by Helen Ivory | Sep 15, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Iraq Gnaws at my Heart and Laughs I am blind I am mute My screams scuttle to their holes My thoughts are in the hands of brick-layers In the slums of Baghdad My breath is in London Sold by Oxfam for a penny In a city ghetto I was my...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 14, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Below the Feather Cuckoo agrees that the guts of a pig would make fine compost in the garden of Eden. His blatant attempts to deflect the butchering hoe of Adam didn’t work, cuckoo’s hot bowels would be plucked...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 13, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
A Cyborg Observes Oxford Circus Cut the buildings, paste them into files, analyse the dance of pedestrians and vehicles. Delete all zeroes of vacant space between till the scene’s compressed in memory. In real time, pause the...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 12, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
iguana days hanging over grey waves the old yellow dog of a moon, pock- marked & smiling like tomorrow. i go to horizons & check the time i don’t sail the way of charts & stars but follow crests like lizards know...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Life Writing No one will ever know what happened to the green scarf you wore, the long winter skirts given away in a different city for someone else to wear. At the Indian table others will be drinking tea, no sense that you...
