by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Wheat Your boots thump the dust on the stile’s nether side. As you weave through the wheat, somehow the brow of the hill is obscured and although you see it plainly the line of oak trees is not quite there. You are lost in fog on the...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 10, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Beguiling with a Gallows Jig Grainstacks at the End of Summer, Morning Effect by Claude Monet At that wink the world stopped with dizzy games, stillness in this grain-stack ingests cities beguiling with the iron scent of rain, dancing a gallows jig on...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 9, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Foldout Body My new foldout body, has bones I can feel and the cold lives easy, wedged between muscle and cartilage, stone-like, my limbs hold winter. I fold up, hiding the one piece of flesh I possess, since having my daughters. The curve is...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 8, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
not quite the million dollar win no, my socks’re not knocked off no hurling hats or punching the air just an average day on this small planet gently beginning with chai and hot-buttered quietness and O my reward has greenly emerged out of its dark...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 7, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Six Balloons They came from the east. Flattened rounds, tambourines, but pawn black, silver streamers trailing from their valves, lollipops, against cloud sheen, six came like fighters, were five, climbed, formed a V, a Libra, W, Cassiopeia,...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 6, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Neil at The Christening With no living parents, reunions with Neil’s two divorced siblings, Bev and John, were becoming rare. On one of the more unexpected occasions, he arrived at Weymouth Station from London. Bev’s daughter, Becky, wanted to be...
