by Helen Ivory | Jan 19, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The word comes back It is a quite simple thing to be told. laid on the breakfast table, over chequered cloth: a name. the named thing – it began itself when no one was looking. divided itself while we walked along the streets of the town washed...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 18, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Even God is Lonely Every Buddhist temple has a room for rebirth. Marked by sharp chiascuro Ely squatted at the angle where wall met the floor, at the penumbra of the light and shadow. Inside a charnel house of memory he floated on borrowed spirit,...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 17, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Present in Scent In the evening darkness You tap recent grace notes. Singing moments more clearly Than the instant of a bulb. Coffee smooth as an unguent Heralds near satisfactions. The air dilutes her presence Until a key click blooms with...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 16, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
But The Moon Must Be Found She kept an eye out for it as she vacuumed the beds and the curtains and the corners where the old spider’s web hung on. For fun she practised saying ‘I do.’ She saw gossip in the puckered mouth of a...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 15, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Ride The Amazing Cobra! Everything is in the open now: there you are, pinned up high like clothes thrashing on a line, and cry, scream, or hide your eyes there’s no getting off. Gravity strums at lower nerves, imagine a plane wobbling in...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 14, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
When We Were Occultists In the days when we were occultists we were dazzled by symbolism, numerology and arcane language. We’d spend an afternoon sniffing ether because that was what Crowley did and you could buy it over the counter in the chemist...
