by Helen Ivory | Dec 23, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
I, Calluna am bog vegetation born from acid like to be grazed, invite burning. Kallunein I’m called, to sweep up, I have been a thousand besoms in my time. Each one of me – Beoley Crimson, Boskoop, Firefly, Long White display florets that...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 22, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Poetry God The air is full with thick-rain, pavements an inch in rain -water runs into roads to the brim of the curb as trees drip like beach brollies where pigeons on a shop-step like a pair of saturated boots watch as poetry god renews today...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 21, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Hectic Yes, dear, I know you are dizzy and if I could be your sweet cotton, I would make this world comfortable. I would be the barrier, the hedge, between cold dark earth and your lovely craft. I would chain up this world and make it do your...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 20, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Stove i.m. Eleanor Grey The stove in the sunken classroom burns coke to a yellow glow, warming your storyteller’s murmur. St Wulfram’s spire chills the room, graves and gargoyles grinning to the ravens’ croak. You kept a fireguard round the...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 19, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Blank Slate for Eric Lorberer A poem confronts itself. Why am I being written In this busy gallery laden With scattergun gaiety, soon- To-be forgotten gossip, No matter the frozen veins Outside – ah, who is to know? In ten weeks, a change of...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 18, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
blind beggars on Ronnie Kray’s funeral 1. The great madman, trapped in a headache, whizzed from weeds pulled out of the soil’s bunting, a bouquet of red fire. Florid petals pour grotesque painted skulls and trombones played in the...
