I convalesce under the counterpane
with the play of evening birdsong
and that blood rush roar of jets
lifting the propped sash higher
The late light on the roofline tiles
is almost that Mediterranean red
against the flat chalk-blue sky
but I am rolled up in Sussex
The same songs will find me
waking in the same place
as the light and sky are turned
and the curtains are ripped
Then this moment will return
of me laid low by the small efforts
which others do not notice –
I have lost the art of only being
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Published by Mike Bell Poetry
Mike Bell's expanding collection of poems is his ongoing response to actual moments – conjured memories – and a fearful future.
His ambition is to publish 10,000 poems, and then take a nap.
His writing continues to be reproduced in various formats and journals – he also throws himself out there in occasional readings – open mics and poetry sessions – when his body is willing.
Mike Bell is found working for money as a freelance set designer.
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