When Master-Mistress

When Master-Mistress madcap Jake fishes for veins and waters,
This lucent poem-page gets microphoned with ghosts and flashes;
And, wherefore a fatalism promotes sex for devishes and lashes, limers
Must annoint the birds of the worlds with bustlers and nailering swiners:
O, all this damned whored year, we have hardened
O, all these slammerings render puffers from adders and severings.

I intended to preach in a cold godspace but my penis daren’t pray.
And, these fractionatives hereby sunder-space from dogs on trays.
And the whirlers for dementives come sirenising for chronic slain
Wicked seagulls come easily for homers and proud slept eye-wind;
O, whence slazeners beget hurt from stoners then

To work all the nightlong days we protest for the skies of this mind,
Cosmos-made, delvered, shaggering with mad warblers under trees.
And, whenever summers snaps, a curtler for cad bumblers will use seeds
For some aldening blirter of a cat come loving and listening.
And we shall extemporise natural head-rests with shimmerings and tea,
And I shall abuse for the utmost best then fade to fucking graves.

These Wolf Eyes

These wolf-eyes will eternally feed mess to the meadows
Will, with a winded sun-at-sea gone grey, brokers for gallowers,
Shrapnelled, blurted, slammed,
Beget cool hard VDs from silly eggcups and teasers and facers
And I will send some deadener of a god-mumma come
Entissuing after a doubler of a walnut tree come sylvan for squirrels
And, whence wenders scrape doos on gut,
Me and macadam Eden-Aarons will wash all cups

And it was merely one million years ago when a ripply beauty came
Entertaining the all with prehistorics and fossilers and
Oh, and I have water-spind weedlers with contumely and distant rain,
Creepily enbriding some dodgy moon-flitters
And it was just about when true earth burned when hecklers on trains
Behested for stoned boys. I am alone in my vocal head-world.
I am intended to wed no-one.

We sink under vast rats as pilliory pled pillows with snaps and pearls. I
Have to hasten now to some maladies which,
Comedy-crafted, happens to die for bitchers as blakers use wits for wide
Woollen city-masques; and, oh, as we enbitcher for saviours,
Wiveners for dizzy farms will sickler for geezers unfound across sailors
And you are the famous child god used to own.

Do sweet memories forevermore affixed to lost valves and dementias
Or is it (with all the minds we seize) come charnelising after sickers; O, men
Must overturn the utmost sides of a swan-swarm
And, whatever the wynd of fears,
Me and madam macadam Naplers guested for pickers and lost spawns.

Jim Bellamy was born in a storm in 1972. He studied hard and sat entrance exams for Oxford University. Jim has won three full awards for his poems. Jim has a fine frenzy for poetry and has written in excess of 22,000 poems. Jim adores the art of poetry. He lives for prosody.

You can find more of Jim’s work here on Ink Pantry.