Sleep Walking

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

All simple pleasures of sleep have now been reduced over these past three days by work and their changes to that work as all my efforts are then undone to be redone before their deadline is met in that dirt of freelancing No paid sick leave for us workers of late hours and others’ foibles...


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By Green Park

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Day-glo tourists and hoary men – stiff in their dour ashen suits – not much has changed beyond Victoria’s cast arches – still a Queen and commoners standoff and watch each other from behind quick net curtains and wrought iron barriers as black cabs and red buses match those travellers’ hopes of a London of...


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On at Eridge

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

For fuck’s sake then a rummage of backpack zips as his phone alert raises its volume during their fight And she asks him Where are you? Just left Eridge Where? Just left Eridge – On the train When are you here? In a few minutes – In a few minutes – It’s running late And...


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07:33 Uckfield to London Bridge

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

It is a regular slog – a rub of bodies albeit freshly washed within air-conditioned warming-up carriages Out of Oxted and left to mute prayers and fingering keyboards instead of rosaries by that ticket- greedy high priest And a sudden tunnel is my utter immersion in this commuter hell – of sorts Mike Bell Poetry...


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We Lay

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We lay parallel on your sofa as if raft-bound – beached – rolled tight into hard intimacy – into another urge of pushes and pulls – you are so slight that it seems almost fictional An unexpected blast of verse as rare as washed up ambergris is our mute communion of sex Mike Bell Poetry...


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If I could lift your hair

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

If I could lift your hairwith my good right handfrom behind you to findour long-settled placefor one last loved timewithout this revulsion – then have you allow meto tour round and down you –to cup your right breastand to pinch to your cryyour ever-hard nippleIf I could lift your hairone last time Mike Bell Poetry...


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Mother and Child

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Slunked – almost cursed being its low artfulness among suburban yards and spade-ruled beds – brushing its rusted pelt and curling as if a stole fixed around that fat neck of some awful woman There was a dead cub – clubbed and bloodied by a car – or a truck – on that stretch of...


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Touchscreen

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Here grandparents struggle with screen-deprived kids unsure of the new-fangled rules on both sides of such fist fights during lung-asking tantrums whilst forever doing term time cover for absent parents – out there – sipping lattes and checking phones under nice parasols in London Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick...


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Malling Down

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We will seek any natural – and unnatural – sedate shade under these new northern arcs of lifted latitude summers We can still find strolled shelter under an avenue of plane trees – but only if dull conspirators do not deny them a sure line now their leaf-fat shadows stretch over an unkempt rough plot...


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These Players

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

There are no long embraces – no more slowing of time by a hold on your intimacy – or by those so-silent acknowledgements No unsaid understandings by affection’s expressions – none by a raised eye to mine There are no looks in poor light between slowly rolled reveals – none from behind your kabuki’s drop...


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