Fruits and Suites

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We washed in an avocado-coloured bath – we had never tasted that foreign fruit back in nineteen-seventy-two – or three – we were lucky to get to peel tangerines It was a plastic suite – uneasily creaking with our scales of weights of our pre-teen occasional visits – each darkly recorded by layered rings of...


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A Step-father’s Advice

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

They will spit forth foam-flecked hints of hate* to rattle old angry folk by distractions – to vote – it is as if Enoch Powell were no longer dead – as high-born cussing – upper-class meddlers – play the lack-Latin fools to the baying stalls and set off marchers to resurrect working-class empirical values of...


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Les Sonnetts Luxurieux

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Is this her ultimate act of sadomasochism – his rest of days of pain? Is his reply allowed before her face down lies – taking it from behind which are – for others – kinks and well-hidden discomforts She pleads her case of cruelty when such cruelty was her cut and thrust by strangers’ cocks...


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Farming Today

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Under Glynde’s grey turbine I know I am irrelevant It is as if my chest’s creaks are now unsure ship timbers set grinding by lifts and turns of blown low pressures Her blades swoon over us in that signature revolution She asks of me a greater effort to stand for any time in her shadow...


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A Calling

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

It was a pile of bare facts offered on thumbed A4 papers She searched it whilst suffering from acute self-diagnosis but could only uncover Diverticulitis there typed out and slid between other printed sheets filed in black dust-lined trays whilst an old boy too-loudly then too-brightly – grutched far too-noisily about his own complaint to...


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Smoke Over Paris

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Their Lady of Paris burnt in one online afternoon Her re-imagined spire tipped to robes of smoke like a bloodied lance in surrender – once more – to politics and holy battles in a kindless fog of war Her heated metals ran as dark beaded sweats from her swealing heights to leave cooled scabs of...


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Competitors

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Our house complainsof his heavy feet overhead – quick as excited heartbeatsbut then still-stopped to my gone voice in our playof Grandmother’s Footsteps once commanding my sonto fix and freeze under my quick look – that thrillin his lost childhood – testing his parents by such stealthwas an unplanned rehearsal for these sometimes-daysof eggshell steps...


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Killing Time on Sunday

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

You can kill time so quietly in Waitrose’s busy car park backed up at the shady end – a wide view of the comings and goings of happy shoppers – with – and without – rattled trolleys in this life of filling and re-filling kitchen shelves and freezers in readiness for family visits and too-successful...


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Not Undressed

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Last night there was an uncured intimacy between three old lovers of common threads These damaged nights are my fluid playground of sex and rekindled offset stuff – old urges and displaced motives which will take this day to loosen off and unknot from that second place – reached far too early when nightmares broke...


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Other’s Endings

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

She said she resented him swanning around and her wearing fears of his limped inability to earn that old income no longer kept her tied to their settle bed Instead – she rolled over onto another handyman for his stiffness to press into her loosened skin and for his shadowed face to take her excited...


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