Memory Fields

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Behind Chiddingly's
mouse-crept churchyard
a still minute's silence
was being observed .../


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On the Meridian

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

It is a valorised thing – according to Tesco’s stuck clock – it keeps all minutes at ten past each hour An upturned claw on top of the brewery’s brick chimney sits finger-ready to grab electrical strikes as charged forklift trucks whirl and rattle quick around that barrel-high yard to meet loading outs and unloading...


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Attention

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Heed half-attention
to these written words
and the breath it takes
to read my thoughts .../


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The Pile

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Every brick was identical and took the same grip in the lift from left to right, from the old pile to the new pile, in the repetitive task that I undertook – to clear the driveway of the builders’ detritus. Each heave was unique in time but same as the last, with slight variations at...


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The Surveyor

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I am measuring my life in Caroline’s greetings, the mortgage repayments, in slow sips of hot coffee, the stick-tapped steps, in unanswered emails, thrusts of my toothbrush, in the filing of VAT returns, the social media updates, in tripsĀ up the High Street, the ‘phone battery warnings, in the hours of lost sleep, and the distances...


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