by Helen Ivory | Aug 21, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Wayland the Smith He moved into cars. It was inevitable with no more ploughs to mend or horses left with a silver penny for a special overnight job. There was still a bit of welding you know, axles and stuff though he had oxy to do...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 20, 2015 | 2015 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Conversation The night he was taken my father’s fingers danced like icy spiders: dab-dab-dab at his hospital gown. He talked to his drip obliged to welcome every drop to the coven of wild spirits digging their heels on his skin. The...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 19, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Suited: His suit needed nothing added to it such was the force with which it argues his case. My Dad’s were always pristine, somewhere between a bank manager and headmaster, to look at him you’d think he had nothing to worry...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 18, 2015 | 2015 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
For the last time With a mother’s practised care I grasp your greenstick frame and hoist you to your unsure feet though you would be easy to hurt. A time will come that will be the last I perform this simple service and neither...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 17, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Going up Out on the balcony A’s drag artist friend is talking about ‘replenishing minerals’. It was in the news apparently, a slow downbeat of an idea gumming up the waste disposal. Our host appears discouraged by the indeterminacy of the...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 16, 2015 | 2015 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Trance the whole world was traveling yesterday in a big boat that couldn’t carry a star nor a grain of sugar. the whole world still couldn’t reach its room before the piano girl’s voice by midnight as of this morning when...
