Interesting News

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Look

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I am descending, vertically pitched, into my unknown, in this dropped lift: The alarm, like most things, is out of order, so this is me screaming before my last horror. 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...


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Seconds

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

She was born to slight ordinariness, which was also pretty, confusing attraction in those seeing her: quickly dismissed with repeat regard of her plain features, tricking the eyes which briefly admired her, until seeing her.   Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and...


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Advice for Jeremy, from Jeremy

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Jeremy Clarkson you are such a cock, turn a new leaf, read a self-help book: ‘The Thoughts of Jeremy‘, writ by Corbyn, says: ‘Take the shit that’s always coming’; then no small foreigner will screw your life, if you see the world through such alien eyes: Next time you rage, getting very irate, heed Corbyn’s words,...


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Hotel Entrance

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Her other self steps out under the hotel-lights, with the sun lowered, as the early dusk scowls: In heels she copes, as ever, on irregular paths and routes, a recall of her airline days, those trips less troublesome, just turbulence and trolleys: These punters, these travellers, more equal in measures of demands and sullen desires, and not...


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Guilt

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

He sits in his cooled car watching the moon’s unclothed glow draw past the back-lit clouds, and he thinks about her stripped disquiet, her pale, tightened, skin, how her muscles felt, under her folding over and his locking in; and he can still smell her on his fingers, and he pulls out those screen wipes...


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Snowfall

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The intensity of morning light beyond the thin curtains, signaled that promised snow: As predicted, as forecast, as talked about last night, an imminent-probability. He knew it was there before he opened the drapes: It was an almost-glow off the fat fresh fall – heaped over the rooftops, cars, streets and gardens, and then the...


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Kid Canute

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

He owned the horizon,
your barefoot child,
prince of the shoreline,
master of the low tide;
able to leap the waves
and place himself,
paced long strides on the
squeeze of lapped sand,
commanding your heart.


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Not So Super

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The Super Moon isn’t that ‘super’, hyperbole spread across our ‘papers, plus Great Britain’s no longer ‘great’, added bullshit from the Fourth Estate.   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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Look It Up

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Today some librarians were summarily shot, others had their licked-fingers lopped: No fresh cash to buy, no more books to improve – libraries to re-define ‘desuetude’: Once places to search word-oddities, where we pulled from the shelves fat dictionaries, but without re-filling the reference sections, truth will be left to Google’s introjections. NEWS STORY HERE Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell...


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