Cuts

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We re-loaded the dishwashers, as they re-loaded the bombs, outside our smart homes a covert snipping began: at first the truth was subtly distorted, and then the news was misreported. Coding was clipped, hyper-links snapped, Facebook re-liked the on-line crap. Let them use bombs, sub-nuclear, to help shift the focus to a new fear: Hear the...


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Easter Opening Howls

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Thank God for Waitrose on Easter Monday, a relief for the beige after closure on Sunday. Ring out the church bells peal them thrice we rejoice the coming of posh stuff half-priced. Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap....


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Explanation

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

What bravado the boys of Sussex displayed, and I tried to explain to my youngest child after it all, as we sat outside the imperial brick police station: I spoke about how some things are rehearsed, I talked about missing empathy, how thrusts of ego, cocktails of drugs, that itchy fug, near-fungal, under their skin,...


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Radio for?

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Oh My God, ’tis Thought for the Day: Radio Four pauses to pray: Humphrys kneels on the soundproof floor, wishing for news which he can endure. Melvyn Bragg berates a humble guest, mumbling mantras as he doth protest! Archerettes praise the God of scripts for an endless drama of juicy bits. Friday’s Now Show, the...


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Fair

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

As if you would burn, but your over-sized sunglasses are worn against that enquiry of the sky, and mine. With a five-bar gate to protect you from further asking, from a reach, I will still take you. I travel, growing, in the hardened time of our over-lit scene; every item you wear has been loosened...


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Away

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

That sip fills you, but not enough – your last morning coffee in Europe before your return to this brackish  island of work and others’ time; here to be broken again, as ever, by tiring schedules, and shifting deadlines. But there, away, you are, in that hour, fixed by an americano, still on the terrace....


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Wrecked

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Too long adrift on my life raft of tapped thoughts, short-winded, burnt by the sun and unseen salt: A rudderless man, with sickness induced by this tidal ride of the curved and empty horizon, then struck wave-blind. The slap and shatter of seawater are lunacy’s call to me, displaced in the wreck of my body,...


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Snip

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

For you a minimal love poem, because my seeds are no longer sowing. 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....


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The Ritual

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The extravagant white bathrobe, bagged from a boutique hotel, her remains of a left-behind weekend, just the two of them, her and him, sunk in love, a deeper love than now. That thick gown hung guiltily on the back of the bathroom door. She took it down and wrapped it around her shoulders, careful not to knock...


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The Back Door

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

For AM, an apology Again door-stepped, and you, a good man, guide my regrets, which I wept (unlike like my foul-flat egress) onto your quick-stained shoulders. As my carrier you guided me up to the sunlit seat where my shame was burnt off. All quite unexpected, as was my recall of the tossed unfair words...


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