Public Bar

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Six collies stitched
an unseen thread
among the table legs
of the public bar...


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Fore

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Your ripped scent
lingered

and returned
off my fingers...


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West Pier

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

It may have been the 1970s -
it may have been Brighton -
but no one can confirm
when my father saved a pier .../


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The House My Father Built

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I am still weighted by the dream
of a house being built
by my long-dead father .../


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The Chair

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I removed your top

folding it over the chair
and knelt below you
to your call to prayers...


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Don’t Give a Fuck

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Don't give a fuck about
those old moments

let go of the lines
taking you to them...


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Boxing Day

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Sunlight is unexpected today
but welcome across the floor

it is heightened by blown clouds
and their linear crossing of the blaze...


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Broken

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

And these awakenings crawl
from stones into movement

of rolled stretches to unlock
my fixed hands from the straps
of an accelerated illness...


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Brighton 1 – Watford 0

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This concrete and steel
oozes last week's freeze
where I sit with my pint
high in the East Stand
having travelled with my boys...


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Fucking Christmas

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

These yearly demands unto revelry
with tipped back long stem glasses of Italian blood and French piss
are now taken in our blinded stride..


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