some poems in response to the poetry of Thomas Stearns Eliot

photo of the late great genius poet-author-playwright Thomas Stearns Eliot.

 these poems by James Edward David Bellamy are dedicated to the utmost poetical genius of T.S. Eliot, in full Thomas Stearns Eliot,(born September 26, 1888, St. Louis, Missouri, U.S.—died January 4, 1965, London, England), a great American-English poet, playwright, literary critic, and editor, T.S. Eliot is recognised as one of the greatest modernist authors.


Pugs & Britain (an extract)

Inside this bleak office, we were readied with
Melodious paperwork
O and the shied apple I hurl at hissed
Nude windows
Hits the dust and dies.
O, fierce tides pass. Then, one blurred day,
We see a desolate tattered sanded moon
And, never now until four winds
Have written poems for Genius
Will cold men share heinous claves with
Hot boards and bibbed bins.
The years yanked me westward
O, the tears rankled after yapping yobs
And the teeny tears of soft front-room
Heat hatred in a cocoa pan.
I will never escape bright peace, and I won’t
Ensupper dates with fruity dreams
And, when closed, a cool net of vans
Source skies with signal signums.
As a local soldier disappears, then hands
Must clasp together.
She swings had jammed bag. Local fathers swarm
Sotto spaces
And dweebs dig love’s banged storms.
This erse is born from children. Foetal fellas form
Undulating waves where
Xmas under Easter hangs silence from
Pugs and Britain.
Cheap, easy wandering lies hang around
Mad forgotten xmas towns
And, crept from candles, a stairway surrounds
A city’s Perspex
And a rose underneath shot rails must
Cut forgotten smiles with a skinned sussed
Tear-expansive reject.
Creased up butcheries crave meaty dust,
Deceased sluts
Die where simple whored lust
Raps on history’s knuckles.
Hatred for a killer gets up love’s faces
And keen dogs bark Amen!
O come under naked trains, we heard a loud girl
Succouring her own fast-travelled murder and
As an edible green law
Cuts vegetates from corridors, then rude worlds
May well doctor danged drugs and cat-crammed
Fierce bolts of hail.
Every single day, I always knew about us
And the sun against then rain cuts swelled dust
And the sadness of love lives in a
Poet’s tree where closed kind lust
Delves for naked sails.
Oh, let this be the swift and sotted answer
For laden dips and dogs
Lo, let the answer to the vacant dead
Run cities out of bed. Uh, false cred
Embitters gaoled gilt minds.
And we cum under naked trains.
O men in female minds must forever
Seek out hairy sex weather. The pinion in a fast pile
Drinks from debs as drooled dunned bad flavour
Sees things where more impassable city Lords
Awake, awake.
An agnostic daughter will dazzle after God,
A sex-vivid doctor will cut God
Where rain guts heaven’s impossible face.
I dare not expend a keen life, but I will shape
Sad deaths from idle waters; and the space I take
Digs daffodils for drunken vines.
This very night to come, eyes must city-cape
Dolled trains and careering buses
And, ah, we will travel under buses
And never dream again of god
Ah- god’s an Ape?
A crux of a funereal min star-lights roads to
Sex punishment-
A dolt in a dram shoots sexed sleuths
And, itemised by a glans, a penile fist
Knocks on heaven’s forever forgotten kiss.
Bad giant fields appear lost in dirt, and old mist
Mangles bad birds with
Naughty night-long shadowy sluicing scent
And the carriage in a timed cradle
Rocks a rose with sweetening kids.
As a nuance of verbal pepper pees on pigs
Then pugged petalled cunt trees
Will drag a net around an earth of red fleas.
My true bared bald hands, when utterly incompetent
Cuts a crushy car from
Blorted vans and engine-spent
Fallen flyways where five eager guns
Feed twelve fairy thumbs
Inside blown bonnets and driven scent

A bluesy blithe lady lavender perfumes a son’s
Keen farewell to a lost baby, and, cock-spent,
Bruising avenues of senseless drums
Hires fierce thrummed inconsequent
Loaded labile toothed
Horsed humdrum haltered heebeejeebees.
A creepie countess in a city town snaps
Solvent urbane cruises, and eyes under bodies
Interfuse fast language with the diddies
Of pain-wards.
Outside, when I hear a hydrant crash, then daddies
Appear defective in dilating dreams,
Far down, when I peer into wept ash, then mammies
Star-bind bed things within
Prisoning pushing porn-cars. O see how the loaded dead
Marry whips to wynds.....
jdb 1999
ISLE OFSIN (by jim Bellamy)
(after TS Eliot)

As my eyes turn to a fairy screen, then
Missing old lies burn like a dream
And, lo, lone night burns like women as veiled shows in a dial
Scream of Deadly Isle
And the boats should change when sickness heals the dead
And the spatial smile
Rocks, rocks, rocks….
as my eyes turn to a fairy screen, then
hissing cold lives storm kids and veined clocks
I turn to go but my head hears sound
Lo, I summon snow but my minds burn, and a dilly wasteground
Dams dogs with rivers
Ivories drink from ebonies, and webbed drummers feel
Fast veins and bald bodies
Sss endless shrinks hear dromedaries cutting weals
And my love gives in to a
Colour mind
As my eyes turn to a fairy screen
I learn just what the pharaohs mean, and sky sees cars
And sex cuts a spun wind
And gods crusade for pigs and hymns
I espy laden gardens crying for hot rain?
The day when I met a mad maid then I swam for
Amazing children
Lo, the night when I met cold graves then I span for
Impossible women
And the glib guise of god gobbles hallowed war
And the slid mind of god wobbles after
Rooms of pure laughter
And, ho,
In the moon the women come and go
Talking of Michael Miccalo
And this sunned stunned day where I hear a rose
Glowing, then
Bad cars will roar for rotted manacled gun-clothed
Dolly sirens
Pushing belly men drag dogs
Kissing scissor skin cuts robed loss, and blue orisons
Sweat for grinded teased loves
The high moon plays dead?
As I summon pealed water, then heels on the move
Dress up in purple skein
As I suffer enhearsed daughters
Then soft seals sunder bullets and hissed water
The dogs under fire cum for thunder, and trains
Trip, trip
In the room, shawled alarms eat blued cars where
Starred spoons measure prayer
And the doctors of Dom Daniel dream upstairs
And the women speak of bulls and snares.

Budders bind cunt to coconuts
Ha, fathers find junk, and lidded soaped sluts
Suck, suck, suck
In a green sun, we will hear a fairy fuck
in dreamt guns, we hear lady smut
wedding whips to drowned
city eels
the dogs outdoors call for sealed drips
the kids in stores
spend lost pennies, and quaffed lips
strip hot slips
and in the room, the women come and go
speaking of Michael Indigo

------the pigs of time tickle god’s ribs
The kids of time fade for cribbed
City ashes
And ashes cry, cry,
And flashes reap wide wives, and, under a Sunday show
Glib crowds ride
Active Rome, and aromatic horsed guns shoot crows
The dolts of the livid dead
Dam drams with shaved heads – lo
The colts of the ridden dead
Dam clams with fished beds, and sentinels of mermen
Carry noosed clam-shells where
Ashes hoop despising mamma air
And sun gets in our hair

Where the embers of mermaids swell
Then insidious lovers will bury fish in seashells
Where the saviours of gold graves shut hell
Then insidious fathers will bury grey cells
And the hand hanged from the wall
Hammers skies into aviaries
The pealed pistoling palps of a dead hall
Suffer lips and flowers.
The droning spectres in a caul
Cut breasts and cunt
The seizing minute of an hour cuts bread dolls
And miniature scissor spunk
Digs veins where lanes burn
Under napes, a snickering neck hears the moon’s limit
Lashing lords to urns,
Under snakes, a sickening neck hears the sun’s planet
Crashing, crashing
Eh, where old samphire stews, the febrile sea weed
Will hear sex clashing for
Dolls and fathers
Oh, we will suffer sex silk until the very end,
Laaa we shall lead light to laughter as mad gay friends
Ahh we will suffer swirled milks as the sun’s rend
Radios droll skulls
Filled with Dettol, a serial sun robber rubs pinned
Gabbed bodies
Lay shrilled, a settee in a red gun snubs sex limbed
Hocus babies
And in the room the women come and go
Speaking of Michael Buffalo.
The slain scathed stars of sex fail to fall, sss,
The veiny vast red cars of death concertina, and, under fists,
Fowled bobbies bug
Impossible fires
We measure our cries with curling tongs
We pleasure our lies with baking tongues, and, laaaa,
Eyes under plies piss for
Cocoas and milk wards.
As the veiled dolls of elves succour eyes
Then sailed wicked lies
Lam lyons with heated gardens as spread tides
Rage after blazed school-ties
And the bended molls of elves succour wide
Wizening purblind snow-drilled sea cries
And we treasure molten grass
In the rooms the children come and go
Weeping for saint Antonio
In the rooms, the chicken come and flow from
Pearled egged rain
Rainbowed razors rasp!!!
The daggering fasting father men I once saw in a
False hill has a female beard
O- sundering, as lisping grey tears ride, then old war
Whispers and whimpers
La the meadowings of crying lovers sire a green tear when
Crying members mocked
Old turnstiles,
Ahhh this isle of sin topples weird angular angels
Ahhh this smile of women
Trickles, and loaded nipples see
Draining seashores lamming droned drowned bees
In the wounded high trees
A banged bound blithe dolled city
Dreams of daisy pie, and mental molls plait hair as rabies
Rocks for dog Christ
In the tomb, sold men come and go
In a salt wound, cold hens lunge and crow for
Dilly demons.
In the bar, with elvis crying, I thought I saw death die
the rollocking romancers of the killed must
sweat rock as sexed coaxed dick dusts dribble after
body becks and blown lusts
and in the bar, with elvis dying, I thought I saw death writhe-
a feisty face of pigs grunts for nudes
a lacy saucerful hunts for keen dressed fools
and the cages under cunt
career where slapped sawn spunk spoons
dig for jelly dunes…
wounded wolverines weep for junk
endstopped salt tureens feed off hunched
notched sea ropers,
and a rude merman strides blanked blue tides
and we sail for lost mamma as flat earth
jdb 2009
(a pop-song rewrite of T.S. Eliot's
world-famous poem) by jim bellamy

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against a winter's sky,
Like a patient etherised upon a table,
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering hectoring retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap motels
Let us go then, you and I,
When evening is spread in a winter's eye.
Let us go through half-deserted streets,
The muttering hectoring retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap motels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.
Let us go, let us go
And indeed there will be times
For the yellow smoke that slides the streets
Rubs its backs upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time,
To bare a face to the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a plastic plate:
Time for you and time for me;
Time for you and time to see
And time yet for one hundred indecisions,
And for one hundred visions and televisions
Before the scaling of a gallow tree
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald-spot in the middle of my hair
(They will say: ‘How his hair is grown from air"
All the women say: ‘How his hair is grown from air"
Do I dare or do i dare
Do I dare to care
do i dare to climb the stair?!
* O
My car
sex dust
-i am on the bust
my keen car rusts
and mean kinema sweats lust,.
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse
In a minute, there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will enhearse
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
Do I dare disturb a lunatic hearse?
ohhh, Viol?!.
For I have known them all already, known them all,
Have known the ev'nings, mornings, afternoons,
And I have known the eyes already, known them all,
The eyes that fix you in a formulated grave
And when I am formed, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Sex writhes
And lightning entertains
Violation's zimmer-frame
My car
sex dust
i am on the bust
my keen car rusts
and mean kinema sweats lust
Arms that lie along a table or wrap around a shawl
Are not here at all
And how should I presume?
And how should I begin to forgive?
Alabaster moonshine
Soothes my sprig
ah, ooo,
Do I dare or do i dare
Do I dare to care
do i dare to climb the stair?!
Shall I say I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the sleep
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves,
Oh, Goodbye sweet love
laid God, help me?
uh ho...
And the afternoon, the ev'ning, sleep so peacefully
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep…tired…Death malingers
Stretched on the floor, aside you and me
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force a rape to Isis
And, in short, I am afraid:
And, in short, I am sun-laid
Fuck Fuck Fuck
Kill Kill Kill
Thrill Thrill Thrill
and rides live for
* aha
My car
sex dust
-i am on the bust
my keen car rusts
and mean kinema sweats lust
Would it have been worth while
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, Lo!

Othello was
Masked Mario
`Marello was a pumis
My car
sex dust
- i am on the bust
my keen car rusts
and mean kinema sweats lust,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me,
Should I, after cakes and scalding tea
Have the strength to force the moment to its aces
I am no prophet - and here’s no great matter
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And in short, I am
and in short i am afraid
Othello snipes
And the seas burn, burn, burn *
I grow old…I grow old…
yes, yes, i grow cold
uh i grow old..i grow cold
Here there are sausage thumbs
And surrealist pictures
Hanging from four walls
Here there are sausage sons
And woman painting dentures
Inside the daughter of a wax scroll
Lightning delves for
A thunderflash
Seeks space
Oh! come see the sleeve around Christ's face?
Oh, do cum
O- do use a staplegun?
I do not think that mermen will sing for me
I have seen them riding seawards on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown black
When the wind blows the water...
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweeds red and brown
Till human voices wake us,-
la let's get out of here and raid the town,
We drive christ back home?
My car
sex dust
-i am on the bus
my keen car rusts
and mean kinema sweats lust
Dolls drool, drool, drool
skulls rule, rule, rule

jdb 2009

c/o meths into cocoa
As shrilled stilled hills dam domed wives
Then baity filled stills
Wind down to midnight’s lies
And, o, as radio sadness listens to lives
Then baited billers will
Kill love’s grapes
Millers under jammers jack jeered jive
, killers under hangers
Lam tear dealt dogs and gibed
Godded sunned mirrors
Ooo a picker under fissures blame tissues for
Bags and stilettoes
The rappers of reason ram poet trees down
A city under leaves
the swingers of treason ram poetry as sound
shapes men from clowns
under a soft bowl, we suffer doled ground
slain allotments
and, o, men and halters heal over as towns
bruised Downs…
Eyes deep within surrenders to salty loud
Cunt latches
And bled bods turn
Away from
Bound sea burns.
O as a sea burned bodice breaks
Girl snakes, then
Odes to leas must finger dopey women
And, wailing hides cut a spade when children
Will rock rode races to sleep
O, as a seized sea falls from taste, then meat
Trumpets after glowed sleet
And men and mind minge must
Vault valleys and green lust
I will halve my laughter, uh!
Ides ride to snapped
Slicing sneezed butter.
Suffering furled sleep, a bled boy Taurus
Must delve false cat arenas
O as muffled sex wheat rams a dead chorus
Then swung apes must
Watch our arenas jacked by cat musk
And, sss, underneath draped soft lust
A widening deck of wed wasps
Rams an ironed buddy who daren’t
Suck salts or jams…
Here, there is a vast vale to behold
Mm, I cut a caste
Saline scissors slash a pink vein under
Sweet rammed ice
when once a pig of light sunders
eyes and shite
then saline scrapers suck green raves under
dogged dunes and
a sea of rolling kites
and cats in our hair must don drips where Christs
listen to sex miked
swung sung bummed
wide girl lice
we enter into booths as darling phantoms hear father
wedded to a funeral liar
ahh as palmed picks prise a desolate spade from fire
then men will baptise their crooked fingers inside an
American funeral pyre…
We hire from head and foot
Then blonde brined blood boot
And, with bootless cries, a car’s root
Way, way down
False roads and the bodies…
O as a false field is killed, then a blonde baby
Tie-dyes dills and ashes
Sss as a faked yield dies, then a hot dark lady
Rams down her city clashes
Empires under dust drag drapes, and mashes
Meld a mental moon’s
Cats and rashes
There is a dead hill nearby that cusks cold cashes
And we will ravel where
Delved bods bend riders and bad bared
Vampire sea prayer…
A wed sail is dropped
, a red grail is locked
And old fingers are shared.
Oo we shall clasp mad glass inside tawny sex towel
Ss we will suffer wine as bold banged owl
Digs dusts with drilled hair
Ahh as wound flava forces genes to cry, then greedy glares
Lap locks from swayed salt snares
As a granite lasher lays kings with wives, then genoas
Must laden moors with slapped sheet sheep
And, lo, where once a glasser grazes springs
Then fast fierce fazes fizz for mills and loud meat
Here, atoned by sloes a balked bed on a clifftop
Glides where fallen suicidal lapped rock rots
Veins and vases
And I will lift life’s Isis as a bled bine cuts
Ropes and glasses
Vast men move and roped mines melt
Like a bright pelt.
As a vastly vamped vaginal tomb climbs for diamond war
Then we will put an end to
City kids where a baby under shoes
Slaps salts from blinds and oozed
Neon wines
, as man and mad messy mod minds
Think of pearls and plies, then city crimes
Will succour cocks and deep dined
Cutter clocks
There is perhaps a failed tale which smells of
Docked dives and rocked
Yellow drums
And cochlea is pierced when a sea of blurred gods
Dives for angled angels
Closing keen Herod lays waste to his own
,disposing green sex suds soak inside bathed bone
And a gill of ground stoned cadavers
Have droned caddis
And the lady moon melds mods with Paris
And we have Paris in London.
As gins under dives dream of drunken sea wives
Then, rolled, eyes of cream
Cram blind tongues where flickering screens
Scream for minds and mad dreams
I will extemporise a poet scream and,
As a seared salt sky sweetens uncle Sam
Then slithering toad tribes
Squirm under hands and hives
As gems under knives grip to gulls, and where
A city angel flitters after prayer,
Then a tyranny of tigons must lay after
Lolled rills and neon laughter
Here, in a limed void, sadness snares
Deadliness and soupy swayed push chairs
And a limitless lay of sound
Sucks sleep from a wasteground-
above the keen allotments, wastelands assault
beaned bolls and fast potatoes.
The swift thwack of a desolate grave grinds grist as
Shrill and maiming faces fade inside foods and glass
this shivering granite clave
carries oak to stoned elms, and tyburns under grass
grease gloss with money
the soft spurt of a fountainhead feels for veined
city spillers
and ghosts and pantries peal blood and skeined
river rippers
A cave in a moled head heeds horsed snippers
La, a navel under bed
Cuts an impassable cord from slivered
Whores and dregged
Female zippers
Here, there is meths into cocoa,
O here, where suns dress, a p’liceman
Writhes for His Panda
And the seas of a bum city where
We may bleed under horses
Will mount the urban sea dead
I heard a potty on a pledge peering into spread
Flickering evil tongues
Ah, I oversaw a raped ledge where killers revved
Salty killer lungs
. laaa
Odes to soft boiled ovaries cut a gilled dill yolk
…Saws in pulled pituitaries
Build ropes from an egg of dope
And, under hot loss, messy mental marked soap
Washes eyes inside
Spidered sea slides
Lithe losers loosen marmalade
And idiot senility slides from behind a sideboard’s
Sawn cabinet spine.
Copyright Jim Bellamy 2018.
c/o school war (by Jim Bellamy)
What with windmills flowing under bivouacs of prayer,
We will surely notice grey houses under fear;
And true roads cure cars with caravans and, o,
When once we consider our true English martyrs
Then genoas under feathers will
Suffer a slighted sea of punches
… and eyes glow like killed
clever illness.
Ah, what with pulsed peeled tentacles
Avulsing passion and pain, you and I will
Lean inside a spoiled street
And counter-attract
Giddy tarmac.
O we searched under moonlight, clambering too high
And, sundered, our ocean kite died.
The mean blast of wind-slipped pools found our eyes
Eager to bleed and writhe.
Through shunted sired blue fields, we caught out
All well-read lovers who kissed for drought
And none of us, even if dead, understood the drive
For dills and diamonds.
O music scantified our sanctified allegiance to thought
And then skifflers scythed
Cut ritualised teacher wives
O and we curled up inside an abandoned dreaming suicide,
Corn-yellowed, ghosted by rapes and fierce forced skies,
Just like a pewter tree, we axed taught iron when
Ebonies strike ivories from
Rivers and guns.
Curled deep down inside a snotty knotted night-dress, I
Will summon a sound of sexy water
To swing under drips and clasped eyes
O, when once inside a mind, a trilled tale was told
Old men supped snappers from
huts and larders.
And an ionic shirking bed of beads
Bangs clamorous catted corn dolls from fields of reeds
And, when one wretching for closed keys,
Then jeerily joking by, a night-lit killer rides from
Cited eagerly eaten spot-lipped salt guns.
Where the silence of the local church gabs from
Renascence darts, then shabbiness under teas
Broil fished baits where Ponte Vecchio butters
A tawny teased tubed tongue,
And, o, as blown apart as true witches,
Male venuses vaunt after Florence and old suns.
O, underneath a Chinese sky, the sold saviour
Bustles after beer and star-layers
You and me.
When thunderheads spiral into space, then a wild drome
Is nailed into a church-chidden city-
To move, a masking venus will suck naves from
Bound sloth and sleep.
Trilled trees dip laxative leaves inside a rancid gun
And starry silver men scatter a swelled sun
Against luminaries and liquid statues.
Mean groom, jeered doom, sex-seasoning willows
Weep for reeling star-releasing weights of
Smirking cunt grapes
And a stagnant dilly doper’s encounter with
Robbed rocky headaches
Stops where startling summer
Appears dammed
Under rockeries and schooled thunder.
A sudden statement inside litter-ridden, mind-strewn
Spraying, vast and nude-arsed
Midland men sit astride a pup-bound wasted
City mask
And, faded into fingers, we eat up rheumed
Rods and cones
And, o, when closed eyes float to sleep, then
Transfixing fiery mind-moans
Ride a motorway where a scissor under ken
Tracks all mown men down
And, once frenched, then a caring cunt-clown
Grips giddy gills where closed caverns crown
A rose-masted Venus holds a slide to a messed
Mentalising nudie
And wedded wights whip weaved death
And smittles under laired cock-crests
Drop a calmed candle in a cave of
Baited buttered bodies.
O gone to pure ugliness now, evening chanters slug
Brigs and ashes.
Immense and bustling mini men
Suffer the dear and droned.
Intended and interned women
Suffer the seared and loaned
Columns underneath
Crazy vamping temples rend
Masted venuses
All kids who understand Bacchus
Appear to overpower
Jupiter and Mercury where
Old lamps swing in a gentleman’s chair….
Irreligious, perhaps, or else fed to
Moon vixens
You and I will come to tear
Teenaged fish
And cunny colossus
Religious pagan pled puts when
Sex plies for cabby crab women
‘Are we near home now?’
O all male light is negative –
Eyes have sown tears where empty sedatives
Paint luminous shadow with tree-trekked mind relatives.
The sired soul with cede will smack ghosts inside papers-
Eyes have thrown tears when empty expletives
Paint illumined kneeled fallows with sea-decked heart palatives
And, wound in willows, we hear the fierce sun turn
Westward, where a shrill scraper hazes up in burned
Hills and wine-negatives.
Where a pliant foetus in a sad rill rots and stops,
Then blenched bridled beer brides
Sup cocky cocoa.
And, pushed in a plod pram, a strange girl has walked
Inside a faceless pool where confinement’s coda stalks
Sowed shone illegitimate estranging orbs
in another mind, perhaps, we would plod for
scented lunches when the depths of school war
slivered across a keen lunar stalk
and we will perhaps try to cry
and, o, as we hear a cry of death riding
deep, deep inside
a schooled town where elderly kids arise
from out learned tributaries and moody messed haired lies
and a bruising gift of a slag
crunches on gamed bagged bully brass men
The prisoner within is hugging our student memories
As if teach-possessed by sucked spongiform
Flies and custards
And the local focal fascists who preach booked bastards
Will surely rock for never-forgotten-cane
And, lo, we hear a hollow school bell
Knelling in our tears where shone shoes and bad brains
Build us a bricking in of the boiling
And, uh, as first thirsty frenched kissers cram swelled
Uniformed echoers
Then dizzy wide whiteboards smarten verse-veiled
Musical mathematics
And we are shaped from a dumb earth where
Indolent spastic’s dinner spoons
Rock and rock deep inside a kidded classroom,
What with lies and damned lies and then autistics
Weebling their dumb way to coded school city, gymnastics
Drifts across empty grey emptying rooms,
With thinking ghosts confabulating inside private pupil’s sadness
Someday, too soon perhaps, the dyslexic in her poet tower
Will come kill us deviously?
Or is it more perhaps that bookish bowers
Cut all keen trees down?
I will chase after children on bared school stairs
I will tutor-chase all of us
Back home, when
The distant local past of keen staffed women
Shoot chalk
And keen staffed tutored gold men
Play happy as pulled staff stalk
Educative missiles
And the footers that shoot sacked lies
Snap a darkening field of
Caged taughtened teachings
And boggy blues stab shoed mind-mitching
Wide joys.
All too cold to suffer the punishments of
Ghastly gob, we walk inside sleep as river gods
Suck steel from our concrete devise, and, o, as gods
Darken, then sparkling seraphic bods
Shaft tarry self-sex down a tree of dogs.
O, the star-spilt subways where we made our salt mire
Shafts down ten pence as a placid mind
Decays into coals and Atlantic coke-grimed
Gulls and mined wine
And, when shudderingly inhaled, a peeling fag
Infuses puffed laurels with coaxed cigar drag…
Unfounded, we suckle ironed drawing-boards when
Peering stucco windows
Appear as if dunged from windy whipper meadows
Bedded by bulldozers, danger, subvention and delusions
Take speech from skin
And thrill-entreat dumbed dogs and illusions
jdb 2010.

c/o a joseph bread machine....
by jim bellamy

The digging horses we rode from a clean mind Hereby give up thought’s weed
& the tacks of time stick needlers under Old gardens.
When once a pool of god swims for tundra Then blind excesses will
Stick blue tracts inside cold salt hills
& we have no pain here?

I nick green killers from impossible lays & I send rivers to Eden
& the slides of heaven see days Using nets to cure the poor.
When once city machines mentalise Digital heads
Then pits of bread cut pissed maws. O, as a green god ghosts a glib bed
Then mind sedges

When once loaves & urine shed bread crusts Then shaven shady dinners
Must lend tears to shavers & the watts of wards dig fathers of
Bread machines & god-doves Where a bended brother flips meat then
A joseph bread machine
Must rock, rock

Caked heads burn as old rot
Sucks cruel butters.

The bedded boys of British rainbows Furl cakey fondlers where old crows
Crowd deaths with dolls of war, & crows Crowd horded whores
Deep down inside a shop of bows

There is a common mind nearby which Cans caviar under laden lips
& cleaned mons-mumblers Melt inside welshed sea-clits.
When once we wave goodbye to kids Then we lay dirt-waste to
Hot headed hole-hearted parlour cribs & the bald heads of the colour blue
Strum washed guitars.

& since we have let god glow Then we have certified clothes.

& since we have let a fast world to feed us & since we have left
Old birds far behind Then the locos of washed river bends dust
Deep inside our minds

& since we have let a lost girl fear us & since we have let cold women rust
Then we have gummed
Rocking guns with old lusts
Coded killer spice sees musk Riding from gold rain
& the sunrise seizes Milky deaths.
& since we have let the earth Hide us under Zion
Then ruthless taping noise Will arise from pylons
. & the daft boys in spastic specs
Suck a blind nut.

Blandness has served us all too well O sadness has seized us
& a son of man hereby raises hell from
Dulling fired pits
Sundering, a sea of dust has always Sent radios to our livid cells
& bad caged cellves Lend pissers to slum-swelled
Bald squatted homes. When once a pick of men hears dells
Draining drawled Gin from beery bells
Then I will serve us & you and I will desert us.
Bad bodies move - o,red keen ages Boom behind dyed instant images.
The doorway to distance hears men call Old bodies from cold halls
& the pubs of silence shimmer after
Old lobbies & eaten stalls.
When once a forced ballet hears men Crawling inside caked lovers
Then rolled bodies will see fathers
Raising rope from giddy feathers
The doorway to distance hears men fall Behind dolly drakes when
Crisscrossing babies cradle cold cauls
& a biddy on the city-rise
Rots, rots!

As we shape old winters, then old lies
Hold no shape & no moonrise.

O what with whoredom in the trees O what with seasoned murder bees
& what with fishmen all around, then we Must stop to fall.
The hazy kid of God goads hot leas
O, & as a pig of blood butts against Worn buds & buttered men
Then self will call

Upon naked dukes & female walls O, what with whoredom in the trees
O, what with seasoned mamma-seed & what with fishing veiny sleeves
Then we must answer
To tea-trades & easy Isis .. uh?
The slave in bed is firm. Olde faces
Flail, flail,

& as we wandered into a kissed lift, then Lost elevations jammed our sea of women. O,
& the tall river towel when men Spun scary dice against a balding wall
Sent stars & Christ to forced sleep. O
When once a bullied inn falls, then halls
Will certainly duel after handled old salt-balls
& where a baby’s daddy body Bangs in a hanged hand, then
Eyes widen like the rain.
& we waded into washed cock-hard kong & we drove for vaginal song
& men harried us for
Duped spies & climatic cunt-war

& as we nibble on a multisided dream, we Enter into fiddles & ruin
& as we fumble after life, then swung ruins
Dance for a mitching folly; & five hot seas Strap doled angels around a cold
Swing of dates & apples

What with mental medicine in old kitchens & what with numbered kittens outdoors, then
Mazy men with penates miction
Pisses in a snapped stream;
& the harts of Pan suck liars from screens
& the sad outgrab
Coded colas & dreams & I have found a keen way to
Initiate bodies with a varicose eye’s nude
Snood of salts & water
As we shape a shaven cut for Closed pigged sea-wards
Then a bad bugging cat under scores
Paws & preens hot leeches & dulled doctors
O we leave behind us a lost flower Oh, we cede to rinds a sex-tower
& mimicries must mentalise
Digitalis & old Heaven.


..jdb 2011.



What with windmills flowing under bivouacs of prayer,
We will surely notice grey houses under fear;
And true roads cure cars with caravans and, o,
When once we consider our true English martyrs
Then genoas under feathers will
Suffer a slighted sea of punches
… and eyes glow like killed
clever illness.
Ah, what with pulsed peeled tentacles
Avulsing passion and pain, you and I will
Lean inside a spoiled street
And counter-attract
Giddy tarmac.
O we searched under moonlight, clambering too high
And, sundered, our ocean kite died.
The mean blast of wind-slipped pools found our eyes
Eager to bleed and writhe.
Through shunted sired blue fields, we caught out
All well-read lovers who kissed for drought
And none of us, even if dead, understood the drive
For dills and diamonds.
O music scantified our sanctified allegiance to thought
And then skifflers scythed
Cut ritualised teacher wives

O and we curled up inside an abandoned dreaming suicide,
Corn-yellowed, ghosted by rapes and fierce forced skies,
Just like a pewter tree, we axed taught iron when
Ebonies strike ivories from
Rivers and guns.
Curled deep down inside a snotty knotted night-dress, I
Will summon a sound of sexy water
To swing under drips and clasped eyes
O, when once inside a mind, a trilled tale was told
Old men supped snappers from
huts and larders.
And an ionic shirking bed of beads
Bangs clamorous catted corn dolls from fields of reeds
And, when one wretching for closed keys,
Then jeerily joking by, a night-lit killer rides from
Cited eagerly eaten spot-lipped salt guns
Where the silence of the local church gabs from
Renascence darts, then shabbiness under teas
Broil fished baits where Ponte Vecchio butters
A tawny teased tubed tongue,
And, o, as blown apart as true witches,
Male venuses vaunt after Florence and old suns.
O, underneath a Chinese sky, the sold saviour
Bustles after beer and star-layers
You and me.

jdb 2015



Inside an obsidian mind,
Outside my bed, inconsequential cunt keeps
Sex-experiment with seeds and candy wheat
And, o, there is an experience of death’s spine
And, lo, a sea of kids pokes tongues inside
Swung sleep.
Why should I claim to own me; death’s bride
Sweats for walloped weddings
And, singed by wards, as blown sky spies
Espy a moony shredding
Then motorising malachite metes webs to
Woven scissor nudes.

Here, where we lived, a siege of carnations
Gallops after bled weed
And the strewn spies of God greet sleeved
Pursy paled receptors of telephonic
Radio sleaze.

O we are cut from the death of us
Ah we are shut within
Darlings and female prison-pus

This city’s concrete union saws lemons from
Sun-toothed green graves
O a mean nave drags beards and guns
Shoot moon-tided blurred lays
And this side of a swine, a ravaged seat of boys
Sets fire to wasps-
A dullard of a son-lode laps prickled
Rotund prison cloths
And the dunged noisy nostalgia of loss
Enchants the purple ghosts of one billion crossed
Blind farm..

An apple’s sour father hurls huge cores when
Rusting rotted plum men
Rot for sweet xmas
And, oh, as a dog in a dram toasts men
Then dollies
Dream of human women.

Underneath an ice-cream crown, we lead kids where
Home is fuelled by sweet ice
O, a sexy sunny sorbet points at viscous pain where
Loaded caned carts carry thrushes inside
Mental sausage vans and whippy wolfed life.

As sparks of seed stab an innocent bloom, light
Fills a brightened sea sky with white midnight’s
Bar of blades
And as windfallen wares
War against a sea of wine
Then penuries of Venus extend armed snares
To caved cunny vaginal
Salt smears.

As proud larks sing for a savage penis paw
And where lobs listen to society’s stone store
Then a line of monkeys
Will surely lend dogs to moneys

I champ lips of grass - fierceness
Fallows a wet clitoris when a piling penis
Chops apses
Into tall tearing rivery corpses
While wrapping celled stars in blind wind,
Claw-toothed ravaging sperm swine
Cut smouldering screws where old wind
Farts under caned nuts
And, nude as lust, we stab a bloomed
City’s killed garden where the lips of glasses
Don snow-blind babies.

Playing for scrapped sleep, we hear celestials
Ramming city slightness
And the blue grey orbs of a city’s sadness
Rends hot whored tears from stone madness.

We will play cast and marooned for death’s
Multi-basked bound scissor chest
And eyes flow like drinking-fountains?

And if I were tripped up by mental sisters
Would I understand
Fractious bound women, and if I suffered
What should I intend for
Nylon knickers and love’s sex-war?

Down pilled nets, we hear a soft score
Bagging flowers within openings
But openings appear stored
Deep, deep down
Where pistils under budded Downs
Dream of natal clowns.

Your wound achieved in my town
Lead rocky reeves aside a blued browned
Pall of pears and dummies-

Appled seizuring plum-red biddies
Neck a gem-glued spark-
Gibed goddesses lend bodies
To old-fingered buttoned haversacks
And you and I will answer back
To all patted parental heat-attack

Staled pikes lend lenses to circled
Synergies when the Osiris of bled sacs
Scissor dames from caked sine clapped
Beeches of bones.


Inside an aftermath of hipped heap hedges
A keen night sleeps between the veins’
Bright green granaries of dark and light: mean sedges
Feed Keat’s to father,

Eyed sleep speaks poems under versing
Swirled grey manna
And, o, when Indian angels season
Keen henna nights, then a blithe city’s saviour
Leads chalked car-cunted swum cadillacs
To passing passion’s castled flowered
Pressed rooms where we shape our failures.

Foals, it is true, canter when far too young,
Picked ponies, with maned horsed plumage, thrum
After gabbling green stable-scrummed
Untidy shackled sops.

O, the lovely sides of a febrile city
Vanish into prayer
And, rogued, afterwords for beckoning pity
Piece forever
The wind-wells of a flower’s
Withering endless garden
And the scar-lit urbane life of leisure
Stops dead.

Old youth and I squat beside a splendid moon
And the dreams we expand on
Can asexual wintry loss-
Bad boys brag as babes stun
Ditties of dolour and languid crossed cum
Sheltered closed men pay to feel alone,
Ideal roads crackle
And, led to smoothed lenient bones
A crabby courier of cemented apples
Pop chopped cherries with
Fulcrums of felonies and gaoled drips.

As we see febrile noses drip, then we lose
Mean city snots to melded nail-files, and closed dudes
Becalm the seven seas of
Escaping exits under drawling esplanades where
A slappy soldier gets killed at peace-time.

Hot pelmets of impassioned guns and wine
Rock a gunned mind’s
Clacking salt grenade of shot bell-blind
Fay beauties who died for England’s eyne.

Never a keen word or an entrenched whisper
May clarify the mad clarion of soldiered
Lamed lives
Never again for a mean world or a sister’s
Wren sea-gate where bombing misters
As dead as a body…

As early warring squaddies suck up
Vast avowed seats of naped necks and cuts
Then we will cleave us a caged
Imprisoned bell-starred hacking
Home coming murdered warred men.

God lies in keen wait where women
Welcome deaths back home?

A deranging dotty girl has walked
Into the fast rivers of my life,
O, she has shown pain under me as
She bolts proud shame to love’s door
And she has become obsessed
With weaving wedded wind where
Naped necklaces
Cut tragic sylvan bodies from
Another time, a further sea of air.

Too much keen life has been done,
All too many maimed lights have been
Torn from hands and heights
And the entombed barn where suns
Struck guns from giddy cock-screens.

Oh, I can still overhear my dunged
Badly beaten bared body, and, hung,
We will surely hang scores with dreamed
Neon bitten sex-scum
And the bad word I breathe jumps
Bled boys and slashed cunt-rumped
Penile sawn streams.

Baulked by riders , I will arise
And dirty pigs will live at my side.
O if only god could abuse a human telephone
Then Genuity would surely
Speak for a dialled mind? Muddy microphones
Serve holy schizophrenic overtones
To forged hands and pursed lips against
Surly stripped receivers, and rayed life
Sups shortening loose connections as Christ
Dawdles for forged trips and celled
Bladdering wired men who summon wiped
Wetted answerphones: when shaken tree life
Axes herself, then green boughs bewrayed

To dark starkly dunging drones, then
Rebuffs caused by coked ringed huge men
Snuffle after a kindness of friendships which
Lift a cell-phone
And salt sex stickles down the deadline
And hoaxes, heeled, seal raped lipped wine

Invidious slit-minded cranial cunt-climes
And rippled mentalis sees mines
Cutting schemes of guilty grimed
Hard hauled plastic ships
And hard hauled mastics rend cold shit

The impassionate flower of fed dead men
Drools with jonquil stems
And mad hands give in?

Copyright JDB 2018.




Because I cannot hope to think again
Because all thought deludes me
Because I cannot hope to think again
Knowing no fear nor any place for idea
I cannot fear nor make any thought my own
Because the thought is dead and all thought is real
Because I cannot hope to ever know
The ideals of the sutlers who sleep next-door
Because all thought is first transitive then neutral
Knowing no terror nor any fear to mind
Because I cannot fear and because all fear is predication
Knowing no art of mind nor any thought to feel
Because I cannot feel and because man cannot come
To rend away such thought prophesies predication
The ideals of the sutlers who live next-door
Can never come to idealise the rain
And the rain in this dead place is delighted by
No thought as the thought is philophrengenitive
Because the nuance of the moon retains no thought
And as much as the thoughts of the moon are dead
In this room of white where curtains trangress modesty
The revelation of the soul lies hidden in the mind
Because thought cannot dare to think the silent thoughts
Of the arcane lords who whisper at my window
Because all thought is curated by a lunar shadow
And the eyes within eyes cannot dare to conceive
Of revelation nor the brain in its transitive modesty
Can sharpen thought, the searing of the brain
Must shend to dust all nihilism and promise
For this is the land where the indolents wail
And the banshees in the towns divurge from screaming
To shackle the thoughts of the children in the schools
And the schools are grammarians who teach bad words
And the grammar of the mind transgresses all truth
Because uncouth thought is the mentor to the sun
And the sun is denied by transmutative modesty
(As much as light must whip all thought to neural ecstasy)
In this coiled heart where ideas rit to nothing
All forms of thought as sapient sutlers groove
The wildness of the mind is ritten and each rit thought
Recants on its fables and discourses on denial
Under the penitential stairs where all thought lies raped
Because all thought is superfetation and because all thought is burned
Black by superfetation and because all ideas are forfeit
For the sutlers who live next-door and the cliff where thought is made
No excess of ideas may shut the words of thought away
Nor any thought in enervation may lift the latch on life
To reveal good thought: devaluation of the mind
Must come to speak aloud about the apeneck thoughts
And the mind inside a mind must mutate to transverse fearing
Because all thought is live so long as death permits it
Because all deaths are holograms with no real thought
As the wildness of the mind is ritten by its death
So the end of the word must be ritten by the mind
And the mind inside a mind must strip all sapience bare.



Because the sutlers next-door are sapient lords
Because the shade of thought is philophrengenitive
Because all fear is thought without motion
Because I do not care for transmutative notion
And the idylls at rest are the idylls of the queans
And the idylls at rest are the thoughts of the dreams
That state their claim to power as power must fade
Because the sutlers next-door are spaient lovers
Because all sense is reliant on mutation
In this red room where thought is transmutative
As the moon glows red all thought is dreamt decrial
And the day when thought defines a mind in mind
And the day when thought defines a mind in wynd
For the children and the dearth of the mind divined
As the dying mind defines a broken place to find
With the loss of the soul and the spirit in the pont
And the christ on the cross of the ideal mind
As the dawn of the day gives way to idle thought
Ideology must found a home for infant fear
Because fear is the tides in the seas of ideal pain
And the seas of the mind are full of transmutation
And the night of the mind is the night of the soul
Because dead man is as old as winter's terror
And the death of the mind proves the mind inside the mind
As the battle in the brain mutates to divurge
From black to white, as the dream inside the flower
Of the brain must wilt and reveal the silent power
Of the light that grows in the life of infant rain
Because the sun is dead must the moon inflame
Or is the earth around us as cruel as thought begun
In the subtle scent of girls who wander aimless on
To seek the stars of death in the void that does not speak
Because all thought is dead shall the stars above us wreak
Havoc, where the soul is out to burn away
All thought: this word is as thoughtless as the day.



Polyphrengentive, the christ of thought cannot fail
To piss away the heart of thought
Because I cannot find the thoughts inside the mind
Of god, must I weep to share my fears with men
Or else descry the times when the ideal pen
Will write down the thoughts of the ideal child
Who weeps for the pains of the ideal wild
Because there is no end to the shame of thought
And because there is no end to transmutative thought
What for this earth but the empty mind of grief
And the analeptic fear that rends away the thief
Of the mind, or is it more a search for darkness made
That shends away the thoughts of the second grade
Because the dawn is cold and the thought that freezes
Is as old as the mind, must the son of man deceive
All thought? In this quiet place, where fears become
A beshrewment to the moon, why should the sun
Deem to glow where the lunar plane inside
Warps the storm in the transmutative tide?
Surely all thought is as open as a mind
But a mind in a mind is all the children find
Because the death of thought is always bought
Because the thought of death deludes mad breath
Because mutation denies the ideal place
And because the dawn of thought is never bought
For the dream in the dream and the mind in the mind
The thought inside the thought cannot find
Any of god's ideals. The word is worded not.
Dead thoughts for an apeneck thinker?..


jdbellamy, 2001




The perusers of the Streatham and Clapham Guardian
Weigh down the wind like a Lord.

When morning sickens, faithful in the streets,
Lively come the corridors of hung
Parliaments in the shelters of the wheat
And rubric in the gourde. For

Moments of equidistance; past
Mutinies and shells of kissed
Deers in fields of corrals, now
Down the tides men flow.

And the perusers of the Streatham and Clapham Guardian
Weigh down the wind like a Lord,
Bringing us copies of the Croydon News
And Nation States of the Word.


jdb 1998




When Mr. Slingback travelled through the western way
His trousers paddled in the slink of their turn-ups
I met him at Tombstone, that wry place amidst the flowers,
Taking off my clothes by the sea.
In the palace of promenades, at the place of many pieces,
He paddled like an old-time toad.--
His paddling was pitted, skulled and unfound
Like the cowboy under the sea, or
Like the tea-boy in blue waves
Whence parried babies freeze yet drift
Far into Old Quay.

I looked for a bed in Mr Slingback's hair -
Under the rushes, his earrings cried
Like prostitutes and then felt the cold.
I found the heaps of his trousers midst the sun
As his wry and rotten paddling rolled on
'This must be Tombstone' - 'But what of His game?' -
'His eerie face is unbalanced.' -
'There is something to Him which seems insane.'

Through palace and pit and penny-eyed gourdes,
I remember nothing but a Human Penance.


jdb 1998


Gemima (inspired by T.S Eliot's 'Gerontion')

'There I was, an old girl in the shade,
Being prayed for by the boys on the train.
I was neither spared by the cold lake
Nor fought for by the sun
Nor shoe-deep in the coarse ark, waving an atlas,
Broken by spies, undone.
My home is an old home,
And the truth sits on my doorstep, atoned,
Borne on some epithet of blue England,
Picked upon by Ireland, reared upon by Spain.
The moat flies at night like a wheel overhead;
Pike, roach, salmon, carps, finned birds.
The Father keeps my bedroom, spreads old sheets,
Stays awake each evening, hoping for a butler.
I, an old girl,
A bloodied rake beneath the wind.
Veins are shaked by thunder. 'We shall hear the thunder!'
The curs inside stir, unable to sleep,
Bandaged like the gaolered dark. In the tumescence of a tear
Along came Thomas the Doubter
With engraved slaves, pig-washed in lumber, showering Midas,
To be beaten, to be divided, to seem slumped
Amongst easy fens; by Vicar Bolero
With confessing fangs, at seances
Who walk the walls all day:
By tutelage, howling for an curtain;
By mystery tour and spare-roomed shards
That kiss the angel; Madam Merd
Who burned down the Manse, one hand inside. Latent,
Cleave the skin. I have no breasts,
An old girl in the shade
Under boyish plumed prayer.
After such hatred, now for the ridiculous. See now
Mystery has so many flames, unchained morals
And tissues, festivities and hammers,
Guides who pass for rain. See now
Man lives when its death has contracted
And how he lives is livid with rain
That famishes, craves and garbles, gives
Too late for us, who seldom believe, or,
In memory only, travel
Alike to a dying son. See
Neither tears nor marriage save us. Man
Is mothered by a plane. Virtue
Forces up from cracks and relieves
A hot tree from a closed nut.
The Doubter swims in a blue weir. See him dive. See that
We have relived our contusions, have
Broken the houses down. See at last
I have not died for any purpose and
It is not for the dying that I lived
Or swim like a daughter down
And roundly from the tears. I
Would not meet you upon my charity.
I that was youthful is removed from therefrom;
To lose beauty as a peril, o, peril in nobility.
I have died alive. What should I sweep
Beneath me? Which long edifice should
I scarve about me? Which
Place should I fly? I
Have lost my sense of light -
Bells, clearings, churches do not give;
How should I die alive?
These with a billion gnarled perfidiums
Contract an office from my snarled pavillions,
Incite blind proctors, when the stench has failed,
With filigree petals, multiple organs,
Pupils, slides and drains. What shall the Doubter do?
Prefix His observations? Will the Cross
Decay? Vicar, slicker, Cavvy, Shitter,
Whorled down a dream, the deacons smile
Beyond the cervix of an animal veil
In stretchered ivory. Bull against the skin, in the wind
Jackets pass the nails, or run
Like eyries down my doorstep, stop
Where Nobaddy sits. Past
Sleepy corners, ovens, wimples,
Dug-out gourdes and theorised stains,
Here, the Pleiads snack on oats.
An old girl on a a boyish train..'

Copyright JDB 1997.


...more posted soon!!