by Helen Ivory | Nov 13, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
On Sleeping Alone. oh my oh my what big teeth you have you letters of love smelling of sandlewood in your special box of disappointment and raging not sleeping soundly remembering that you should be the start of the happy ever after story not the...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 12, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Changeling, The It’s my indifference That shows the difference. Duty Officers have to chain me to my train seat. I’m reluctant to be bound for home. They worry me back through time and space to the land of slate skies, and the sad child left...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 11, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Shelter Wood Ending ten nights on blue tile and sarissa, I crushed rosemary to my face sitting in a circle under the shelter wood. Thrilled to enter the darkness again, I was altered like my finest garment to become right and unneeding redress. The new moon...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 10, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Municipal Ambition When I think of the neglect. The years of untended want gone to waste. My God – I could go down on my knees and weep. Weep! like a silent movie heroine bathed in the torchlight of pathos, and all my starved orifices would form a...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 9, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Cracking British Pen There is a pig in my pen unable to crawl out, its snout protrudes, black with ink, sniffing across the paper. I think of Great Britain and its cracking citizens. The pig shrieks its last noir drop. Its squashed fat shivers. I...
