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Johan Belmont Poem
Nanaya:
“Self love - bereft of sin, beseeching and riveting in my spirit, jumps over me in the power of expression. Each twirl of my spirits dance radiates an effervescent power directed at my overcoming. What do I overcome? Suffering my youth, my age, my indiscriminate desire to give up. Yet, there is life in me still, passion that drips, salivating for the hunger of experience. Oh, how my spirit elevates my pride as I dash and bound through the fields of youth. Do you remember that thrill of something new?”
Shayura:
“Memory holds me dear child, in the springtime of my youth like you I was heated in my passion. Refined by my becoming I grew strength in pride and love. Craving the breasts of experience I expressed myself without remorse for self recognition and expanded my horizons through sin. Overcoming is my desire for you, kiss your cheeks and dull your shame yet to come. Is love worthy of you? Does it move the spirit in the direction of your becoming? Ask yourself this devastating question and lay your spirit in its ruin, how you rise will determine much of your passions. Dear child moored by inspiration, what delicacy will you become?”
Nanaya:
“Is love worthy of me? Is water worthy of the body? It seems a necessity in our cravings yet a parched man would desire it more than one that drowns. I wish to drown in my self love yet I see I would spurn my waters, is love worthy of me? As in possession and need, as in self abandonment, as in pity - these are not the love I deserve. Creativity and affirmation is the great love I seek, free proud and joyful, worthy of becoming, not comfort.”
Shayura:
“Young one, if I knew you in my youth I would follow your heart as if it were the morning star. Tenderly wise is your desire for a richer love, express yourself in this beautiful pride of yours. How will you achieve such a love? Through endurance of all things? By means of bending the world through power, not physical but expressive and creative? My wisdom for you is that of Pindar, become who you are.”
Copyright © Johan Belmont | Year Posted 2025
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Johan Belmont Poem
Sunshine and revelry steeped the day like sweet tea dripping over a glass's edge. Overflow dribbling down rejuvenated the laughter of the gut and burst forth into an excess of jubilation. The cup wants to be filled with adulation for the man to drink; the man is a goblet steeped by the day. Over him jumps his spirit, blooming amidst his body's celebration into a new stance, pose, and guise. The transvaluation of the spirit leads it to elevation, upwards, it laughs yes, raising the cup and dousing its thirst—the birth of a madman steeped in sunshine and revelry.
Copyright © Johan Belmont | Year Posted 2025
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Johan Belmont Poem
The expectations of the heart bound the passions in a silent breath, holding within the roots of flowered lungs – the grandiose applause beating against ribcages. It reverberates with aching and longing to be heard. A silent breath holds the hand of a lover yearning to be seen, to be reciprocated. The expectations of the heart wilt without the waters of recognition and the abundance of love, unabated and unrestrained. Flowered lungs sprout daisies – effeuiller la marguerite, a silent breath holds the hand of a lover. The anticipation of the heart swirls the passions into dance like the wild winds carrying petals through their drift – and she loves me.
Copyright © Johan Belmont | Year Posted 2025
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Johan Belmont Poem
Shayura:
“I dreamt my body was dull gold and rotted, fickle grace abandoned me, yet scattered, I reforged my essence through brilliance and incandescence, allotting my time – I dared to dream again. In faith, I dwelled beneath myself as my spirit raised and polished my tarnished skin ever so boldly to completion, to my perfection, here I lie, emboldened by my untruth. Half-lidded eyes scry my horizon and wipe the bronze clouds with furious passion, fiery and red – set ablaze my falling sun. I dreamt of an ornament chalice, desiring to be filled and hoisted to thy lips, it wants to be emptied – though I am not strong enough.”
Misha:
“Oh, how much you have suffered to become so beautiful! I would kiss your feet beneath the earth and memorize the arches just as the grass moulds to them in memory! Where is the smile that caused the wrinkles on your face? Could you not dance, then sing, and I will raise my cup to your lips, and if then you lack strength – I will kiss my overflow into you. You were born beautiful and God-like in your laughter!”
Shayura:
“Mad-man, cup my cheek and feel the heat flowing from my heart, feel my yearning spirit tremble at your words fallen from thy lips. Passion would still my stance once more and steady my shaking hands. I turn my face towards a new stance, guise, and pose – unrecognizable to my youth yet familiar to my spirit. Kiss me, your overflow! So, I may choose once more my strength, my brilliance under a new morning star, let barefooted love be my wind – allow turning away be my only negation henceforth.”
Chorus:
“Eudaimonia! She is the vitality of gold, un-dulled and worthy of herself. Wearing her pride like the jewelry that hangs from her ears and rings on her hands. Her self-love is a lifetime romance, a longing for recognition. She will still dream, no doubt, of her tarnished gold and rotted flesh, but she has found strength – she turns away from it. Ailed no longer, she treads her path under a new sky adorned with playful clouds, her untruth.”
Misha:
“Crowd my solitude, for its vastness still requires conversation, for me to be man again. Show me your new face so I may recognize your flaws in awe of you… Walk through my field of sunshine and revelry so you may feel at home in your tarnished skin. Let your spirit bound over and bloom as in the fiery lilies I so love to watch grow. Command yourself! Become who you are – I will watch you as a lily.”
Copyright © Johan Belmont | Year Posted 2025
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Johan Belmont Poem
Each day, I bury the version of me who loved less. Enthralled by my own becoming, I have fallen out of love countless times into new love. I savour each moment spent amidst my anointment towards higher values, and I ask, is love worthy of me? The idol of love is tantalizing, patient and kind, it does not envy, it does not boast – love is erotic and sensual still, it yearns and longs for the lives of others. Love is deeply human, and in its humanity can become. It haunts us, begets us, spurns us, and yet I do believe it is worthy of me, sweet Sappho would agree…
Each day, I bury the version of me who loved less.
Copyright © Johan Belmont | Year Posted 2025
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Johan Belmont Poem
Oh no, I’ve fallen in love again
Why does this always happen to me?
Love is no bigger than a small apple
It reflects in the eye but beats in the chest.
What am I falling out of love with?
I can’t carry every apple I see.
Copyright © Johan Belmont | Year Posted 2025
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