Clay Mould Man

Eye

Wander the side of Los to the blue and smooth below the bank
For that loyalty and allegiance of heirs. Watch-

Eye, no more than hen or woodcock
At the foot of Father, state Father. Mould

Light through pupils, lens and retina
Impossibly untouched, unsullied by the hand

Hand

Equal to the weight of a man, cut and in semblance create
Of dust and ground, fingers for grasping and toes

For balance. The body of an absent
Shepherd, embed the eye herein.

Now watch as the human shadow speaks
With no tongue, from a womb within a womb

Parchment

“My voice from your opened vein, architect of mine
The hard way is calling, I hear conflict is a forge

And that Bob Marley tattoo on the back of your head
Must stand out as you march” whispered

Error of spelling and design, disintegrating
Into the creature’s mouth. Cover with cut cloth this

Uncanny thing

Grey Lady

I write this
From the bottom of a bathroom door
Floor spitted with missed
I saw her at noon

Late, with an air of brown
Caffeinated. Leaving behind
This poor mix for greener pastures
Which
Stops me dead

Silently unnoticing infinitum stretches
In candid caught candid
Your fingers on your phone

The Things You See In Old Stables

See
Out of the corner of the eye, on Old
Eltringham Court

Broken floor board pavements
Spotless barn door black

That modern wood rot
Suburbia,
Host only to spectral woodlice

In the middle of a road
Recently laid

David Bell is a creative writing MA student at Newcastle University, with a focus on poetry and script writing. He is currently working on a collection set in his home town of Prudhoe called 'Prudhoe Banter'. The poems within the collection explore the interaction between the geographical history, personal history and invented history. To read more of their work, click here.