by Helen Ivory | Sep 12, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Fox and the Chanticleer They wake to the spraking of sparrows, the gloop of early morning light, when the first minutes of a certain future seem blissfully unclear and the fox resplendent in green hunting-check waits for the chanticleer to rise the...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The End of Man It’s time to go over the top use the plural make something rise add words flexible man/cardboard woman Theoretically man can be anything parts of the tree of life are well documented other sections barely shirk the obvious Humanity may notice a chill...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 10, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Fracas in the Street I saw him on Shattuck, shouting God knows what–– a man new to madness, wading half asleep through time, ...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 9, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Even all the flowers sent by all the world’s hungover and so apologetic men, accumulated, wrapped in one big bow, (not bought at the last garage, at the last minute) and ferried, with a tune, by all the best dressed pipers of...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 8, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Driving the Front From Route 15, out the West Corinth Road through a village long dead but unaware, on the McCard Road to Route 221; the Merrill Road, ruts carved in early mud, around Stetson Pond and finally to Route143: thirty miles home on a map’s...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 7, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Kiss A pop, a flush of flame, the chill falls back to walls and panes. The fire will have its evening feast. The keeper serves the hissing snakes, the hollow, roaring throat, the crackle and the cackle, and the lisping whistles simpering from its...
