A Review

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This time – this very moment – is a loose leaf notebook – not a dense hardback tract – edited – then embossed by a binder’s weight of craft – given a numbered significance – and set immutable by dried ink but not to be – as you re-code it with your notes – in...


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The Word Cowboy

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Out with no phone – out without that device which is my ready-coiled rope – a slack spiral – a bracelet looped into a throwable lifeline – unknottable – loose for when needed – for my amateur attempts to lasso my lawless thoughts – Each born-weak twine twisted over many weak-born twines – into a...


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A Moment – Now

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

In bed – laid on the edge of tears – but we all are deteriorating – so these are self-pitying tears barraged by this slow use of bagged words – and you hum a short phrase as the mobile phones light our thicker faces before drawn curtains – still excluding the morning and holding back...


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Latitude

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Our eucalyptus tree is now my distant Australia – Our olive tree is now my recent Israel and in-between – in our English garden of other imports – our thirsty plants look more suited to wetter climates – they limp without the pull and whip of overnight water – English summers play redefined dates of...


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More Waiting Rooms – Please

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

[A prose poem] East Croydon could be LGW or the upstart crow Milton Keynes station – each we passed through to BHX – those visited identikits of brand-stamped sub-city intersections – of yellow lines and low-hung fixed-font signs – there are no seat comforts – no – no more on any platform – no shuttable...


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Mr Murray

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Sitting with Mr Murray in February sunlight – under new blue skies – we met at a word church which boasts a blue plaque for Mr William Hutton – Bookseller – the first Historian of Birmingham – Mr Murray’s words sweep the clean streets – You know .. We could be anywhere in the world...


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Thursday – Overground to Euston

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We travel sober through London Bridge – below brick arches – on roads cowered by glassy heights – Our cabbie blasts bent-to-smartphone bodies back from near-hits on red-man crossings – it seems that Londoners have now forgotten how to see the threats beyond their implements – We now live hand-to-eye – no longer hand-to-mouth –...


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How to Stay Married

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

One way to want to be somewhere is to not be there – to be sitting at a distance – All good marriages encounter difficulty which stew into common indifferences and then sour as spite and low esteem – that being the natural order of such things – but we have halted nature – we...


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The Ascension – St.Martin in the Bull Ring

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Before that art-by-light – a conceit of Burne-Jones which is framed within lead – before the builders’ thrums from the other side of that tall story of saints – commissioned under strict instruction that it should bear no oxen – it was possible to feel the touch of his brushwork – of his mixing of...


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And Disorderly

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

He visits lost priests to mumble-in-vain for what? His loose-lip prayers weave over tremble-woven fingers – This is the church – this is the steeple – look inside and see the people – God’s gatekeepers cannot force the bolts – not slammed gavel-struck ones – so he carries his sentence out in public spaces as...


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