by Helen Ivory | Jun 19, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Cash Feus Everything is covered with dust or dustsheets. The armchairs look like ghosts of themselves, only suitable for ghosts to sit in. This is no abode for the living, and we, its late occupants, drift through what were once solid walls,...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 18, 2015 | Blogs & News
It is hard to escape the feeling that Brett Evans – or, at least, the poet Brett Evans, if you will accept the delicate distinction – was born in the wrong place at the wrong time, or perhaps in the right place at the right time with the...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 17, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Wednesday’s Homework (Set: five Latin verbs, an essay on Lord Palmerston and problems on a parallelogram.) Walks home with Jinks, who says the girls are on for Saturday, straight now. That Joan, she fancies him. And home, Mum’s there, cold squash, Swiss...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 16, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Coppinger Court All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. Martin Buber It is a curious ruin we have come to see: long substantial walls all of four stories, buttressed parapets, a turret and several tall chimneys...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 15, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Snow Lost in an infinity of misted mirrors among shelves of Optrex, Pepsodent and pink calamine, I dunked net petticoats into sugar solution to froth out the nylon frills of that first dance dress. Hanging it to drip-dry over the porcelain sink I...
