Naked Killer Dolls

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

One could stand by herself, being a Pedigree model, but her voice had gone, her real hair discoddled, knots of locks trimmed by nibbling vermin. Two dolls from the loft in one box, both hiding: I brought them down, as found, unbidden, with rolled back eyes: old toys, MADE IN BRITAIN. From the same place...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

The Visitor, 1984.

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Recall is now grey scale, but I once dreamt in colour without any gnaw of limp, or hint of restricted reach: back when stiff was good: And I would wake to this: Eight AM, clear-road Sunday: Floored up the A316, in my stripped-down Landie, roof-less, screen-dropped, me, blown, almost removed, with the doortops off: I...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

Addlestone Crossing

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

There to see my Father,
propped-up in a polished box,
one that my eldest brother,
chose, on the basis of, what
...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

Fear of Climbing

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I have my inner tremor,
my lower jaw mumbles,
my right hand joins in,
connectedness concurs
...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

God’s Acre

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Weddings and funerals, in the rare trip-place,
butted stone markers, dropped fags, and ill-grace:

Here Lies.. (A.N.Other) her time out-of-date,
alongside the latest, a brief recall in plate
..


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

Continuation

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This is my constant (since childhood): along a rough path of almost-identified bird song, high-scattered; but I am no longer drawn to the slip and suck of uneven grasses, to be welly-filled so my socks squelched: Not over the land topped by last year’s stamped brambles: As ever the grey sky has dropped, she rests...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

Morte a Venezia

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

A driven route without tarmac, re-laid by each warming tide through that visited stilt-city of floods marks and high arts, where a man can drown, whilst thrown racist weights and life aids: “He is stupid,” as recorded. “He wants to die,” they cried. Pateh Sabally, not a Venetian, was left to drown. Mike Bell Poetry...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

The Doppelgänger

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

St Theresa sat on Trump’s stiff knee, to him she was a limey Queen, but in her head she’s Thatcher’s clone: ‘This dame’s my idea of a woman I’d bone!’ Perhaps the future’s perfect couple, they both agree to cause less trouble. Hand-in-hand, off they go, but he’ll dump her soon in Guantanamo. Mike Bell...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

The Past

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I traced the lines of my family tree, my inherited myth of Bonny Prince bastards, but instead, I prove poor breeding: I dug up the broken, coal miners and others, I looked up tough people; over the border I counted the uneducated, the low-paid, the lodged, them, tight-packed, tired, those given no quarter: Always equal...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register

The Surveyor

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I am measuring my life in Caroline’s greetings, the mortgage repayments, in slow sips of hot coffee, the stick-tapped steps, in unanswered emails, thrusts of my toothbrush, in the filing of VAT returns, the social media updates, in trips up the High Street, the ‘phone battery warnings, in the hours of lost sleep, and the distances...


This poetry is for Donate a Coffee & Access All Poetry donators only.

Log In Register