Anthology Vol IV Jon Bun Onion: A Poetaster's Progress

By Christopher Bellamy

What were you to me? More than you’ll ever know!

In life you were the man for all seasons,

From whom I sought the guiding light of reason,

The dearest friend that never needed my amends,

The older brother who guided me like no other,

You who opened a door through which I walked,

But never alone, for you were on the other side, too.

Yes, you were more to me than you’ll ever know,

Yes, you are more to me than you’ll ever know.

And it’s thanks to you that now I grow into a person whose light you showed,

A light, a torch to you for my life and more.

For all you’ve given me – for what little I gave you in return.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035823611

Christopher Bellamy

Christopher Bellamy is an Englishman, 43, born in the U.K., although considers himself a citizen of the world and has lived and worked far and wide, most recently Hong Kong. Christopher began writing poetry in 2008 and has since completed six volumes of original poetry, In The Beginning Was The Word, Poetry in Motion (S*x On The Beach Part I), Inappropriate Words for Every Occasion, the present work, At The Merest Whisper of Your Gentle Voice, I Find Myself With Child, Tales From CCCLXV Labian Nights, an espionage novel, BLINDSPOT Alpha and a second novel, Once Upon A Nightmare. Christopher is currently writing his seventh volume of poetry: Who Was The Man With The Iron Arse? He is also working on a number of other writing projects and commissions.

Book preview

About the Author

Christopher Bellamy is an Englishman, 43, born in the U.K., although considers himself a citizen of the world and has lived and worked far and wide, most recently Hong Kong. Christopher began writing poetry in 2008 and has since completed six volumes of original poetry, In The Beginning Was The Word, Poetry in Motion (S*x On The Beach Part I), Inappropriate Words for Every Occasion, the present work, At The Merest Whisper of Your Gentle Voice, I Find Myself With Child, Tales From CCCLXV Labian Nights, an espionage novel, BLINDSPOT Alpha and a second novel, Once Upon A Nightmare. Christopher is currently writing his seventh volume of poetry: Who Was The Man With The Iron Arse? He is also working on a number of other writing projects and commissions.

Dedication

To the very few people I’ve loved.

Copyright Information ©

Christopher Bellamy 2023

The right of Christopher Bellamy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035823604 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035823611 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

The Author of this work hereby asserts his moral and legal rights under national laws and international treaties to be recognised worldwide as its Author. Any unauthorised copying or distribution of this work constitutes a violation of national copyright laws and international copyright treaties. Any reproduction, storage in a retrieval system (of whatsoever kind), transmission in any form or by any means by any media of whatsoever kind, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the permission of the Author, is strictly prohibited.

Gospel

08 December 2016

Mexican food that makes you shit thrice

Severance pay equals a severance package

Time mite emit item it tie met me Tim

In a blast furnace with

A busted flush

Having a busted arse and fist fuck

Seven sisters with five pairs of tits over whom 12 brothers masturbate of a Sunday

Reek havoc and Kapok and thence from whence they came know none but Hector the Dane

Hector the Dane, he of no name, knew Hetty the Vain, she who was lame

At midnight on October 13 in Maine several old maids drank milk from a vein

The vein was in a phallus belonging to a horse with no main

And Peter Threfall awoke for Chris Topher the Gay

Kristallnacht was lived again and again

And still we have no answer and no better claim

That’s no more of an indictment than if God slew us all again

The Gospel According to a Woollen

Sweater

08 December 2016

What one sees there is a history of convolution never meant to be present

A blue bottle quivering over the rotting corpse of a whore seem like unto manticore

Wherefore more could be done until the rising of the sun but in the end the dead men

On the bench of the living raise their heads while the tiniest moonbeams of the lame

Remain and a room full of lawyers speak of arcane matters pointless like mad hatters Speaking only of Jan Vermeer the face, head, body, legs and feet are missing and only

The hair remains from which you can identify the Satanic barbarian which maims

Shlomo Banana A History

Of The Blues

10 December 2016

St. George atop and bestride his horse slaying the Martian

A magpie of gnomes

Slashed on the rings

Pitched in turds – they are the words

Snatch and blow

Pitched in turds – they are the words

The souls of whores bought and sold

A sheet of blow

A flagon of blow – screams of lust

A flagon of blow – the life of the beast

In the land of the dragon sits an isolated encampment, the nine fragrant hills rampant

Manna from Heaven and Henna

Skewered

Purpli

12 December 2016

I’ve given all to my clitoris,

I’ve given all to my clitoris,

I’ve given all to my clitoris – I’m glad it’s not her!

My finger I take and slide it right in!

I’ve given all to my clitoris and I’m glad it’s not her!

It’s soft and it’s wet like boiled tomatoes,

It’s soft and it’s wet like boiled tomatoes,

It’s soft and wet like tomatoes and stinks like his rear!

The Gospel According to Utterly

Pretentious Bollocks

(Lords and Ladies)

12-20 December 2016

A blush of boys paralyzed by ploys

A drunkship of cobblers drunken bollocks

A hastiness of cooks and in Maryland party rooks

A stalk of foresters and militant rollockers

A faith of merchants – compulsory handouts for greedy mendicants

A malapertness of pedlars – I certainly didn’t know they were elephants

A pity of prisoners – I’m the gaoler of miserliness

A glozing of taverners – what can’t I get lather my little puss?

A shrewdness of apes – the baleful jackanapes

A herd of asses – sat at a table drinking molasses

A pace of asses – being ridden by comely lasses

A troop of baboons – my goodness what a poltroon!

A cete of badgers, eminent were the mountaineers!

A sloth of bears from where come the tears?

A swarm of bees, brought down low to his knees!

A drift of bees, mirthless in dungarees

A hive of bees, nesting snuggly in Dundee

An erst of bees – the pride of the Maccabees!

A flock of birds in flight, mighty big turds!

A flight of birds immersed I said first

A pod of birds in flight, what a sight!

A herd of buffalo couldn’t fight for a bungalow

A gang of buffalo are far too slow

An obstinacy of buffalo reign in the backwoods of Canada

A bellowing of bullfinches left me at sixes and sevens

A drove of bullocks smells fishy like truffles

An army of caterpillars carry around a mighty queen in a litter!

A clowder of cats couldn’t catch all the rats!

A glaring of cats sit smelling of fats!

A herd of cattle all my goods and chattels

A drove of cattle make me sit on my mettle

A brood of chickens – a fine good finger lickin’

A clutch of chickens – very slim pickings!

A peep of chickens would rather hide than make a living!

A chattering of cloughs – akin to chattering sluts!