by Helen Ivory | Apr 14, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Sheds Sheds: haunches nestled into banked earth. Cow parsley, ragwort, bedding high sides. Blunt faces nose-ringed with hanging padlocks. Inside, a stook of exhausted spades, a knackered wheelbarrow, face-down, a crippled bike, kept for...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 13, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Songstress on Primetime Italian TV Songstress what songstress I see svelte teenage girls in bikinis gyrating while men watch & women clap hands in time to the band who are all men no they’re definitely lip-synching in fact not even...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 12, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
In Memory of Brian Donovan 1939-2013 Always – perhaps not always – you were genial In imitation of now-gone personalities, perhaps Drunk – that described person – and yourself, so Much that it hurt to laugh, although strong beer Gives a...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 11, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
In the Hallway A girl pressing her cheek against a door, doorjamb, or wall beside a door. Crying probably, possibly mumbling. That’s it. Her face is turned away, you can’t see if she’s pretty. Which would make a difference in your quotient...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 10, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Place beyond Place She snuck out (under the warm cover of covers) and you were snoring, and you reached to feel the sliding curve of her hip, but thought you missed turned over again (this is where she left her skin)....
by Helen Ivory | Apr 9, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Fred, Half Dead, Beethoven In His Head You can’t talk to Beethoven on a bus stop in Chicago because you’ll just get lost. Lauded as a genius, he can’t give good directions because he’s dead. . Ask Fred about Beethoven about Fred his...
