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...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 21, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
The Pleasure of Fruit I tempt you with morsels of soft-skinned peach, a pear sliced in quarters, pipless and skinless. Your teeth may be failing but your tastebuds savour the sweetness; juice drips down your chin. Sticky fingers once picked...
