A Window

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Creased net curtains
with stocking details -

old man's smoked glass -
a soiled two-way mirror... /


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A Field Near Ripe

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Two crows in black robes
ghost into my untrusting
edge of sight -
that miscalculated corner
of slights - of misinformation
.../


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The Boundary Ghost

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

A crop of prime turf
is to my back
My thin brick perch digs in
to my lowered leg aches
after a blind walk from Ripe's
church across three fields -
now sat stiffly in Chalvington
.../


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On Church Street

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Shortly after closing time outside my unknown church – feeling a stone’s frore off dead men and women upright as chiselled recalls and staring – all – in disbelief at that zealous parish priest who dolls up as a spectre A welcome departure from his-biking leathers? Do you fancy a whole Sunday of such wanton...


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No Rest

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Do not tarry for too many minutes below Chanctonbury’s decimated circle of silvered-skin beech trees They were planted without regard for any long-term fixing agreement set fast to grow by a man’s measures of water on their fragile root balls There on disturbed nights that dark copse is circled by foul-mouthed flying guides Above you...


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A Ghost Story

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Up at five with the ghost who is an hour ahead – not one for the clock’s change – she lets light in// She leaves her stew of scent on my stiff right fingers – as if marking out extents upon me// She squats upon my vice-set thighs – her other working of me// See...


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Hamilton Place

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

The tin top cottages
should be haunted - but there is no ghost -
no made-pail Hoogstraten .../


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Ghost Holes

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This bar's serving hatch is always left agape -
tonight I see it is a varnished picture frame
holding unfair perspectives of the pirouettes
of the not-Degas barmaids in uniform black .../


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Cold

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Believe in your child's ghost -
but then let her spectre run
from the roadkill shock -
from the flare of the
body-struck headlights .../


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A Man in White

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We dropped over Falmer
and sped past a man in white
who was bent-double
among the weighted hedges ... /


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