by Helen Ivory | May 5, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
War Correspondent For James Fenton Floating among the ice, these peaceful soft, curly shapes reflect the sky. The river rocks them lightly, gently, their pace appearing slow and graceful beneath the evening’s silver mantle. We cannot see the fish below, but...
by Helen Ivory | May 4, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Idle Hands Another rainy Sunday and Irene was staring out of the window. Or, more correctly she was staring at the window, the rain making the solidity of the transparent glass obvious for once. She had already moved on from wondering whether to go out or not, had...
by Helen Ivory | May 3, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Henri Rousseau (1844-1910) Un tout petit oiseau Sur l’epaule d’un ange Ils chantent le louange Du gentil Rousseau . . . – Guillaume Apollinaire You, gentilhomme, sing bright colors Of faded years into this ennui, Through a dull present, of trackless...
by Helen Ivory | May 1, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Bell Ringers and the Slaughterhouse This is their rehearsal night: each pull and release a feel for time and tone, to peal exact. All just exercise for the biggest of days. On these frost-glazed January nights everything carries. Past those bells, down Edges Lane,...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 30, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
No one will know Woke up mouth-caught, suspended in solitude, not a muscle move. Fling open a window breathe in the life outside. He is not a man. Presence presence when you want absence. It is so hard to stay here sometimes. I see blurred green...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 29, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Dolls Fever brings me a pile of white dolls in the evening light which seeps, tired, through woodwork. They have empty faces and sundered limbs poor delphic things and I don’t even know where their home is, Did you ever expect them to be this perfect? That is,...
