by Kate Birch | Nov 4, 2020 | Uncategorized
Angel of Fear He turns up at night, when clocks stop, parading his wings like a white peacock. Shh! I say, It’s late and I cannot sleep. But he is just there spinning the News. He does not drink, puffs menthols sadly and scuffles around like an...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 4, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
In the first days of lockdown At the edge of the tilled field two hares draw an arc towards the riverbank where long luxurious tongues of wild garlic are coated with thick frost. I can’t smell or taste a thing. I pledge myself to this field to the...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 3, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Field Mouse He’d crouched and scragged loose aubrieta strands and flower-less leaves off the pond’s low wall. Pause precedes recoil: for the thing is small and pretty, sleek as a conker. He jags back from it, stands. Some force lofts the...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 2, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Clock At Carnac, lines of ancient stones stretch across fields, reach for the sun. I can almost hear them tick as they count the days to winter. I can almost hear them tock as they count the nights to summer. We take selfies among the stones....
by Helen Ivory | Nov 1, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
The new doctor With every new doctor, I start again. Trying to explain my condition to him, or her. Trying to explain my level of cognition; the drugs I’ve had; the therapists I’ve listened patiently to; the vocabulary acquired and absorbed, like...
