by Helen Ivory | Oct 16, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Arachne Veiled by lace she sits. Facing September mists, getting fatter by the minute she sits eating mites. Trailing out their insides thinning rapidly into air, visited by the minister she lies. A spinner she weaves, waves of fog curling her...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 15, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Fire Gathering By striking stone like this on stone we flake a fragment of the jagged pain exchanged when angry clouds lash out at hunch-backed hills and growl at sprawling plains. By wrapping breath – soft breath – in straw we draw a single fibre...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 13, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Infinite Septembers E.K. Smith is a new writer whose work has appeared in Misfits’ Miscellany and Linguistic Erosion. She is honored to be making her debut into the...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 12, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Fruit It grows. Orchard like. Bud, flower, fruit. Grab hold, try a branch for size. It fits, like that dress sitting neatly on your curves, Makes you feel like a woman. Infused with spices, it rests in your stomach, keeping you well fed. But...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 11, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Musical Cushions The woman in the dream armchair said: ‘You must be one of those people who doesn’t realise that music’s playing all the time.’ David Mac is one of the greatest forklift drivers to emerge from the UK. His words have...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 10, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Exuberance and a girl called Kimberley I want to be generous as my feet are firmly planted in clay and I’m in danger of disappearing into a big hole; my house is made of diamond-cut glass and I can be as rash and foolish as a girl called Kimberley....
