Old House – Poetry

Old House

By J. A. Weymouth

These nights are a high inside old buildings as their mortality weakens

they wake to a sadness, a persistent depression of red oak, soaked

in laughter.

Laughter is the memory.

What childhood lies here?

Chalk litters the corner of two rooms.  Simple.

And the hallways are riddled with hooks and screws.

Stains of an aged dust outlines particular squares on its walls while

Mother draws back the curtain.

Sunlight is emitted as the house reawakens.

Only to realise it is empty.

But nothing is empty.

Memories are pressed like flower petals in a book.

The book is still here

remembering.

The Hand – Poetry

ImageThe Hand

By J. A. Weymouth

 

Faded/split into two.

Other side is conscious and knowing while one waits silently at the door.

 

Curious as ever,

Its eyes move rigid, pressed against untamed littlies.

Watchful, hateful, noiseless.

 

Finger tips encircle a crown as golden entrails seep outwards.

 

A word is rested,

sentimental even –

with festering purpose.

 

Circles ins and outs:

reflections of an ill-mannered past like pictures reminiscing velvet lies.

 

And I shudder.

 

Still shivering like a child who holds on.

Never alike to the become and the then before.

 

Always a child,

and never more.

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.