Yet Under Stars

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

My beer-slipped schemes drift from under me – from my legs – as if my intentions are blown whilst I am at my high helm of hard rope pulls – without her – in my pain-clinkered craft and it shifts to starboard – now translated into my Cornish-Sussex parlance but it is a one-man adjust...


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Your Dog Leash

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

As your Anacreon I still say – Keep on making common mistakes Dear Philomedes do not let them now burden you with their regrets They will pull on you like my sculpting string – binding you – stinking – buried in another’s bed stuck between sex work and rattled corporate travel – amid that hot...


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Do not travel

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

unless you do not return Reduce our desecration of crushing of what just about still exists by not coming back to report your travels in books and glossy mags Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap. By then he...


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A Thankless Task

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Here fifty-six lichen-dipped granite bodies sunbathe – some lean – some almost swoon in April’s upset of unexpected weather Here clippings and rolled stripes of grass mark long-sunk slopes under headstones A cartographer had taken up mowing and looked back upon his day’s work as a map folded open – to be figured out For...


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#EasterSunday

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

He kicks his third found ball outside our back door beating an executor’s drum roll before his imminent collection – by his mother – to be dragged to Grandma’s gathering of love where elephants stand in rooms and his overbearing relatives pour their necessary champagne and pretend that life is beautiful everywhere – but don’t...


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#GreeneKingPubs

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

These pulling places are rammed by limp cocks and hard-to-hear voices by forty-year-old bent coppers and pitch-hoarse salesmen feasting on glimpses of wagged butts and – if lucky – being eye-felt back as unsteady rounds are re-summoned – until each wooden table holds it own glass city of empties and knock-backs All until that briefly-sweet...


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The Stick

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

There are re-tightened circles within my bind – my condition of well-rounded concentric ripples Feel them grip – feel with me He laughs at my stick and walk because he’s so very drunk before an unequal fill of booze ferments inside my empty gut thickly – as if a dreadful influenza but none of those...


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Home Improvements

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Your buck of a builder arrives in his sign-written truck they belong to your dull stepfather – both the van and the man and in your imagination you have used his hands – calloused – to fix things in your mind – everyone knows how these things develop You returned from a night in Brighton...


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She Said

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I will carry on as normal – as that is all I have I will listen to your requests but not adhere to any said I hope you approach my acts with a more rational mind I am not ‘heartless and nasty’ and I’m not ‘breezing around’ The situation – as it stands – is...


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The Chair

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

My fumbled-for decision of whether to sit in my reading chair with my back to my slow-to-rotting bay windows took rare time to work out – to atone Do you face out – sit there on show? Or settle – reversed to that view with a low sun on any held book But then not...


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