Smoke Over Paris

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Their Lady of Paris burnt in one online afternoon Her re-imagined spire tipped to robes of smoke like a bloodied lance in surrender – once more – to politics and holy battles in a kindless fog of war Her heated metals ran as dark beaded sweats from her swealing heights to leave cooled scabs of...


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Workshop Lines

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

These words are also chiselled
but it is still an easier art
than his hammer and tilt ...


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A Place to Sit

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

His round carver's mallet
rung out vibrations
and workbench chimes
as he forced his chisel
into the oak ...


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