Gift of the Gab

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I am getting drunk
with Seamus

He still rolls
his soot vowels out

from his distiller's
mouth
.../


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Such Dug Up Stuff

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I could bite on Mr Heaney’s lust-sight of her of lost flesh of navvy-dug amber nipples under hard-weighed stones over her cracked oak-bones which are not my spoken words Language is not my tight weave of Sussex-ness no fluttergrub’s spade to turn my empty laine of chalkland His words are kissed intimacies in his Castledawson...


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Don’t be

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Noli timere were his last
written words - the man's -
pecked on his mobile phone -
not burst from a nib or biro .../


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