John Clare

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

You read a world from so little,
said John Clare to the Gypsy,
a time before the handset
ripped-up our books,
.....


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Cock. Up North.

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

What a knob George Osborne can be, the illiterate author of Austerity; now pedalling for power in northern houses, where hope was trashed for privatised prizes: He’s really after a mightier retreat, located due south in Downing Street. Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a...


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The Architect

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

You - the architect of your future -
setting the lines and levels

to maintain right angles
and correct returns ../


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Royalty

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

A heartbreak of beauty, on the high street, she reflected this morning, reversed – what we see. Ordered online, her outfit of choice, the town’s pageant queen commands without voice. If she could read our servile minds, she would no more be ours, the float-show declined. Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000...


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A Time Ago

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Yes, you told him,
that you were in love
with his brother,
that did not matter
.....


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Cul-de-sacs

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I grew up under the order of suburban curves, boxed allotments, striped lawns, the apprenticeship of newspapers, which we fed into houses; careful to avoid the murmured float when bombing down cul-de-sacs, with no bagged burden by eight am; to return, to dress, uniformed, to school. as we now send our own. Mike Bell Poetry...


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Pooh Bear Did Sh*t in the Woods

By Mike Bell Poetry 1 comment

...here.

My last poem
about David Cameron:
Sadly, 'Pooh' will never
come back again
.....


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Sleep, Removed II

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This eye-lined weight
takes me to my bed,
too easily, to sleep,
even then, struck midday
.....


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Book at Bedtime

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

You are, in that moment, longer than a minute, a time without gauges, under glasses of wine, weighting you; having read a part-story to one child, and your other half is a floor below, and you consider the stairs down, to where muttered-TV, with guffawed additions, fills the stairwell, and that climbing back-up now feels...


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The Weight of the Fall

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

It has struck hard,
that hour I long ignored,
until now, this week,
when my body clock
turned back
.....


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