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Poetry by Mr Henry Bell

Henry Bell is 52. He lives in Glasgow’s East End and has been writing poetry for a few years. You can read some of his work here:

Sky light

The  mother  earths  my  home
Cos  iv  no  where  else  to  go
Shut  down  the  hostels
Now  iv no  where   to go
Got no money for a  B and B
Housing  wont  pay  my keep
The  mother  earths  my  home
Cos  iv  no where  else  to  go
Shut  down  the  hostels
Now iv no  where   to  go

Written by Mr Henry Bell

                                     Roses

Oh bury me where the roses grow the tallest
Oh bury me where the great grass is so green
Oh bury me where the mountains near the forest
And bury me where the sun shines over the sea
And tell the world my name was Henry

                                  Windy Midnight

Who’s that at the door saying ‘geez a fag’ it’s windy midnight.
Cold outside it’s cold as hell but here’s a fag it’s windy midnight

                                        Lock- up

Can’t hurry up an a can’t  slow down
Lord a gotta do my time
When those gates open in two years time she’ll still be there
Coz I know she’s mine
Lord I gotta do my time

Golden  hair

Long  golden  hair  travelling  down your shoulders.
Press  a  button  listen  to  a  song, Michael  Jackson  or  maybe  Steve  Earle.
Driving  on  the  highway stop  for  a coffee,
Skin  tight  levi  jeans  tight  against your body,
Love  in  the  night  when  the  lights  go  out,
Married  to  a  singer, plenty of money.
Part  time  job,  secretary.
Going  home  it’s  the  afternoon  sit  alone  till  the  man  comes  in.

Written by Mr Henry Bell

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