Thin

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Sat close and finger-locked, with your thin press into me, there is almost nothing of you to take, except where my fingers had played, days before, with no audience, no surround sound, apart from us, coming. Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and...


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Flag Stoned

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The bunting had fallen and strung in its place long blown metres of roadwork tape: Our town had spent all the developers’ tax on wider footpaths, which will now crack under the weight of various vans, part-parked on kerbs by the delivery man, who will still take up one of those lanes, blocking the street...


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The Visitors

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I have negotiated
with such black rooks

(in our last two homes)

those soot ghosts
trapped in chimneys...


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They’re Going on a Vote Hunt

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap. By then he should be about 85 years old and have out-gunned PD, dementia, and the end of days. Possibly. Before the floods and fires. Mike Bell is found working for money...


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Emma’s Driver

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

She made an Uber man cry (only by being her true self); he had to remove his glasses to wipe, to drive his tears because (he had assumed) she was drunk, or drugged, it was his mistake, he needed to say sorry. If those tears of a cab driver were pooled, or swabbed, could we, the...


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The Graphic Artist’s Lament

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt, ut labore et dolore magna aliqen. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitatium! Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap. By then he should be...


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Breakfast Tea for One

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The dishwasher needs filling –
even when you’re not here –
I was woken by the dog’s
foul breath,
not your’s for once my dear
.../


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The Keep

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

A walk under almost-visualised trees, reached out, thin-limbed, an architect’s dream, to a part-filled car park lined by tidy drivers, their nominal SUVs, and my Landover. Even the bird song is almost an effect, in my walk-through, on The Keep visit.   Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up...


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Election-careering

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

That pond of politics,
where amphibians crawl,
over arched backs
to gorge in the pool
...


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Day 19,292

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Yes, I anticipated that shared moment, as it was conjured by your light arrival, equal in my mind, before the release of your quick tongue, put past my lips, almost unexpected, as was your skin, midriff exposed, by your stretched lift. Then my response, almost too much to be contained: I pinned that kiss.  ...


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