by Helen Ivory | Aug 28, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Rose Her grave lay under the rosebush. We planted her first and by her parents’ hands the rosebush followed shortly after. Rather than heavy black straps we used umbilical white ribbon to lower her into the three foot grave. We left the ribbon in...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 27, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
November Your hair thick as mooring rope – I wound it round my hand pulled your body close, walking kept us warm on the spider-silk threads of a ploughed field the oak and horse chestnut compassed their last leaves – like old women with...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 26, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
The congregation of trees stands with the wind hoofing its way through their limbs we kneel beneath in the dark in the rich mulch of their clothes hand in hand the deep howl of an Atlantic front above us pray hard cos God doesn’t fuck around...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 25, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
A57 Drug route, gun route- nappies, cartons and bottles below griffs and hags. The moor a midden of shit, ash and offal, the dead seeping into drains. And by a cairn a sheep slate-grey hard up against a gale, and the road east brake-light red...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 24, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Café Auteur On every café commute your Godard eye transmutes the mannequins of lingerie windows into beings just like us (with regrets and sorrows and loves). You command a New Wave brilliance for things in each of your photographs. I feel...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 23, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Temple Meads Beneath vast curves of brick and iron and stone, I bend towards the small black tablet, trying to establish a connection. His works are mighty; the fabled bridge that spans nothing, the great ship that came home. Now, everything is...
