On at Eridge

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

For fuck’s sake then a rummage of backpack zips as his phone alert raises its volume during their fight And she asks him Where are you? Just left Eridge Where? Just left Eridge – On the train When are you here? In a few minutes – In a few minutes – It’s running late And...


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Platform Five & Six

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

See it See itSay it Say itSort it Sort itThis is a security announcement This is a security announcementThe next train on this platformis the 15:41 calling at East CroydonGatwick Airport and Three BridgesRemain behind the yellow line at all times Remain behind the yellow line at all timesSee it See itSay it Say itSort...


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More Waiting Rooms – Please

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

[A prose poem] East Croydon could be LGW or the upstart crow Milton Keynes station – each we passed through to BHX – those visited identikits of brand-stamped sub-city intersections – of yellow lines and low-hung fixed-font signs – there are no seat comforts – no – no more on any platform – no shuttable...


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14th February 2019

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Held by a red signal in south London – in a balloon of wifi – of library silence – this being a price-hiked compartment – a restricted remnant of empire days still served up by rail franchisees as our ticket collector mis-quotes WS – Juliet’s soft words as cuffed banter towards serving staff – parting...


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The Commuters

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Our Ikea-padded cells
should guard us from self-harm -
but instead they fuck with us
in cubes of coupled calm .../


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The Wedding Guest

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Two contrails cross over Croydon
as a childish whispered kiss
a wedding party walks the aisle
of this train to London Bridge ...


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Virgin England

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

'Get permission from the ticket office
to travel on this train'
sums up this queue-fat England
of intransigence and new rules ...


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The Sign on Southern Railway

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

There's a Samaritan's helpline advertised on the platform
hanging from a lamp post on the sturdiest of wires ...


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Trainspotters

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Each line is filled, he is cross-referencing, the train spotter marks which model and when: but his life speeds past, one without note, except when he’s pushed, and then we know it: Delays to services due to body on the line. The last thing he wrote was ‘8:59’   Mike Bell Poetry Mike Bell aims...


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Sped

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Only for a short burst
between-stations,

this is Britain’s
remains of greatness
.....


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