First Love

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Ten minutes past five
30-11-16
That date to be etched
The timing - pre-teen .../


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Origins

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

My three brothers are dead, but two remain quite alive: Here in my small town they will never arrive; both hunched back in Surrey, they’ll not communicate, much like our mother, with her acidic berate: I am, for forever, the accidental one, being that, her error, she shuns her third son.   Mike Bell Poetry...


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First Fall

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

That white fall outside my studio, which kids had anticipated forever, now lay wet, unhealthy, a let down on this small island of crap weather. 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...


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A Drowning

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I stand and consider myself, again bared by the common ritual of the shower, my stripped admit with this steam-blushed soaped nudity. And an idle thought: I am so far removed from the sea’s wash which once set upon my ship-wrecked predecessor, Edwin Porritt, son of William, lost off Sunderland, there taken under: He drank...


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From this road

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The razored lawn cemetery -
there - down from this road
with lonely St Dunstan's .../


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West Pier, Brighton

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Along the beach to Kemptown, the long way back, beyond the curdle of murmerations, that over-shoulder look to the sunset, at the skinned bulk of rotten dark piers, with a low tide touch to creme caramel sky; bursting in and out, the flexed shadow, and translucency, of clouded starlings; their murmerings, such sung things, followed...


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The Vicar of Newick

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I drank with God’s labourer in Newick, last night, him without dog collar, instead with a pint; he regaled the fire-sided, with joyous laughter, as he heated over coals – a forestaste of life after? There stripped of his woolly, sweated in the snug, if Heaven were on earth, his Heaven’d be a pub. The...


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Routes

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The briefest of expeditions -
gloam-reduced on unmarked
rough paths below Uckfield -
in frost's shade .../


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Nil Health Service

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Jeremy Hunt, stand up you c*nt, our #NHS is not yours to spunk; health is taxed, not privatised, fettle through rights, not your lies. 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...


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Objectors

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

My father - his own father
was a conscientious objector -
My grandfather laboured
under a slow faith - assured .../


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