by Helen Ivory | Apr 5, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Empty City No city, just rubble. Solders in black play hide-and-seek, We are East, West, North, South, they shout. So we packed him away, our precious boy, our precious child, packed him away for a better life in a better place. No city, just...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 4, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Incident at Sade’s “Shall we go to Sade’s?” We always went to Sade’s on a Friday at teatime. And Bob always asked. Tony always groaned. The three of us were from the same department: all always overlooked for promotion; none of us ever...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 2, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Faithful Clad in starched and shiny best, once-a-week worshippers snake towards the tower, drawn by its glingle-glongle call. Their line is punctuated by static carriages, where, slumped in back seats or perched on heavy batteries, the immobile, no longer...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 1, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Paper Man At first, paper man, I admired your cutting edge, Your inability to be anything more than See-through. I noticed you Folding in certain situations. I thought it was your nature. I watched you crumple, Poor screwed-up you, And I cried and...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 31, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Bourbon Street Black as the Blues, too hot to sweat, a man steps through a melt of light, wears black, a hat, a caution of brogues set up by a pair of Sammy Davis shades. Back-to-back pianos drum-roll a dungeon note. A voice: It’s Charlie and the tray....
by Helen Ivory | Mar 30, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Comfrey The first result was controversial so said the search engine, I think in a baritone voice. Then growing tips: 1. In someone’s shadow 2. Wetness needed (I think the article was implying sweat as wetness) but nothing about calcium C....
