When thunderheads spiral into space, then a wild drome
Is nailed inside a church-chidden city
To move, a masking venus will suck naves from
Bound devils and angelled sleep
Trilled trees dip laxative leaves inside a berried grave
And starry silver men scatter a swelled sun
Against luminaries and liquid statues?
More at https://jimbellamy.simplesite.com.
Badgers of badness in badlands of this boneyard
Has got me dreaming of bundles of bruises
In this barbaric, bargain of bountiful buildings.
Buses of baggages strewn in barrages of Bunions
Has got me
Tired and weary
Wired and flimsy
In this Metro we call Manila
And no-one can deny
That love is more tedious than lies
Seeing the mirror of the third
When fearing time’s cries
Creates behaviour a mind can’t stir
I have slowed in my swagger to find
That death cannot ever ride
The waves of its occidental sea
The nut-strewn road and its cavalry
Refine lust and its plans.
Coins in hands work for a life
And regal banks are sworn
Dead by a majesty of man-and-wife
This thurible holds intense
Incense; so too, starved tears
Weep from their command
A mute space sears the bent
Cities are altogether shent
And no-one can deny
That love is more tedious than lies
The blind fo’csle inside this brain
Must swear till death dies?..
More at https://www.jamesbellamy.org/.
they must rise, make for the strange rooms
where madmen dandled with
the sadness of the coke-filled wounds
which sang and sang all night
and the mad must appear salved
by those old-type native foolish things
which don the jeweller’s hocked
and sin-beleaguered rings
and the scene was direly set
to feature fools who should not
dive in the pools (once called the lakes)-
the stage was cold and would not
darken the faces of death’s cot…
demurely, night must swallow day?
More at https://www.jamesbellamy.org/.
Still going, all of it, still crowing!
(Ears to speakers, that sound of
The sky when it meets the sea!)
Tamed by noise, enormous airs
Grasp at a strangled voce machine.
A final tune, rigidly bangs where
The pleasures of music burn.
Still going, all of it, still flowing-.
The groups, the skiffling hands!
I search for sand and find a
Seaside pearled with purple tones.
The clear water smooths pebbles
With proud tunes roving from
The tunes of a dune-moon. Is it
Sense to find a radio attuned
To the shriekings of jazz-rain?
Still going, all of it, still going!
(Ears to tweeters, the woofers
Of a sky which sings for clothing.)
Raised by tongue-fire, gigantic strains
Drum aside drakes and break
Opened opuses at fragrant drains
O the pleasure of musics storm
The buttons of pure pain. Ahh!!!
More at https://www.jamesbellamy.org/.
Perception
What is reality, but a mirror
illusion-a deception
within itself…
For how can
one ever truly
be aware
of worlds
beyond
their own-
if un-willing
to open their
eyes to
truths
unknown?
Life is a continuous
cycle on the
road to
self-awareness,
repeated lessons
of moments
forever eternal
Striving- we can only
move forward,
knowing
what we know
Learning,
ever-learning
as we go…
I squint and look away, you shine so bright. Oh how I loved to see you fight. A brand new day approaches, she says. In that lies new opponents. Once foretold, now on a repeat. Empty bottles scatter the street. Suede shoes left disregarded, I regarded. Blood red lipstick kissed a fallen glass, in life this too will pass. Out of the ashes comes the fire in my veins