by Helen Ivory | Sep 13, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Never Lost Control I saw one on the street once, not made up, as she came out of a small grocery store with a plastic bag containing green tea. She barrelled straight through me, point blank, though we weren’t a hundred yards from the usual place....
by Helen Ivory | Sep 12, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Dead Stars On the old cable drops of oblivion settle in seriatim. Fog stills the sky. Smoke adds strokes to the mist. From a dusty What’s On The TV I gather death’s itinerary. Kushal Poddar, widely published in several...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
* reflecting off the owl’s eyes mOOnlight * burn warning the fire in her voice * giant catfish leaping into Grandpa’s story * low winter sun an urge to be Icarus * g r a n d m a andgrandpa the rhythm of morning coffee Edward...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 9, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
What’s done is done The Thane of Fife, had a wife, where is she now? I wonder what it’s like to be dead wonder if he touches my flesh will it feel the same? I try to remember but cannot remember his hot...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 8, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Postcards At the End of the Street At the end of the street a grey-haired woman walks her black pig. She sniffs the ground, eats up a tomato, eats and eats, sniffs and sniffs. Volcano A jagged plain, battlefield of gods. In the far dark mountains you see...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 7, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Thirtieth May why is it now the old language sounds harsh without that ease of familiarity? Because we no longer share our tongues And the meanings draw away As you have into the clouded twilight With the night falling fast. ...
