U-bend

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

My souring undersongs seem to scald me by bloody detestation at more coughed-up ugly gobs Swallowed pride rides low on my short gnawed-at list of to-dos and do-nots – as advised by my reviewers Another plug was pulled – it was tugged far too hard Do not mix running water and rewired metaphors Is it...


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How to Sell

By Mike Bell Poetry 1 comment

She lifted one of his pillows to fill her long-emptied space Another shift to save her blushes before an observant estate agent stood before their split double bed His leaning tower of to-iron had been put away and hidden – nothing stands for long enough He will return his pillow to his side and his...


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Our Nation’s Favourite

By Mike Bell Poetry 2 comments

Under vintage leafless beeches you gauged your variations of steps – it was too easy to tread unevenly on a path of cross-hatchings and line workings against sunlight – there you dipped into a greyed intensity of illustrative shadowing – losing our dog – briefly – in a denser pencilled place Then sweet eyewashes of...


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Estate Agents

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Your virgin fence panels went up on both sides of our scored land as flimsy ramparts to mark your own extents and hard edges before our house – our home – was split by an auction – of sorts – of blind bids You tipped complaining barrows of earth into a hired skip and into...


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Hawkers

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Our frail back door sat double-locked as I did not want another invasion of pitched voices from passing-by knocking salesmen Her cheeping sister and clucking mother hammered loudly – an unhoped arrival – with hops inwards and trite explanations – Them: Some small gifts for the birthday girl! Me: Sorry – She’s at school They were...


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Mr Cohen’s Words on the Matter

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I’m reading Lorca’s poetry whilst Leonard sings to me on the hottest Easter Monday since nineteen-sixty three My poorer verse dissipates dispelled by blows of blame – She vaulted ‘cross my body on her way to another game He’s old enough to be her father – she was fool enough to be his wife Their...


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Blonde-fucking-words

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

A too-bloody-loud blonde stood gin-fucked at the bar – stretching and over-pitching her filthy lung-and-gut cackle It was high-and-wide enough to threaten every nervy glass as she – blindly drunk – upset those low murmurs of diners who slyly turned to witness her public orgasmic judders She split atoms and chatter and spilt wine across...


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Ariadne’s Clue

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Ariadne’s ball of thread was called a clewe that word being of an Old English source – cliewen – which can mean a skein of thread Now – no trial and error among your words – instead my art is gathering your scatterings of clues and insinuations – of what you said before your lies...


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As If She Had Struck Herself

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Banshee my first thought – followed by lunatic and then spitting feathers but was spitting nails better? Her hand was sudden – flat – iron-hard on my face in such a swift upper arc It was well-practised – she was beating every man and boy who had ever dare ignore her high pitch of orders...


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Taking Stock

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Under such circumstances as these in which we live – an old skill of mine – of gauging by tipping chiming barrels in cellars or more likely cold side rooms of ex-forces drinking clubs to blindly assess levels left Under such circumstances my senses should be well-attuned to any watering of truth in unsighted places...


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