not glass but flicker still beyond the chamber door.

A catch of cold breath rises in the air and falls onto the dust covered mirror.

Wooden sounds against the house reverberate thoroughly creating a cacophony of lust.

Hallowed emptiness lives still beyond layered silk.

And all this wanting is left with a pained stroke

gone once out of a knowing trust.

The Mask – Poetry

The Mask

By J. A. Weymouth


A string of thought that is corrosive and intrusive

Is known to be cruel and enlightening – wide eyed and open armed

There is a colour in its mouth – heavy

If heavy was a colour.


The mouth is thick with words that do not spit

Words in plenty and enchanting

But they hold back.

We forget their feeling – their depth of spirit.


The thought is still there.

It is carried barefoot/homeless over the shoulders as it sinks in

Deep within, straight through that beaten one

Until the alcohol slurps a new idea that then, then it becomes buried.


I was buried

In that dark open eye

Through those listless words

Inside a heavy box

Behind an unchanged mask

Always unchanged and forever.