by Helen Ivory | Aug 8, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Poem We Would Die For There are warning signs when one comes on — a sharp tightening, a thickening, clogging in your chest — like when a love poet struggles with a cliche the word “heart” pumping ironically in line-after-line...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 7, 2014 | Prose & Poetry, Word & Image
The winter-night-song of a Fenland home for Jack The chimney takes the note of sorrow Down a brick gullet, Tied at the...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 6, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
I Made Biscuits Again I bake – my hands, they roll – they squeeze and stir; And while they do, I dip in days slung past. There was a time when I could break your heart And have you beg; your knees bent for my kiss – Your eyes would flick to...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 5, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
scent turn my head and you are racing creaking oak and silver racing to rubber and salt salt and me on your skin taste myself on you taste my sweet blood roses to see and wash us away your ashes in my small room too many tears to clean them and...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 4, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Portrait of the Surrey Man, Retired to Madrid Renouncing the Pimms, the sarcasm, the BBC and cockney, he moves now like an old fighting bull: clumsy, with a swollen belly begging for the tending of a mother long since buried in a Sevenoaks...
