by Helen Ivory | Apr 9, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Fine Winter Rain Flea swarm hiss on cold paunch face Gilds hairs by feathered grain; A hush and grace Fleck wash all place Enduring spry fine winter rain. Born and raised in Somerset, Ash Dean has been writing poetry...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 8, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Fig What happens in the alleys of the multiple green dark womb
of a fig’s synconia? Home for a tiny wasp to lay eggs in convoluted penetrations. Gulping dream-eaters hatch. As new wasps they fossick, lure, and in the swollen presence of...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 7, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Silence Is A Yes Today I apprentice in a tunnel so dark I can only feel the rats Scurry across my feet You told me silence is a yes But I didn’t believe you In Paris we counted blue cars And pigeons liked your perfume Your mother hated me But she...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 6, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Ossein of Magpie In the space between my ribs there is song, for the magpie that put it there is trapped in my chest of needles. Once swallowed all I could see of it was a zoetrope of tangerines. The terrified thing shook all night long, I...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 5, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
When You Thought I was Dying If a candle’s lit inside this bowl the patterns on its belly grow — those painted leaves, that silver lily that looks from here like a cabbage rose. (Cabbage roses bloomed on the papered walls of our first flat....
by Helen Ivory | Apr 4, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
One More Frost In this final winter, home to a vacant house in mourning style, with ice on the sale sign. unlit, but heated by neighbourly care, still it is voiceless. A card for Christmas, fallen on the floor, postmark from Pennsville: a cousin,...
