Farming Today

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Under Glynde’s grey turbine I know I am irrelevant It is as if my chest’s creaks are now unsure ship timbers set grinding by lifts and turns of blown low pressures Her blades swoon over us in that signature revolution She asks of me a greater effort to stand for any time in her shadow...


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Inside My Lover

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I am entertained inside her lento lungs -
travelling alone and partly dusk-blind -
within her low suck of cooling breath .../


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This Parish

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

We stick to the leaf-kicked route -
a parting of the dry sea of leaves
cleared by dog-following boots .../


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Late Out

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

This dessicated path
is an off-white scar
under the moon's phase
of waxing gibbous .../


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Where I Sit

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

I sat with care
on a wide sawn stump,
it cut back
by an oxidised blade..


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