by Helen Ivory | Mar 16, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Morning Outing with Mum we are at a cafe just round the corner from hampstead heath & sipping berry sunrise smoothies out of soggy paper straws we are watching tangles of cockapoos too many north...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 15, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Old Master Goya was an octopus that smelt of funerals on Mondays. Sundays, the scent of getting ready. Goya liked to swim with sensory stimulus. He would splash about his palette. Goya made two circles on a first encounter. His grip was firm, a...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 14, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Herb of the Sun The pain comes plucked from a field in garlands of sunlight. So many women weave aches into strings of marigolds, with bent backs from children, livelihoods of pouring orange petals, scents of sweet incense and the sunlight is...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 13, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Honesty Lunaria annua Honesty has her green season, her red season, keeping the next generation in her purse, close to her chest, held in. After many moons I am perhaps readying to speak. All the windows in my house are broken, my feet cold, the...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 12, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Jess Phillips reads the names, again Each year in March, on the eighth day, the one we’re allowed to call ours, slowly, Jess reads our names, not the bitch, slut, whore we died hearing, but the gifts from our parents. Remember us now in this careful...
