by Helen Ivory | Jun 10, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
I had a leaf in my hair when I arrived the receptionist thought it was a hairclip I didn’t know how to tell her I’d been doing my pre-op under a beech tree, leaves drifting down like snow fungus like a great carved shelf bracketing the...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 9, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
My Dad Complains That The Hedges Are Overgrown and the word bemuses me, implying as it does the concept of excess in what can only be good. Why do we crave these straight lines and clean edges? The hedge itself is a border, a defining. A this is...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 8, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Between the Ears For Seán Street, in celebration of his 80th birthday (2nd June 2026) Molluscous receivers, would that you could turn your talents inwards, and pick up all that goes on in the cerebral swamp that separates you, with its...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 7, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Twitch There’s a flash of colour from the hedge. His arm shoots up and hangs pointing – at the empty space where the movement was. As he names the bird he thinks he saw Luke Moran is from Folkestone, he works there in the...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 6, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
And when you step into the clearing there will be dancing. The unsteady moon, shaken to ribbon; shimmering through regalia of clouds. Shawls, as if ermine, still scurrying (wee winter-whitened weasels). & the one elm sways too. Lit, like a...
