by Helen Ivory | Mar 7, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Murmuration When the birds came, the pavement was dark with the smell of rain; there was a quietness to it, to the city laid out waiting like an awkward lover. By the railway I watched alone as they were called to drift across the tracks like...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 5, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
clayground copse every evening you wage your campaign against the molehills cleaving each disfiguring mound with a smooth sweep of your spade as jackdaws carouse in the dusk their ash tree roost black against the stillbright sky the cracked-hubcap...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 4, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Before In a swathe of red colour you arrive, your body slumped to that of a child; your shoulders are very thin. If I were to begin this again I would say that sometimes to be born at the wrong time can lead to all sorts of problems. You arrive in...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 3, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Say No More I intended to say we share words as well, although it takes just two of us and a common language to articulate a tower. More like that Sunday magazine article On dying languages in Patagonia Than we care to say: I asked her if she ever...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 2, 2016 | Haibun, Tanka, Haiku & Haiga
* Departure Bay: cumulo nimbi won’t take a hint (Nanaimo, BC) * Departure Bay – the rooster tail trail of a small speed boat * Emily Carr House – even the bees wipe their feet at each blossom porch * horse and buggy tour – a satellite dish aimed...
