Bert Bell

Bert Bell Poems

his little

as frail as a wishbone, she
sits at the table by the window,
sipping her sherry in a haze

The promise of summer was everywhere
this morning, even in the rivers that
fell out of the sky during the night


To the angry sea that tosses freighters
round like bits of fluff, the ruddy-skinned

I met her at Strawberry Fields
one day on my lunch
She was sitting on a bench

Dawn has just
broken and
I’m sitting reading
the early morning

October brings both beauty and dread;
And when it first arrives, it feels
Like something has already been lost.
Before all its radiant spectra have fluttered free

This happens to us all and we all learn far too late
that the years have streaked past like wind through city streets
stirring up in its wake whirlwinds of debris and dust
that burn the eyes and fill the pores with dirt

outside my bedroom
on a sheet of ebony,
the moon sits,


A fog settled over the park last night,
so thick, it transformed the moon
into a ghost high above the trees,
and it was quiet, with only the muffled

on monday mornings a wretched
woman trudges out onto
her back porch under a cloud
of gloom and struggles

In revision

I brought my bag of words to the park this morning; it's cold, but refreshing; so cold that I'm the only one sitting at a picnic table. I open a blank page of my notebook, ready to serve it its long-awaited breakfast of tasty nouns and verbs, flavoured with a few juicy adjectives and adverbs.

The first manna of winter is parachuting down, and at this temperature, it should last. I see my neighbour, Tom, coming with his Frisbee-chasing black Lab; my trusty notepad will have to wait awhile longer. I'll just throw a Frisbee or two, and explain that I have work to do.

It’s been raining non-stop
since ten o’clock
this morning; what a
day to forget my umbrella.

after you bring the storm clouds, mighty
wind— where do you go? do you seek quiescence,
or do you return with more rain,

sometimes, if I stand here long
enough in the monsoon
of alphabet rain, my muse for whom I wait

she disquiets
me with the imagined
of an ever so faint smile

daffodils broke ground today
like rockets lifting
off for outer space, and they brought

I come here on cobalt blue days
to remember suzie− this
is the exact spot where her horse

It happened at a roadside
quarry near Pyongyang― some
of the dead were bloodied,

Bert Bell Biography

Retired photographer. Many of these pieces are prose but I plan to post only poems here in the future and either edit some of these titles or delete them altogether.)

The Best Poem Of Bert Bell


his little
a teddy
in a neighbor's
he was only

Bert Bell Comments

Carel Ishikawa 06 September 2020

Lovely sensitive poems. Like. Carel Ishikawa

0 0 Reply
Lionel Stevenson 04 October 2012

Hi Bert, Contact me please at Camera Art Limited. Lionel Stevenson

0 2 Reply
Smoky Hoss 17 December 2010

Tremendous writer, of the highest caliber. Each poem of his that I have thus far read, has been very intense and moving, moving to the depth of the soul, and moving in a very good direction.

3 2 Reply

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