Category: 10,000 Poems

Mike Bell hopes to write 10,000 poems before he drops dead. He hopes this poetry practice will ensure that he remains well up to 85 years of age.

Lock-em Up

Our Uckfield Town Council,
is to spend a wee-bit more,
£3,000 on four, ‘pay-for’,
loo lockable-doors:
used two times a day,
on average,
to refund what’s lent;
A 20p dropped:
payback may take
two thousand spends:
Say, two thousand days
to own 4 more lockable bogs:
But trashed in hours:
please invest in bins
for spent dogs.

On Waking, Again.

In this (revisited) moment my eyelids are caustic,
stung-rubbed corneas, awake, weighted-down,
by an utter exhaustion,
(which sleep, these days, fails to cure).

I, drug-succumbed, to such high views,
from unclouded dream-peaks:
then wading, unaided, each half-flooded
unmapped valley of sleep:

where such side-effected,
vast dreams, broadcast through the night,
to my disconnected self:
every time, more real, when I can move, like old.

But flat rigidity, offered, again, at 5am,
is a sluggard-waking, on misty un-rolled downs,
off the sleep-state – providing no more shelter,
from exposure, to my forever-reigning pain.

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Easy Jets

We are now committing six easy jets,
And many young souls to cold desert-deaths:
Then we’ll agree a bloodied bag-exchange:
More re-dress rehearsals (of flag-tagged pains).
Led by the strong-arm (of munitions’ squeeze),
Again lobbied “Ayes..”, said our lame MPs.
Did we bomb Ireland, strafe the terrorists?
No: we shook those Fenians’ angry fists.
For peace at home – send a tame diplomat:
But for offshore battles – we’ll bomb you flat.

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