by Helen Ivory | Jun 8, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
I no longer prioritise, I choose who to disappoint that day I’m a cardboard loo roll with one sheet left wet grounds scraped from the coffee pot a biro tip scratching at paper in circles. Scrolling through my inbox I hold down the shift key, select all...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 7, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness perhaps enough solidness to knife through a banana or other soft fruit for safety for a baby or to get under the edge of the surface tension of the skin of a grape to start a peel....
by Helen Ivory | Jun 6, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
3am a wooden door slams shut in my brain a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago (I travel on my mother’s electric waves that held their spoken words’ shape) I am sorry that the thud left a hole in your...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 5, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Stonevale When I was born the house was full of stones, an old blacksmiths shed. Rubble became walls, became home. I used a brush as tall as me to brush debris, dust, oyster shells. In my blue gingham dress and boots. We lived down from the...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 4, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Homeland And if a land loses its people and they are exiled will a land feel their absence will it dream of their calloused feet on its warm skin will it grieve the touch of hands familiar with the ways of its...
