by Helen Ivory | Jun 2, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
A Jar of Starfish You may think it’s because there’s so little room, but I believe we are holding each other so we don’t forget the way water holds us. At first glance, you may be forgiven for thinking us Autumn leaves – a crisped selection of...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 1, 2024 | Featured, Prose
You Had One Job There’s never a dull day at my job. As a porter at one of Cambridge’s oldest colleges, I’ve just about seen it all: tourists sliding past the “College Closed to Visitors” sign to gawp at our admittedly impressive architecture;...
by Helen Ivory | May 21, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Paysage Moralisé There’s more to this three-foot square: lilac vetch & vermilion field-poppies, some sort of crucifer spreading its yellow legs for an evening damp enough to be hot; opposite, big-box retail, facing away to heavens dreamt...
by Helen Ivory | May 20, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Saint Brendan Brown limpets with tonsured heads creeping over the fish-stink isle, spongy underfoot, seaweed for grass. At the head, fire-crowned Brendan his feet licked by waves, knows tidings odd. Is it word from God, or knowing the wrinkled sea...
by Helen Ivory | May 19, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
A Taste of Apocalypse Such stillness in the air. The attic window is a cupped ear set to alert the house to subtle shifts in atmosphere: auguries; signs; any tiny notice of cataclysmic change. All it amplifies today is a lone jay’s irritated...
