by Helen Ivory | Jun 9, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
My Dad Complains That The Hedges Are Overgrown and the word bemuses me, implying as it does the concept of excess in what can only be good. Why do we crave these straight lines and clean edges? The hedge itself is a border, a defining. A this is...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 8, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Between the Ears For Seán Street, in celebration of his 80th birthday (2nd June 2026) Molluscous receivers, would that you could turn your talents inwards, and pick up all that goes on in the cerebral swamp that separates you, with its...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 7, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Twitch There’s a flash of colour from the hedge. His arm shoots up and hangs pointing – at the empty space where the movement was. As he names the bird he thinks he saw Luke Moran is from Folkestone, he works there in the...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 6, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
And when you step into the clearing there will be dancing. The unsteady moon, shaken to ribbon; shimmering through regalia of clouds. Shawls, as if ermine, still scurrying (wee winter-whitened weasels). & the one elm sways too. Lit, like a...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 5, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Again Again the rock is wet. Again no spring. Sheltered under the ridge the fence post leans where it always leans. Mud. A buzzard mews, turns in the wind, a faraway engine grumbles. On the ewe-path worn to here, close to the face of cold granular...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 4, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Knowledge She doesn’t know what she is doing. She chops and boils, snacks and sneezes, sits. Classical radio plays, imbuing the scene with comic dignity and wit. I close my eyes, wrapping truths in wool and wearing them about me. To be frank is to...
