jim bellamy's songpages ~

SWEET CHILD (by jim bellamy)

reap now,sweet child; my rooms are spare,

whose scarce horizons cry you clear,

of strangest sermons; reap these years,

sweet child, whose eyes I mould.

In open mouths, these caverns spark

caves of canine devils; barks

strip of them, blind interludes,

vulture gullies, cloven hooves.

reap now, sweet child, o, sweet child, reap,

these babbling years; my rooms are neat,

whose scarlet ruled horizons cry

you clear of strangest sermons; DIE!

or reap & spear me, mother, child,

whose eyes are rolling cold,

in the open mouths; the cavern ducts,

where the boy in man blows old.

reap now, sweet child, reap now, & spear

these idylls; reap, my girl, since I,

am blind with you, your bark, your stare,

who mould of me this cloven lie.

...

the above brief poem achieved a poetry prize c/o The George Macbeth Youth Poetry Prize

1992/1993 in this form:-

SWHEAT CHILD

Reap now, swheat child; my rooms are spare
Whose scarce horizons cry you clear
Of manger volumes; reap these years,
Swheat child, whose eyes I mould.

In open mouths, these caverns stark
Caves of canine devils; barks
Strip of them blind interludes,
Vulture gullies, cloven hooves.

O, reap now, child, hoh, swheat child, reap
These babbelous years; my rooms are neat,
Whose scarlet ruled horizons cry
You clear of manger volumes/ DIE!

Or reap and spear me, mother, child,
Whose eyes are moling cold
In the open mouths; the cavern ducts,
Where the boy in mad blows old

O, reap now, child, hoh, swheat child, reap
These idylls; reap, my girl, since I
Am blind for you, your bark, your stare,
Who mould of me this cloven lie.

...

Share this page