Easy Jets

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We are now committing six easy jets,
And many young souls to cold desert-deaths:
Then we'll agree a bloodied bag-exchange:
More re-dress rehearsals (of flag-tagged pains).
Led by the strong-arm (of munitions' squeeze),
Again lobbied "Ayes..", said our lame MPs.
Did we bomb Ireland, strafe the terrorists?
No: we shook those Fenians' angry fists.
For peace at home - send a tame diplomat:
But for offshore battles - we'll bomb you flat.


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Pocket-patting

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I have now reached My ‘pocket-patting phase’, A lost time of life, Pre-empting old age: Locating keys, or glasses, With ‘the pat’, Of every pocket-lump, Until quite flat. I will stand At my standing desk (it and me), Attempting to re-locate, By ‘pattery’, A fix on reading glasses, (me not them), Only to find them...


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Jean’s Pigeon Tree

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

From a still, unpacked,
house you see,
The scruffy, leaf-free,
'Pigeon Tree'
.....


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Lime Tree Avenue

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We both stood then,
storm-sheltered, unlashed,
under bent lime trees.

But then whipped,
and wind-weltered;
A roar of timber-roll seas.

Breaking
green waves
almost crash:

A canopied
high-tide surged,
And a final,

blustered thrash:
this winded-walk,
washed and purged.


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Five AM

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I own this hour of each day, (part of my family is settled above), and I tap-tap away, in the kitchen’s dumb-hum. No pant and pad of dog, no mis-tuned song, this busy home in a sleep. With early ticks, the glassed darkness, leaves the weather outside, I am alone, circling the earth, it seems,...


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Double Trouble

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Yellow lines to be laid, in paralleled-pairs,
Whilst striped-bright police cars patrol unawares.
All being 'good', the badly-parked will be slapped,
With a statutory fine: windscreens ticket-wrapped.

The new parking zone will stretch from Uck to Ouse,
Privatised wardens, wearing uniform blues,
Pacing out side streets (in bounty-hunting mode),

Leaping on the line-parked: 'I stopped to unload!'
Our future is fine - thirty days to pay up,
But don't park in Uckfield, it has just been shut.


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Laughing Gas

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Shale gas is seeping,
it's 'sure' to give us wealth:

Getting high on fracked-off fumes,
improves the National Health
.....


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Dr. Suess, I Guess.

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Poetry is good for us,
It makes us happy,
Our babies loved hearing it,
Wrapped in a nappy.

Poetry's our underwear,
We don't like to flash:
We know if it gets dirty,
We think it quite rash.

"Poetry should rhyme!",
"Follow the written-down rules!"
Life doesn't,
So why bother?

No, that is too cruel.


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Me and Morrissey

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Me and Morrissey, we wear our shirts undone: my family berates me, a louche of a man: No wonder Mozza lives a ‘celibate life’, still, I don’t mind living with my buttoned-up wife. Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap....


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Once a Month

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

A blue moon: I won't rise
From my unsettled-bed:
This Parkinson's 'thing' on me,
Wishing me dead..


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