further speed-written songs...

Jim Bellamy 2001

work in progress  Title: The Dying Game       1st draft poem then song-poem...


my draggy dead legs
rot under shrubbage
my head is rotted whilst ties
tidalise a blouse of knives
and my bed is underwater
and my soul is led to slaughter.

the door beside me was like you
and the radiance of the meter was
escaping from evil Rome
and my draggy legs
rot under lovage
my head is ripped when eyes
suck a petrol plane from devs.
in this smokily ill-connected room
i dream of deaths and youths
and ald sneezers under hands move
echoers of engines
aside from tears when
you and me and Lady Brighton
bollock up eerie women.

it is the first day i used a toy?
do you know of the boy who selled dirt to men
have you taken down the knickers of the city
have you climbed lakes under Leander
will you cum at precisely midnight?

i am the son of ald worldwide night-light

you know the directions
o the hedons are in both ears
the interhearsing dolly of heated tears
eases echoes into language.

do you know of the girl who lost curves
have you removed the kickers of pities
have you climbed drakes with Pomander?

will you come back home for easy rites?


o hand in hand, we ran aside a wishbone
and eyes drawl under prisms
o hand in hand, we ran inside false prisons
and eyes drool under fiction

i am the dreamer of all poisons
o i am the ward of tall foisons
i am the doctor of galled mind-cisterns

o hand in hand we ran aside a wisher
and eyes drawl under missions
and benders of Saul sunder grey gems

it was the advent of pure wind
devising salty air,
up a sea-street where we ran
up a billy can
and down into closed prayer.

the windows below us appeared
like brighteners of shrilled hair
awaiting the faces in a nunnery.

do you know the kid who sold pornography
have you used candles under cities
have you come to tonight where sculleries
stop breathing?


the bad idle streets iced idly over
down a  great river of Sound;
silence came like rain as roped night
windily scattered venom-heights

it was the sweaty winds
reciting fever;
up inside meat, as we ran,
barefooted dinners heaped rites.

do you know of the Jew who knew everything
dare you sell swards to blue swings
do you own the son of Love
Will you come back home for swept God?

we dared to shatter reason when stone
hurled books at baby diamond...

the mind when shaping is a vagina seeing,
a sex organ of ghosts.
Light in an eye corrupts senstitives as ropes
stirr cavvies into killings.

how thunderous it is to seize the sight of a mad girl

the mind whilst aching is a vagina dreaming,
a sex orifice of drugs.
Night in a mine eyes a raising colours when
molluscs embroidered into old mens
suck a snaily fucker with baying gentlemen
sun! sun! sun!!!
o to be pelted by the slits in the wind at last
floods a gooser with eaten bitumen.
a honey nose inside five hands
sirens into insidious silence
rainy grey-nude eyes turn away
and sadness drops,
from a shaded cup with lots
ramming powders down.

the itch appearing against two lips
shines like planets
that eyes take and drizzle round
a shattering of gannets

a sunlit sea of sloanes hordes arrows
through which a wide bride
solders after whipped odd wives

and we exchange minds with queens
and we take a ticker-tape when dreams
dollop kicks underground
and we exchange mines for sounds
o made greyish, a sky-written screen
dies away..

shoulders are humped with
large headed magmamity;
with winged certainty made bare as bodies
a scuttering of lakes rides
deep, deep down
a sea-light of pure stone breaks after
baked buddy arrows
and shoulders are hunched here;
laden, fallen, left to shift barrows
a fugue of a nose is turned up
a vinegar of lobes burned up
a width of lies hears herons when
skirted meadow-colours season
slumbered for daffodils,
left to rot under oceaned gemmed
a summer of washed stone wades
beneath cicada shade
and we exchange minds with queens.

no more no more for the dying game,
no more for mauds
no more for sheet pain
no more no more for the dying game.

one of us is a tugger cat made sane
and we will never look into midnight
we have our names by heart
we use our inner veins for sad light

no more no more for the dying game

where a prisoner yells, fay loss
chains a chair to a blind blued cross,
and we have our names by heart;
we use our inner stains for a rocked
budder of blind bone

no more no more for the dying game

and under my heap, a spot of flame
has come to thrill my head with trains,
and under dust, my bedhead moves
a shallow graveyard raised by stained

no more no more for the dying game
no more for mauds
no more for sheet pain
and we swing for night when dames
swallow up mad sea-christs
it is the wind returns
to fog in a distant glass
Your widows are up high
looking outside a facial ride
and a dog of dreams bites a blithe
baby gem;
mown down, left to rend
a dying nameless past?

the streets unfurl to yesterday
recollecting loved
sniffy hands that  hold to cups
and we dance, dance

no more no more for the dying game
no more for dugs
no more for sheet rain

no more no more for the dying game?
and a wrist will uncurl and pass
donny danger fingers in an vast
comedy of divinities and gold casks
and a fist will blow hot veins
no more no more of the dying game
no more no more for the lips of Spain
no more no more


some deleterous vinegars have repainted my bedroom
- and a caviar of ministers has fed a sainted bathroom

some deleterous strapped fingers have used a balloon
to bend my home with eighty carat glassrooms.

the streets of feeling dirty unroll under yesterday's
wishful hands of eating
-and a caviar of banisters has fallen under schools
and a bone of sloanes scatters
blonde pricks of blood that don a pissproud warper of
warming cats and bruised ermine.

inside death's house, the blinds have never been raised;
we float to the silver imagings of banishing graves
and the crowds in minds brazier after downy trades

no more no more of the dying game
no more for mauds
no more for sweet rain.

eh ...eh    this is the end...

jdb 5/1/2020


Title: A BELL OF THUNDER     1st draft poem then song-poem...


having being hanged by pockets,
all of my clothes have been
cycled furiously through a hat's dream.
soon, red polish will rock for tussocks
and a bell of thunder must cry.

ah, by the sweat of a son, mammas
will surely sing loud vegetate hosannas
and, like a pickled wind, clouds of eyes
must stop.
we may well froth with fruited rot
we may well darken a sea of cots
we may well harken a lea of socks
but we are dressing too well now


birdies drink for trees.
The moon is a little mind
over here, were hills
fill a secret flagon.

The air is as old patience,
the flyways melt for wagons
and streetlights burn.

i played dead when i wanted
ultimate peace.

i was fuelled by keen dust and i wanted fear to
wipe peaceful feet on a chair yet
then i was closed in robes
and i took them off and then saw troves
caning love with deaths
and night fell
and i chatted with dolly cells.

i am in deeply love with everything,
inside of me, a beautiful grave must spin
dizzy death's dimples.
i was fuelled by mean dust and i wanted tears to
swipe midlife from a bent candle?


babies drip from blue reeds.
The sun is a fingertip
drawn over a naked sea;
dawn, as fast as hot milk,
files guns with the sky's trip.
the prayer of air is touch-cold.
gassed hair burns like an ice-cubed
street of ice-dreams.
when the water is turned off
bright cars will bang like moths.

one keen girl in a compress leads the sunned souls where
a drop of blinde blood pays for t rex as a simmer's mister
moves, just like the moon, between slot machines and Easter
and a vast distorted handy creature becomes
alike to a burthened butterfly
but the skies snips winged cloud
but the slips of slapped slits cream behind buildings
birds drop dead. the air is so cold it is almost breeding.
and a keen girl in a head-press leads the carparks under
fazy ferime pedestrianised dolly fingers

one keen girl in a compress heads Medusa as worm-hair
succours cellves from a glassy dust-room...

each and every sandal in the lud-heat is bearded
wandering after

somewhere under mites, a blued bad father
appears stabbed to death
by shoe-corners

have we forgottem the paled plans we made for
our own dreamy sky-ward
o have the falons of footsteps hollow walks for
darkness and the loaves of hoards?

each and every sandal in the blood-seat is bearded
sundering after

somewhere, we will find ourcellves atoned by a
radio in a radiant classroom.

tawny swansongs cycle furiously around rain
among crowed clouds turned hideously back
against cupped legs and dolly humans.

ah all of my faces
having haplessly crammed down a song
now froth and floam just like visual ponds
ah ah ah;

when we clap a glove about a son then
one billion lives may well soften after
a polish unfound in a feline virgin;
old walls rail
old stalls wail

tawny swansongs cycle furiously around rain
amongst crowded towers turned from paned
windowed sally widowers.
sooner or later, hair will rinse sunlife and
giddy bulbous suds will cusp a river-hand

my limbs may well launch armies,
my mouths, screwed, may eat hot
acres of rotted summer families.

o once fish on the side has shops
drilling in a seaside raised from copped
drivellers where red loss
ends alone.

i hated my childhood head,
my rotting head blew away cheeks
o my limbs may well launch armies
my mien, moved, lunched by rabies.
when i'll play very old, decent hair
may well cut a conference pear with
nostrilled dementia made cruel as
camaled scatty grime and hit glass?


we exchanged minds with a dove queen

the cellar of our faces crashes under space and
bursts into chemical fog
all over the city, where a masser for an island
hissed across red ice, just like the woken moon

we exchanged minds with a dove queen

the colours up ahead revolve under compress
i lash a bed to wine
and only gold remains naked underwaters
and a cellar of faces crashes for bright warders
i hate my bed
my filthy rocking bed
which may never easily fall
like any regent caul.
harshness of mooneyed mad drawls ignites
a wheel of pashing pushing King Dervishes
ahh one body feeds scandals
ahh one lady feeds off night
& a babby hushes for extortionate bright

candly weddings,,


my draggy dead legs
rot under shrubbage
my head is rotted whilst ties
tidalise a blouse of knives
and my bed is underwater
and my soul is led to slaughter.

the door beside me was like you
and the radiance of the meter was
escaping from evil Rome
and my draggy legs
rot under loveage
my head is ripped when eyes
suck a petrol plane from spies
in this smokily ill-connected room
i dream of deaths and youths
and a sneezers under hands move
echoers of engines
aside from tears when
you and me and Lady Brighton
bollock up eerie women,
it is the first day i used a toy!
jdb 4/1/2020


TITLE: NUDE TRIGGERS             work in progress  1st draft poem then song-poem


an anniversary of pure fire may well
burn up, just like hell
o, a figure under rolled bells must
don nude triggers
when once we held times, then
doggy dusters heard a vast fen
fanning dolls with killers
an anniversary of pure fire swells
up, up,.
the bellied bile-heavy dancers ballet
heaps a spawny ball-room's valleys
o a don of spermy stalls
snaps a radio wall
once, aside of, a rider of brollies
broke a bedded tongue
lo, belicose style-heavy heapers
stain floors with body-brawls
ah    we collide with tapshoes
ah     we devise dead dance-blues?
stocked up with indolent caned gravies
eyes, sucked, nurse ignorant caved babies
&, sun-soused, we dance aside rubies
&, cum-dowsed, we lance under doobies
once a day, as we crash, we see curves
spire-blessing bladderers of red perves
pleading after hills of pure birds
stocked up with indolent caned gravies
eyes, mucked, nurse obits under levvies
an anniversay of pure fire will forever
raise a rosy farmer for naked wheaty weather
la. a bone of lice
stinks like lost christs
o   an anniversary of pure fire will sever
romanic cousins from filthy prison-lights
once aside gloom, my eyes crossed night
ah, a boner in a room deafens grey sight
o, a sea of coded killlers
moon-create saviours with handled mirrors
an anniversary of pure fire will forever
raise a rosy farmer for naked corn-pleasure
leisure seekers snap a hedon-gun as fannies
wallop blue tails with samphires
o, pleasure peckers palp a sun's gold fairies
& a burned naked death
sea-stabs salty sauce-deaths
I will come home one day to find dairies
swilling unigates from dirty cream-eyries
& a milky eagle in a phone
telephones sex when we are all alone
leisure seekers snap a hedon-gun as babies
bounce down a cranny cunny candle
la     easy colliders must cut child-killers
la      easy dun saviours must cut
 eaten green meat...
 eyes drink spleen & shut
as we pinion plashy dummies then we rock
death's drinking murder-seasons
o we splay easy mummies as we wind rot
underneath castlers whose coded treason
scatters dolly veins
a lady of drunk drains drops aitches
la, a biddy under spunk lops red mazes
& a bay of bloody trains
dreams of drowning... O, as we are slaved
then a car of midnight's faces
cums fast back home where eaten graves
sodomise the fields of tomorrow's trades.
as we pinion plashy dummies then we rock
death's drinking easy gum-clocks
wow, what with a pearly necklace aroundabout
rondlays of pure fire
i will face in to a petrol enemy
o  wow, what with an early sex-space shouting
then a family of pure fire
rotates around a bread-crust
once, as we played for pus, then we shut
all doors & all dreams
o   a vase of hands layers dogs with duck
& we bend wraps under screens
wow, what with a pearly necklace aroundabout
roundalays of pure tyres
i will show a pet kids to a petrol melody
eyes inside eyes ease a cocker under baby
 & bended city wives seize a thunder-crazy
cradle bomb
o we will surely take haylong families where
naked gabby gobsters
dream of lady-pin-cures
o we will surely take haylong families where
naked bodied bursters
must gush from thunder-walkers
la a bended bay-burn brags after docored
daughter claves
la a spended hay-perm pushes after graves
o we will surely take haylong families where
naked doddy pornstars
drop sex aitches
& a greeny salt-bishop who appears snared
drinks from dirty faces
the idols of the dark dine on ships & hair
stinks of sweets..
o will surely take haylong families where
aching ruby star-air
strums a splayed guitar-prayer
la, we fall behind as windows under times
spirit stalled scissor cosines
these days when we study crime then
we have to summon sex-rhymes when
grey piggers push plums under old gems
idolent pharoahs push a pyramid-mine
where, tombed, hush heats river-wine
& cars crawl behind villages: we whine
& when mixed up with poos & porter
then we lay waste to the moon
oh as deaths rip up grey nudes then
we answer back to a front room?
a tonsured furnace of spunk spoons
sugar-graves to ashen waxy wounds
& we are mixing up
bruised lardy platters which shut
& when messed up by naked guts
then we board a bed-train
& we hiss for pores & we strain
all eyes, all sluts
a tonguy spind face rots stains,-
 salt-eloquence moves under brains
jdb 27 dec 2019
TITLE: Garlands in America       1st draft poem then song-poem
garlands in America serve breakfasts to Africa
o jazzy ivies storm olden leaders
&, lamped, we see lights cramming old levers
where, knocked, a knotted skull heaps
grey clocks inside penile dust-jeeps.
the rodeo of a rude radio rams scissors when
a worm in the thighs
slices Medusa with lousy wormy hides
& we cut a mirror when a body under men
leads a waxen weeper to chappy children
garlands in America serve dinners to genius
la, a human God has darkness for his genius
o, a lap of Loves
lauds empired brogues with easy genius.
the radio of a nude shadow casts oestrogen
adown black tides when
idiot racists ram cakers inside sizzle-dens
the dunny dark nights where i used a scandal
wallops me withe major wives
o, a scrapper of rites ignites brides
&, lashed to burned knees, walkers of knives
needle ghosts with cat-kids
once, as we earned figs, then we loosened
lazy minds with dogs of feline pores
& we hissed across green ice as grey wards
lapped a poppy-prison from shavers
the dunny dark nights where i used an angel
must widen wool with woven ingles
oh, a bone in a moll hardens gangster cradles
oh, a sloane of soft gulls
wallops comfortable carrion........Laaa
we listened to a pinnace which sank into
fast fairied fallowed waters
lo, we caressed a harness as we sank into
fast dairied cocoa
& a bunch of bowers breaks inside
dunny skies where radioed blind wives
washed roasted sizzler hair
the dunny dark nights where i used dirt
dangles my bandage underneath hurt
green junkers of rats & batty bled pert
baddy perches
we listened to a pinnace which sank into
fast daisied callowed waters
lo, a bed of balms bodies flower-nudes
la, a shed of farms bounces green ooze
& eyes under eyes will
swallow death when beds on the hill
sacrifice bees to sizzzlers inside mills
o where violet river lights lend tears to the wind
then a splash of dillies
leap a swept crag...  O. a binary of pure fire
heats a lipped scrag  &, under demure fear,
igniters of tomorrow's poison catch factories
& a bone of pure wine
hisses across dully brine
i where violet river lights lend fears to four winds
then a coffin of coffees
crusades for easy bodies
ah, a codded rider of dark headed ladies spins
coda caves with instant instinctive black hymns
where once we grasp to glass then rolled gyms
dream for nuts & raisins
ahh  a rat of slutted seasons
spreads breaded silk upon butter-budded spind
hollow sin.
the sinners under cinnamon hide wafers where
ideal icy fiingers push floss into hair
oh where one manx flavas heap death's prayer
then sinners under cinnamon jump self-snared
body rivers where blonde pigs flow
where a doctored family fears a mons-crow
then a bay of mammaries rams a mind-slowed
city of apes & jewelry
& the hidden classes of the dammed see wode
picking after deaths where a radio ramrose
tunes in to anal studio..
the spinners under cinnamon wives weave air
outside-in the phlanges of a daughter's dun dream-
ah  the abusers of gentlemen's chairs
slash a baby beaver about the head & chest
O   a radical free monkey leaps against deaths
O   a freed lady under money heats salt decks
& a bidder of banister binoculars
holds a wedded shaft to a dizzy cradle wreck
studders who study sex will slice grey necks
Copyright JDB DEC 19TH 2019
TITLE: A Vanishing      work in progress      1st draft poem then song-poem...
 the blue seizure of a fitted stilled mind
legitimises a cab of lost souls
the red hill at the foot of the stairs strolls
up, up, up
and a school for mendicants awaits
glued dolls and tea-cups.

my old naked woman came from lakes
and the blue seizure of a fitted stelled mind
legitimises a lab of croft sea-spines

inclinations loosen daggerers under wine
and hot Paris slinks inside old London
and we raise cities from masked mime?

because a trillionaire has expensive eyes
because a sea of spent grass
pays for lies
because a street of rich hair heeds glass
because of deeds, we will seize wives
the bluest gull we ever saw has tides
star-coating a demon lover,
reddened, coated like a tongued tether
because a trillionaire has expensive tribes
because a sea of rent masses
pays for bodies
because de streets feel dirty
we will supper for cogs and burn
deadening baby Hades
pyscho-pathology has our brains wired.

oh what we bore from hell's breasts
flumoxes inside a raw rat's feral sex
oh we slide for grain
oh we listen to the rain
and because we listen then we must
trust the dead with old pain.

if i had the time i would understood
the students on the hills
o what we have formed from love
must shatter like a true rainbow
philosophies of the killed hear God
grappling with lonesome highways
and a bed of boats
sails for the killed
o what we have born from hell's grave
will storm the choked
vein of rivers?
o i shall try to cry for hills and vales
o i will study lies
and when i come down, i will
raise a bed of signets from sails
and five fingers burn
and nine mirrors learn to yearn for
vinegar and salt-stores
oh oh

the sullen stripes of the old wall
show a sea of Downs,
sharpening up a sea town as molls
spring up from demons
o what we have born from hell
will sup a titty cup with dead cells
writhing in the dark
and we must listen to a red park?


my uncle from pan america
seeks conquests after wine
o a sea of lungs chokes for red litter
o a bin of binoculars
rams a foc'sle where coded livers
catch a vast cab to roller knickers
a coming of psychotics hears lovers
underneath a sea of failed mummas
and my uncle from pan america
seeks contests after minds
because we are burned, we must
dig soft souls with
leg-leaded petrol kids
because we swim trees we must
congratulate a sea of mines
i shall try to exfoliate a goddess
i shall fly for closed gates
o a bed of lights marries ageless
solar city suns
and we are borne above the rain
and we are born to live again
, la la la..

as far as i know, we have found
a golden station undeneath the ground
as far as eyes flow, we have made
a giddy bud of nations
bud out for fast flowers when graves
run, run, run

the red hill of a beggared school
carries pylons where broken rules
shatter, just like the sun.

and we shiver as we shake and we
move blind eyes to see?

one of you is a latent dreamer
one of us is a patent sea of killers
o my feet rock the ground
o red sleep has me seizing mirrors

in the evening, parrots seek
verbal jazz
and one of you is a latent killer
and i am fed to nooses when
coded river mindists end
closed gems

immense skies fade like men
intense wives lay gay vitamins
and we dabble after old cars
and we ravel unto coded Mars

loving has to answer to lovers
lying has to answer to liars
diamate has to fellow old fires

a wheatfield vanishes
a soft yield punishes
old neckties
a minefield famishes
a sea of harnesses
and old lies
wallop dust
getting home, wives
gritting bone, eyes
we bite for sirens
we spike spires
and we dance
never again shall
dreams suit
dolls and boots
the needle-light
pierces midnight
and we burn

where the gaoler's key is lost
where the failures of deaths rot
where the killers of highways rock
then we learn of father
you will never earn the weather
we will never leap from carnality
and a meadow in a wall
will summon parks from families
because we are killed.

where the prisoner's yell stops
where the miners of sex drop
when a lynx inside a rider
collides with cycled old grot
then we will hold a party?

you will never earn the weather
we will never leap from fataliies
and a shadow in a stall
will summon sex from old drawl
masqueraded sirens wring
blue breads and sugared swings
and we listen to a merry ball
and we dance down de halls
these days, in the evening, dolls
supper for darkening cakestalls
..la la laaah


one of us is a mayoress raised from nudes
one of us has no life to celebrate or move
o as we slide silently
across a dirty freeway where death's family
photographs the dark
we hiss across the ice in a lost blue park
and we kiss de silence O
and we risk sex for violence
what if out hands were hammered from snow
what of old yams were
what for us then but the burning of the tears
what for ghosts then
but the yearning of scrammed cold women?
jack and a failure toss coins from cosines
mac and a feather part lips with gold mines
one of us is peppered with spools of grass
one of us is tapered
with keen wall-risen parties of papered
body screens
and we lease a lonely flyway to dreams
i spiral up the dark ears of the fleeced west wind
and loosen my grey neckties
and one of us has a saint for a mind..


these sad days, when my foot rocks inside my heart,
i seize the dead and cry all year
these sad days, where my basketfuls heed tears
and my lady love has died,
i ride across a lonesome screen and listen to
darksome rivers of dust and dried
pigeon brides
and these sad days, i arise from the dark to hear
a lonesome freeway leading us inside hot fear

one of you is a made-up digger
one of us is a jaded slut whose salt-shiver
livens dogs with spectrums
these sad days, when my boot knocks my heart
then i kick away from
mossed dust as a pier of guns shoots the sun
and a bed of basques joins the masques
and cupped bread
dangles brickhouses outside burns and sheds
we scale a wall of demure Downs as devs
drool inside a pavement of purified beds
and eyes hiss across a furrowed sea-spread,-
endlessness outlives a blind party as plebs
urninate inside a poppy
and we arise from suspensive rich bodies
and we glint after softness
ahh...dukers of severed darkness head
far west where blown angels swing
and we are crowned with honey skins
o as we unravel down life's lonesome byway
o as we snap the town
then a bud of ice will leap from stoned days
and we heed a mission under hot graves
because we have arisen from an arch
because we have eaten from a cart
because, as we rode, we fell too sleep Oh
then we must dream of purple naves
and a bud of blinds will clasp the soul
and a sud of minds will hear the cold
and a bind of rivers must
swallow blorted killers with doll-dust
a boy in a bugged body-train will suss
a museumed masquerade of spilt trust
and a van of christs will
suckle babies from a sea of lost hills
a bluesday kiss of sun hardens lust
a soft spray of lips
softens gulls with swift rosehips
and a sea of flowers weeps after
canyons of curvy feline laughter....

eyes are trained upon soft silk
minds are veined inside hard milk
and we drag dimes for english hens
and we drink from vines of murder
and we ravel into funeral thunder.
and because we listen to women
we shall siren after venal disaster..

the crow has a star to feel
the rose has a car to deal.. and
ashes summon ashes where sand
startles bees with carmine brigands

ahh ahh uh uh uhhh

blood-red tangerines peal
bandaged cotton-reels..

jdb 15/01/2020..