by Helen Ivory | Apr 1, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Spring Song I remember spring and everything a freshly washed clean smell of green. A newborn kind of rain left the parked cars shining like a passed shower. I remember cycling, the tarmac deep black and streaming, past the shoppers queueing the high...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 21, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Beachcombing at Night I find a broken compass behind his right ear, two Euros behind his left, bent spoons in each armpit, AA batteries behind both of his knees. He hands me a torch, nothing happens when I flick the switch. ‘Ah!’ I swap the...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 20, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Sunday Mornings You place the pieces on the table pendulum rocker-arm weights escape wheel use a toothbrush frisk the cogs There is a limit to tightening the time a risk of breaking The grandfather should not be tilted sideways backwards ...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 19, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
After Visiting Grandma After Susan B. Anthony Somers-Willett I walk home from the bone orchard, my fist a jaw of keys. To think I used to know nothing of teeth. Like any good hunter I wear the pelt of the beast – my first boyfriend’s red hoodie....
by Helen Ivory | Mar 18, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Walpole Rollerdrome, 1981 At the gate, turn in, skate the potholes, slicing folds of chicken-wire, to carrot-shed, Alsatian, straining at a metal leash. Skate past the long, long ditch of water, once iced with murder, now rusting engines and...
