HONEY HILL (a speed-written song) written in 1997.



HONEY HILL 2 (speed-written 1997) a perfect rondalay

On Honey Hill, on Honey Hill, there is a pontiff pushing pills
On Honey Hill, on Honey Hill, there is a vicar signing wills
On Honey Hill, the winds come round today
And rock into the rills of madness on its holidays.

On Honey Hill, on Honey Hill, there is a sailor snorting krill
On Honey Hill, on Honey Hill, there is a whaler in a mill
On Honey Hill, the winds come round today
And sparkle like the Marseillaise; cut like diamonds as they run
And learn to fire a gouged soap-gun.

On Honey Hill, on Honey Hill, the banker man is very ill
On Honey Hill, on Honey Hill, the glister of the day is still
On Honey Hill this very day, a crucifix comes out to play,
Drags a fern and runs along into the pocus of the Sun.

On Honey Hill, on Honey Hill, the tigers rule as rivers thrill,
The wind comes up and blows them out;
On Honey Hill today, the girls all shout
On Honey Hill this very day, the nectar in a flower relays
A mindless trail of bitter scent
As Santa Claus hurls gifts at pinks.

On Honey Hill today the King of Roses must decay
Or else spin a little coin of doubt
Upon the mills of Sylvan Louts
On Honey Hill this very day, the Queen of Posies plays away,
Regales through countless timeless swoons
And sinks a rocket in the tigers of the moon.

On Honey Hill today the Class of '82 is sprayed
Around a glass of foaming ale; round and all about
A flask of repletive daffy mounts:
On Honey Hill this very day, the mystery of Man conveys
Into a palisade of rot, into a timeless, sea of founts.

On Honey Hill today the Prince of Eyes delays
His ashen smiles with rondalays, delays His smile and says,
"This dream of Death must rage and rage,"
As candy castles foam and bay
After mastiff blood from rhinal graves

On Honey Hill today.


Copyright JDB 14th April 1997.


SONNY DIVA (a speed-written song) written in 1998.

'Pull the curtains, shut the door.'
Said Sonny Diva on the shore,
'I do not wish to swim no more,
I do not wish to swim no more.
For I have seen the beast within
Rise upwards from a lipless grin.
I do not wish to swim no more,
I do not wish to swim.'

'Pull the curtains, catch the chain,'
Said Sonny Diva in salt rain,
'I do not wish to swim again,
I do not wish to swim again.
For I have seen whore-angels spin
As if despatched from Hellish rims,
I do not wish to swim again,
I do not wish to swim.'

'Pull the curtains, trip the Lights,'
Said Sonny Diva to midnight,
'I do not wish to swim tonight,
I do not wish to swim tonight.
For swimming marries dilly men
To female poets plied from skin.
I do not wish to swim tonight
I do not wish to swim.'

'Snuff the cradle, end god's Life,
Send my rings to Jesus Christ;
I have no Mumma left to reach
Except the bridge beyond Death's beach.
In that you know Divas, too,
Cum pierce my heart and break me thru;
As Sonny Diva rides salt veins,
Cum cease my heart,

for I'm to blame?'

Copyright JDB March 15th 1998.



GEM-BRUISED GIRL (speed-written Feb 1st 1992)


She's a gem-bruised girl
A Mother-of-Pearl sitar encases
Her ruby ways in a tiger-gaol;
And I can hardly walk amongst her
Whose ways are bejewelled
Nor can I speak or write before her
As she, gem-bruised, ignites the sky.

She's a gem-bruised girl,
A Mother-of-Pearls sitar-suitcases
Her gem-bruised ways behind love's leagued bars,
And though I weep to weave
And eternally hold her
Her gem-bruised ways are
Distanced far as Saintess Mars
Who, as sure as Time is here,
Shining, Under a gem-bruised sea of tears,
Ignites magnetos with giddy cinemas.

And I ask you, gem-bruised child,
how shall celled pleasure free your measure
From your prison-delving kick-career?
When in Manna shall's timed glamour
Crack those gem-bruised chains you wear?
Oh, Gem-bruised baby, gem-clued Lady,
Pray shine no more or else despair,

Then swing and pulse where nothing's there.


Copyright JDB Feb 1st 1992.




Have you come to see my flee
From the children and guyropes combining to seize
The big city daydreams from their funeral pyres? Have You
Come to meet the silicon fires?

Hand into hand, the Pities rage and rave:
Do not have the pity to be brave: my
Head goes round and round like an endless tune,
Spiring and spurting beneath the yellow moon.

This is my raft resound: I see no river near,
Nor river's spree is dear enough to
Gyre and sunder free. Here is the cactus land,
The moll and maiden in the soldier's hand:
I must rend a tear from out this dead island.

Hand into hand, the rafts rail on:
No man is dearly loved beyond the frozen sun:
No Woman or Child may set Love's children free:
This is my raft resound, my song about God's city.

Come hope and frighten us, come lead us all astray:
Hang us from the trees of dreamers and
Waste sex-lands away: come today, for Living
Is drowning in its dregs: come today, for giving
Is broken in its head.

Outlaws of Freedom, we walk a kitchen's bypass
With nothing to be and lopped foods to come,
All worlds repeated, not shadow deleted,
Running rude everything into our dugged songs.

All is quested by our raft resound song...

River feet, river elite, river repetition queen,
Come to us and swing for us, come and compete with dust,
O, let your Kingdom scream around our dreams
O, let these restless sex-smiled screens murder us.

Come to us and terrify, come let our babies sanctify,
Come let my raft resound sail out for Suicide,
Come let us petrify, come like a caddis wife,
Come today and run now from sweet eyes,
Come, come, come, and bear us a fled Son,
Come, come, come for this, our raft undersound,
Come kill the weeping towns, come
For this, our raft resound, come, come, come
For this, my ditty about deadliness and old Mum.

Copyright JDB 1991.


Farriers extend, hawksheads portend
A spiel of hound-heraldry, spavinned wrens
Slip through ther rabid streets and lie
Days deep in the lion's eye. Why

You left is a dream. The summer knocks
And flits like oystered shoals redeemed. I
Scratch my forehead, skip and spread
The legs of a scented threads. Themes
Dose midst the dockers; drips
Damsel in the dazzle and comb
The hairs of longlost mothers.

Farriers extend, hawksheads portend
A spiel of hound-heraldry. Skeins
Lip across the blue; shoes
Light cigars and bend. Friends,

This song is the gong, the gash and the fond
Flash of tanines midst the brains; aimed
Where lilies rock and brontosaurs fuck,
The spavinned horses maim
Each Ingle. Anvils twire; wire
Rips rammed paged crowns; sounds
Slap the clowner's face. Faith!

We must have Faith, for
Farriers extend, hawksheads augment
A stealer of hound-heraldry; maws
Pivot across the deep. Sleep

Is sweet in de Devil's gyre; fire
Is all the omens may inspire. Liars
Have a groom to charge; hard
Flumes cellved maggots in cock-spires.

Yet why you left is a suitcase bereft
Of synergies and sirens. Sons
Do not breathe so well when
The gorge is full of demons. Pass!


Copyright JDB 1999. 


No More of the Dying Game (a prize-winning song-poem)
where a prisoner yells, the 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 rain
and under dust, my bedhead ordains
a shallow graveyard raised by stained
no more no more the dying game
no more for mauds
no more for sheet pain
and we swing for night when dames
swallow up mad 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 name
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 a vast
comedy of divinities and gold casks
and a fist will blow hot veins?
© 6 days ago, James Edward David Bellamy


note: lots of James Bellamy's songs have instinctive metrical patterns.