by Helen Ivory | Nov 15, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
I have never dined out with my father Not once. Not just the two of us. Not even a trip to a greasy spoon, a chat over coffee and a slice of cake. And so this is novel, him nearing eighty, me approaching fifty, our first Sunday lunch,...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 14, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
The Tidy i.m. Ann Drysdale Hi-Vised volunteers swarm the place, jacket-backs labelled Friends of the Park. They carry rakes, secateurs, black bags to flutter and snap in the wind. A man pulls strands of ivy from their creep across a path, a woman...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 13, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Happiness after Raymond Carver What can I tell you about how it feels – apart from when an old dog has plodded slowly across the room, lumbered up the short jump onto the ancient beige couch that’s covered in years’ worth of dog...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 12, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
The Last Olive I offer you the last olive. Have it yourself, you say. Don’t be ridiculous, I reply – just take it. I saved it for you. You bite into the olive, your teeth working their way around the hard interior. You eat half of it and hand the...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 11, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Munitionettes Yes I was a canary girl who survived the accidents the explosions, even the chemicals didn’t poison me. For two pounds per week, no health and safety no goggles as we watched the slow discoloration of hair and skin. Long days, so...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 10, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
After the Fall The dead flies collected on the windowsill like punctuation. Black corpses against flaking white gloss, dotted like bombs falling over London or Berlin. Tiny UXBs lying waiting wanting to explode back into life. Kevin...
