Clouds

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This nuclear sun over Nerja
seems to be a false detonation
just short of early November
sent with no sense of guilt

It sears the white on sunbeds
and encourages black beach vendors
equally fearful of seasonal clouds
like those dropped by atomic gods

experts at praying against shade:
stay caught on the peak of the hills
tied to the now-misted heights
by beaded string to rosemary.

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 should be about 85 years old and have out-gunned PD, dementia, and the end of days. Possibly. Before the floods and fires. Mike Bell is found working for money as a freelance set designer.