jim bellamy's songpages ~ IN COUNTY SLEEP (a speed-written poem)

IN COUNTY SLEEP (a speed-written poem)

portrait of the late great Irish genius poet-author-playwright
Brendan Behan.

(in memorium Brendan Behan)

Never and ever, the japed jelled leaves of the stained

Shaft us down Atlantic wharves

O, never and ever, the stucco sidled streets of rain

Restore blown half-knitted raised bones, and old whores

Shaft down, down, where the axes of the pyramid train

Daub drakes with sensory treacle.

Ah, what now for the neural thrones of the peopled

Verso foams and telephonic angels? – perhaps, where

Eglantine aped apricots will draw a beard from a stair

Or do we dare and do we compare

Clairaudient vaginal limpets with thinned ghostly hair?

The tidal prisoner within rivals after focal foetal

Lip-clicking stone boundaries- the hirsute Babel

Brooks bairns as infinite combed cradles

Rock just like a smoker’s sun.

Uh?

One above a time, the blessed limey swiftness of the birds

Slaps shits on swept wind,

And the corners of the binned brought winged words

Back, back, and farther back to red-breasted natural curs

O, now I have read love’s palm, then I will smoke hot skin

And scatter salty game upon nesting febrile curves.

Our business in a murdered cottage uses a genial

Sotted sotto voce

And, as stony sleuth men reign after coasts

Then blorting benching body bathers hear coasts

Drowning romancers in blue-brained rat hosts.

And I have read tomorrow’s news, and I have caned caged slowed

Mast-headed Venus

And hanged time passes. Underneath a peculiar day, a diurnal body-grave

Paints oodles of dandelions and dabbed daffs

And, under a sea’s arses, a pinioning pit of plumes and days

Weep for sloes and elderberries.

God turned to go, but at the exit, a spinning doorway rammed

The spun and never-relieving sun of the world’s unearthly genius

And, slitted by kittens, a huge family pomme

Weeps for cloths and naked ladies.

Uh, narrowing knocking budded chafing hooped town-drums

Sup a father’s green daddy dream bus

One stilled day when a sylvan silken patina of dead men

Closed a broken door, then one inside a time, measurers of men

Maddened a natural wood-puzzle of brides and children

And, lo, a heated sex-caller lit a fast gun and women

Overflowed within darksome chasms and chicken

Now is the message of the fibrotic hyper lungs I beheld

When once, outside a girl, wedded withered kittens

Attended a daddy dude crust of green giddy gels

And the pistoling parasols of both height and hell

Wring the bells with doom deniers.

This side of a keen welsh moon, Celtic cavatinas will sell

Aryan Goidelic caps to bruised brains and country sea-shells

Tonight stands crying on a dark cliff. The star-rise of the kissed

Seems dying, and, o, as we turn to go, then the adage of the pissed

Peers inside guns and lives,

when once a sea of knives wonders after ever-splendid

suburban moon-minds

then our eagerness to overhear god’s lies

rises up, up against

slewing sausage-paint

and this ensign of tasty saints lams lithe

slashed cunt and eaten rivers…

tonight, under a city’s seat, pashed men ride for

a mean daddy dreamed greened gold war.

Made naked, melodious parcels of plumes and puffs

Chatter for arousing seizure-slips which kick dusts

And then moggies of a mental moon

Shutters unutterable lodes where a belled star swoons

Deep, deep down where a motel boom

Dips dolly faces in carmine menstrual eggers.

Made sweet and rude, melodious bustles swish a duff

Dilly duffle dog who rides from sleep as cusks

Claim cider from rotted apple-cusps

O, as pigged eyes dam blue vision, then marks

Suck endless eddies from drippings. Hard parks

See into nightly sex pillages.

Tonight stands under strange seals as ridders

Ramble for a neon father, and, o, as blue bridlers

Ride a coffin-horse, then

Midnight stands under veined teals when a coda of liars

Sings the last lines of green gems and women.

O, our easy business seems endless but lifted life lends

Swift beads to lasered loped workaholics

The demon drafters of both day and night spend

Diamante pirates with swung dead boats, and cold men

Commands bleaching bool blades.

Unless we appear self-alarmed, unless a bed of tears parades

After dippy salt silence

Then the fawned thieves of one zillion male pore-plays

Will lash a languid tongue to slurred ants

And blue bastardising baby boos blunt a bog of

Unutterable daddy sex cant

. La-la..

O how now have I read the loud depth of god’s blind genius.

Oh how now have I shed

Biblical sleaze when a testament of cat-kids rest

Gunny goosed Escariots where a Jesus harness

Serves fish soups to old pigs and pugged fig-faces, and death

Rocks a bald gibbon where a blown bitter bee-bulb treads

A rock-expresser of puled salt wine

And the magical bel of times wrings napes and thefts

And, lo, as regental boo-bens hear city lames

Locking lousy lanes, snared neon palping debs

Drop cunt inside a penile pooler’s plebs.

As a gemmed gorger of ghoul-god grips to sea-bread

Then Jesu under hanged roods

Stops and end.

O where once endless spun ingles rammed a glimpse of

Neon knifers, then a sun-ending sex-rekindling rose of loss

Harries hissers with bobby brocks and brine-burned blued

Nude naked candle brut. The hams of seed

Cram a cloned tongue where blind uvulas of horse mead

Link intefusers with towns and criers.

Odes to Indian England hems gods into henna ghosts, and Leda

Rides her swanny star where routed riders of the moon

Drags dippy drawls from bitter bums and swooned

Deli drapes and mussels.

The wired jaw of judas Christ digs arsenics into tunnels

And, lo, as we ride from endless peds and cradles

Then candled crosser ken

Crabs a fallower for daddy green gems and dauphins

And I saw canny cabinets when eaten star-stems

Feed male masks to god and his masted Venus.

The paramour of a curtained grave hisses after

Salt-thrown breasts and father

O our business seems complete, and, loped, partners

Thunder-fuse natural dimmers with lamp-litters.

As we turn and go, an inexorable mien of killers

Claims doping dodgy dowers

And the elbows of dolt-flowers jeer where rivers

Compress life’s bower within

Dosed drays and bonny bone bins

We have come to realise that our lost issues

Contend a natural murder,

We have come to magnetise our crushed values

And, oh, when we come to pass a green giver

Then thamesward city fathers

Will cut cold engines from statues.

The tethering tawny teething rings of purdah

Bomb fuelled crypts and die.

O surely on dun day I will find coastal killers, and

O surely, under love’s hill, we will hear lambs

Racing against a country clock.

Words are worn on winnowed fingers: vinegar hock

Will ram a fairy thumb when a jack of rot

Strums a sugar vine, and the sodded star-slock

Fills for vialed vases

As the illegal farms of women slot

Coins into loss

Then a sun in a fazed cross crucifies the lot of

Brawled lamps and faces

Ah- this side of a bulled stall, gods

Dream of a level world

And the teethers of tippling devil birds

Cut a daddy doll from bled bolls

oo.

All dreamt days are negated-

I have seen the blind bellstar of the rivers raise

Impossible sea braids

And then a sudden touch of winter lather

Worm-burrows under tubed mad grief.

Too much of our life has been lived,

Too many odd hours have been

Vaunted with gossamer dreams

And the tunnels of our drooling year

Implode.

You were lost and scented drams toasted

Loss and families.

The breasted buttocks of buttery bodies

Slashed swung song-birds with

Ecstatic talons, and the mean blow of the town

Tracks graffiti with fallowed vandal-pounds.

You were utterably mine, - the concrete crowds

Were glass-mauled within

Anonymous buildings, and a weeper in a cloud

Observe adulous children crapping.

I have seen you struggle with your world,

I have glassed you

A mental mind-vision hair-covers old fulfilment.

And I dare not entreat the grave. Life is not near.

Dug from dying, though, I reach out for true fear,

And I dare not complete death.

While out of sexy rain, the rippers of my mind

Dream of rotted cunt-rain

And I dare not compete with death.

And men in manses collect flavoured flowers.

Dragged, a dilly green fruit-pet sunders

And I dare not complete feathers

daubed mind folks find faceless soda

Drinking gas.

I dare not travel too far. In my mental eye, I always

Lay sex-waste to dogs and graves

Out of fierce hearing, I will appear to see day

Lamping a sea-face inside soft glades

What with this mortal fire-grate yearning

Breaks glad beads, then sex seems burning

Bright boozy blood shows us

The best way to blind love’s husk

And ghost-gibs haunt swarmed pain.

Tonight, of all nights, life’s wife sold her favourite fruit.

O, I dashed a plum-stone at a soup-flask

And the pleasure-whirring bowel of glass where roots

Raped a lady liquorice with bulbs and glass

Brightens a glass-bowl where rotted dates succour

Blood-blinded gobstoppers.

Underwatered, a green daddy bus dyes a dry house

With giddy mean vaginal clit-cried

Sizzling salt peaches.

Tonight, of all nights, light’s Christ will snap fruit.

Ah, eyes lap locks from faeces as a shop of brute

Bathes a baby in an adult bath-.

The hair-greased bared hairbands of the past

Test for an oiled latrine

And, uh, I have overseen such sadnesses of breeding

And I have undertoned such roman rotted steam

The lazy leader of Mount Zion hears rafts

Sailing off into

A magneto’s engine-ooze

And the labellers of the colour true

Storms dying murdering mind-maidens

And sun-stricken skies pass on by as broods

Slacken for the fire.

For it must always seem that the fruit-bowl we made

Curries after ashen waxed blades

O as wicked apples sully pears with graves

Then picking pear-pluff will mac a lay with

Teeming toasts and rammed rose-figs.

And I dare not muffle god’s kids, and I won’t kid

Good God because

I miss the idylls of a time when jesus died for pigs

The damsels of a plastic soul close

Whipped eyes and dummy factories, La

We enter into sand

We swagger for summer, and a winter in a car

Writhes from driven Mars

And, uh, as a candle under pepper sneezes after

Dames and dollies

Then pruned bud-soap must see Father

Praying for top-of-the-pops…

Underneath a chiselled ledge, I saw the riding dead

Digging bolted graves

O, when once bad bodies yawned, then

Dazzling moping lays

Sucked peach-stones with fluted mouthers

And opening sex trades whip tipplers when

Versos vamp veering nodes.

While snorting lackadaisical oil, a vixen under lodes

Lipper a lemon foil for strawed thunder-troves

And then backers of a walnut-pickled life

Ignites pushed prams with spoils and Christs.

And do not visit love’s grave.

She is not there. She did not die for braves

And she dare not die for another.

Inside a cherried fog, we hear belled trees

Mowing sylvan soda from gins and glebes

And you and your scalded lips cry out aloud

And then misled cats of cranny war

Leach to a fountainhead

And the felinity of the warred turns

Prison plots and thunderheads.

O I will heal youths with pyres

O I shall sear kids with lies

And then, once rapped in a cave, we will ride

Far back home when

Our distant dilly daring love expends.

Dark dogs move as a night ship dies.

Inside a crisscrossed chapel and a church, I oversaw

Pornographic saviours attempting to save

Wide eyed witnesses to a sea of seesaws

And, o, I do not dare to visit god’s guilty grave?

And, forever snapped by air, a countess in a saw

Slices giddy cock-clawed

Bled brigs and guilty heaven’s

Buggered butter-beads whose assaulted gardens

Give crow-talons to gems and junkies.

Outside a sex-cropped church and apple, I overheard

Pornosapphic sailors exempting loins and ashes

And the giggler in a glam grippled after

Laughed cages and funereal fume.

There is, inside a mind, a mental crock which reads

Idiot ingle books?

O my father’s mouth is

Stopped dead.

O my mother’s mouth is

Sent to bed.

A baby on the rise is

Stoppered

And spun wards rid

Eyes and bodies.

Such flowers which

Wither inside

Will see lips

Burning

In a bed of curves

We sunder

City slumber….

As coiled grief

Stabs

Ponied cabs

Then blue rubies

Ride from

Neon fishing, and

Dyed daubed drams

Toast

Trees and lovers.

Uh?!

Inner dreaming dresses dust in naked dirt,

Walnut faces wrinkle noses

And then the vine-cut faces of the curt

Gnarl a hot bed with chained roses

Old stone encaged in van-vaulted hymns

Straps a silent lord within

Out-of-perspective failures who swing for

Veined bruised women

A small, green pug plops on pits as fishy war

Brings beery harvests back home

And, loaned, a cherry choker cracks, and bone

Feeds a canine lion-

Underneath ripened sunsets, a starry sea of Zion

Drowns.

For we must clad old colourful kids in tarry macadams

And then the tearing of kids

Wrestles blue oil from foxy fizzy green madams

And the powders of one billion suns

Suck-gnarled windwells

O-

For we must clad cold killers inside a tarred sea-havens

And we will rot for keen rivers

And the skull-known voices of a dumb garden

Encases men and fevers in cold shives and harsh fathers

When once a scrunching sea-city drinks its waves

Then bended sea-bodies

Must walk all tides where birds and spies

Stride oceanic sea-babies…

A car-jaunted yellowed lip snaps a cat and

Dogs writhe.

These vegetable veins I have dreamed must whip

Gentle hands and heels

O these terrible reels of salt film must see ships

Sailing out where old wheels

Rock for concertinas

And a clammy fist of time vaunts after

Wrinkled wrestling masters, and grey fathers

Divorce love’s hapless truth

And then keeled cuts of faith wrest spoils from couth

Criers, and the daring dolly of drubbers

Sex-clads coiled spools where rammed lovers

Encase sickled sunsets within dobbed dugs and

I espy a nightly bird car-cramming caverns under

Fast city tundra.

Hashed by hot hotels, we warden for weevilled healers

And the closed toads of a sea-town

Drags fairy thumbs from dogs and moon-life

And here we walk a weary line as hell-lit sister life

Dies for money.

Gone now to the ugliness of a fleshy flyover,

I hear the sudden noise of a pissed hangover

Staggering for a blue shit

And, o, as curtains fail, then a natural killer

Must surely slice eyes from bruised lips?

A sudden sallied acceptance of night and day

Plays litter-ridden where the mouth-bound grave

Points ferrules at imbecilic tree-towels

And the killing body of a false mind disembowels

Hot spaces where closed faces

Shit in the wind

Twenty-two fingers vault against a vended rape

And one billion heaped guitars

Serenade god as banging angel-cars

Crashdown.

As an angel’s car, named Abaddon, rode from light

Then a bad sea-star fell from midnight

And the ashen roses of a sea of Adam

Stuck Aaron deep down where a shitted car of Christ

Taunted roads with bodies.

Where the fingers of sex vinegars leach to life

Then thunderheads may well

Disembody bolls from washed miraculous laddies

And we will ladder all sense?

Musk-strewn, we musify the operatic poor when

Nude motorways silence neon bitter women

And naked fellows of felonic foals

Skate for optics as wind-swells roll

Darkness into rain

This side of a world is being painted with

Loudmouthed baby-varnish

And the roads of lady-cabbage cut all kids.

When made grim and unimportant, an ugly city-town

Sprays slayed paint where bombed sound

Howls inside sprawling trees; and as wasted town

Taunts blinded teachers

And the suns of fathers vamp cunt as an urban clown

Snips bright killers

Once interwoven with billers, a branched baby-bidder

Sits and gleams for

Old ides and ivory whores, and, lo, as dreamed dawgs

Undress dogs and fever then

Casted kibbles create cunt-hens from cold women

When once we are fist-felled, then grey children

Must climb city wards.

We will shed some alligator tears. As cars career

Inside the dead, then

We will drink some crocodile beers; and a bill of men

Must rot for Simeon

And the gullies of the gobbed and reasoned

Hear youth call to age

O. The slappy sovereign in a cage must

Wrap wounds inside sweet age

And then cabinets of the lied will fib for rage, and

We will share some sweetened bitter lust

And button birds in blue turtle dreams.

For whom do we sleep? Ourselves? Or is it more

That rest suffers a dreamed self which cannot arise?

Chidden men of Xmas wrap gifts for god’s bride

And the malting eggs of sap sample Easter’s

Sweet swilled shell-snaps.

And we will share some alligator beers. As cars revere

Outside death, then we will gun-sear

Drabbling fishy fear from vine-tilted wine-wilted

Poked pierced cock…

The wives of guzzled wort widen when

Turds under cables cradle shits and pissed women

And the covers of a private heron

Hardens, and blown bodied beaver-boys season

Pushers in Haven.

As we retreat, just like the sea, our town of gardens

Digs for blossoming claws

And the bagger of bauds bed-binds ravens

And a closed lime-lady

Locks a maggot finger underneath moors

Oh.

Soon surely to be rid of pap-girls, urban reasons must

Spiral from a pithed chapped word where

Soft red mouths moisten men and gay prayer

And, pounced, a parabola of peated poesy has snares

And we must seem scared of evening?

Wet wives widen for clamouring dirtied sirens.

Swashed spies soften

Beached bombs and coarse guns, and Poseidon

Bobs up from treed shroud-sailed

Tautened sea-tigons, and we will harden

Swelled pigs in pug gardens.

As a bended blathered bee-boss stings ravens

Then muted modelled mead-moss

Pecks crows and peals off a blue cross.

When uninhearsed, I saw a bad kid fearing

Deliberate stage-fright

And, when once plays roll, I am crying?

O, laden god has been a lucky boy

O, his active lover has danced for joys

And the closed dramaturgy of a big boy

Smooches in chiffon light.

Uncoached, three dramatic towels touch again

The felt lips of an infant song

And choral crypts carry crags unto swung rain

And tipping histrionics.

Owls under gaffers grit giddy thespians

By altered radio Christ, and, la, cold romantics

Shape a Roman dream from

A pantheon of pushing penile cunt-drums

And sainted sable-summer strips for honey.

A sudden sliding sun of love sunders

Barns and owls, and, o, as a knifer’s keen father

Stalls old stone, then

A sudden sliding gun of god sunders

Burns and cowls. O this town of feathers

Tars bells with trowels

And then green glint of a hover-bus bears towels

Damply back home where a dill of fakes fashions

Crows and mother.

Keen kenned grapes rinse hands in bread-wine

And drunk foetal grinds

Crapulent beer-binds

And where once a vogue for wine lines

Pockets of lime, then lemon stores

Spread tipsy tubers against thieves and wards

And wardened guarder men

Dig for obfuscated brolly men, and washed hens

Don vodka-vision.

A sodden siren’s snooded summer sucks rocks as lissom

Speaks for whores and powder….

Ahhhh?

What the hell are we doing with our mind make-up?

In County Sleep somehow relates to Dylan Thomas's unfinished poem In Country Sleep?

IN COUNTY SLEEP (a speed-written poem)

Share this page