We the Grey-haired

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

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...


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Summer Night

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

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


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Brighton 0 – Man City 2

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Alan-the-postie

predicted a big loss,

so two against,

not so badly off..


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Rising

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

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


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Rainy Days

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The commuter drag
through Haywards Heath,
nose-to-tail,
we queue before death..


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Mr. Parkinson

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This disease, he is winning
when I retreat to sleep,
I am numbed and reduced
by his creeping fatigue..


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Breaks

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Our summer holidays
were always 'at' Easter,
'cos that time of year
it's so much cheaper..


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My Apprenticeships

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Morrissey, Cave,
and Leonard Cohen,
I played, and played,
Cash's country songs..


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East

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I rest at her table,
she dances out East,
I turn the virgin pages
which she leaves me
to read..


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Walking too fast

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

He slow-sputters back, as his day is reduced,
but she won't agree his speed is removed..


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