Sweet Truth

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Just like Roald Dahl,
The best writer of stories,
I surrender too easily,
To sweet-tooth fairies


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Paper Round, 1980

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

That paper-boy
dawn chorus
in half-light
played
shrill here,
again garden-deep
.....


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WikiPoem

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I donate to Wikipedia
Five quid every month,
For that small remittance
I am no more a dunce.


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The Last Craftsman

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Table-trapped,
In the heaving,
Squeak-stepped,
Sports hall


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Indoor Rain, Lyon, 1986

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

That walk-in music,
'The Boys of Summer',
Amplified high, over
Stacked bullets and bins
.....


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Bar Work, 6am.

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I woke up hard,
From an erotic dream,
Victoria, a bar, sipped
Beer and stood;
That communicated,
Repeated,
Brush of stranger,
Half touch, hip rub.

She was chatting about
Keith Vaz being ejected,
From this place:
'His type,' she said.
And I was attracted
To that type of woman,
Back then: Older,
Late thirties, open.

That was the eighties,
When my physique
Was more tuned
Than my mind:
I had ordered a lager,
That dated my dream,
Being a bitter man
These days.
Single and on the pick-up;
She had a cruelty,
This stranger,
Attractive back then.


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Stick Man, East Hoathly

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

A concrete rippled ramp,
Past-scarred by drain movers,
Short vein of fix-tarmac,
Rolled 'tween cast covers.

A skinny, resolute,
Clump of grass,
Too rough for the lawns,
Fights up through the path.

An inert alarm box,
Above bolted doors:
Two horses cast shadows,
Stick Man, of course.


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Lift North, 1986.

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Montpelier, empty,
That wind-robbed place,
As if the cruel mistral
Had fully-erased,

With maddening blasts,
All warmth-known,
And me, broke, bagged,
Foreign cash gone.
.....


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Castaway

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

You are now storm-struck,
no 'Met Warning',
there, blow-stranded,
all alone, tide-washed,
marooned
.....


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Dad

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I have never enjoyed cold tea –
you know that slop-dreg last inch .../


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