by Helen Ivory | Sep 6, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Some Hope I am a clown performing slapstick at a funeral, Cassandra whispering to Narcissus, an ant on the lawn at a posh garden party mooning policemen with pepper sprays, I am a blunt pencil snarling death-threats at the deaf (while hoping for...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 5, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
The rain is expected to stop in 8 minutes and start again in 29 minutes I am lying on grass There is blue sky above me And an aeroplane And a fly I am a David Hockney painting (Minus the fly) I work as a volunteer at Oxfam putting donated clothes...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 4, 2024 | Flash Fiction, Prose
The Small and Many Forms of Sadness I have compiled an incomplete list of the small and many forms of sadness that can be experienced by humans. The sadness of cracking the spine of a new book. The sadness of odd socks. The sadness of attempting...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 3, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
The Lung Men Look at the faint rain twisting itself into the ground, making dry things resign themselves to different states of damp. Watch silent doors opening, closing, think of climbed stairs, rooms reached. Hear minds unslam, shadows chewing soft...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 2, 2024 | Featured, Prose
Aposematism / Honest warning signals 1 I begged my boss to let me do the interview with the fire historian. I have form, I told him. I’ve been close to fires in Brussels, in Sydney, in Manchester. Woke on a Sunday morning to the sound of breaking...
