by Helen Ivory | Feb 25, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Bishop Shock at Inverallan Games Sandy Brodie pushed open the door of the Inverallan Barber’s. Lachie Brown was in the chair, with Jim MacBeth, the barber, in attendance and Willie Bain next in line for a haircut. ‘Aye boys, helluva storm oot...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 24, 2018 | 2018 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Lobster tail Uncommon to find such a thing up here, beyond the exhausted seaweed, vacated mussel shells and limp trawlermen’s gloves in bleached out blue or yellow rubber, their fingers often present if somewhat perished; but there it was, cradled among...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 23, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Man’s Best Friend You showed up again out of the blue. Your shaggy parasitic black fur a blight on my hearth-rug. You turned your wet nose up at the Tescos own brand dog food. Barked to say your hunger would be satisfied with nothing until you had...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 22, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
They Break Their Bread and Drink The mother with her blackbread meal And watered soup dreams peace The cross she bears is its own grace She breaks her bread and drinks Grandmother cannot look upon the priest Who blesses ships that carry off the troops...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 21, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Defiance At my age I shouldn’t be outside when it’s 95 degrees, too dangerous, stay hydrated, stay indoors. Seems like the perfect time to get up on the ladder shirtless at mid-day finish painting the gutter and overhang. I enjoy taunting the gods...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 20, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
First Rain
Not sure how to get back home, are we? The frost has stuck its nails to the inside of the mouth and pulls. The roundabout we were treading upon crawled up with poise, like a brotherly figure serving tea, in a harmonious arc. The catch...
