Poetry

No More

My stiff hands
no more 
give the grip
I once held -
my legs
no more
step well
in this world .../

The Pig & Butcher

Friday lunchtime, slumped, re-arrives,
a shuffle of septuagenarians departs
as I place my pint, and my backside,
at a mat-free table in the lounge bar...

Addlestone

That distant town was my playground,
at Darley Dene I scuffed my knees,
returning, scabbed, to 6, Essex Close,
Addlestone, Surrey, England, Earth,
and our three storey police house..

My Lady of Good Encounter

Benoite, you are not, but still a reader of hearts,
a live angel on Earth, but not the saint of Laus..

Foregrounding

Your are
that small detail
which a true artist
includes..

Late

I cannot suppress the yawns
of this drawn-down evening;
earlier she re-scaled a recipe..

We the Grey-haired

We grey-haired but fashion-aware men of a certain age Us would-be punks once heavy-coated liking Echo or an almost quiffed Morrissey lover – or confirmed hater We still tug our loneliness still unsure about stuff – but not music just politics and love Still trying on fashion and making mistakes E010619 Mike Bell Poetry Mike...

Summer Night

Rolled under the duvet
in breath-heated twists,
where is my ending
in this beginning..

Brighton 0 – Man City 2

Alan-the-postie

predicted a big loss,

so two against,

not so badly off..

Rising

Google is Evil,
along with Facebook,
Instagram will f*ck you,
and Twitter will look..