by Helen Ivory | Oct 26, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Blade A vacuum between school and college. Mournful of a lack of cash, I negotiated A chore. To stagger a scythe amongst Forestial grass, The iron ripping Vegetation. I was a pioneer. The birds saw a dyspraxic wielding a Rusty weapon liberated...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 25, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Word Child The child who has never seen trees won’t trust words because there’s never not another, better way to say it. She thinks word lovers are like over-eager victorian collectors pinning down butterflies and beetles in glass coffins....
by Helen Ivory | Oct 24, 2018 | 2018 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Obit. (After César Vallejo) i will die in london in the neighbourhood i grew up in outside the town hall on the high street. i will have been stabbed and my killer will look just like me so no-one will look for him. my body will remain dead...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 23, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Jezebel Since the dogs had devoured her flesh, their faces painted red, so that their teeth appeared white as chalk headstones, her bones became jealous and rose up, placing themselves before her mirror, the index finger of the right hand...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 22, 2018 | Haibun, Tanka, Haiku & Haiga
* late again she calculates the arrival time of his first lie * small white butterflies she starts to think it might be too late * origami making a padlock of their certificate * John Hawkhead is a writer of haiku and other short...
