by Helen Ivory | Sep 8, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
The Last Person on Earth I don’t know why I went, I’d already heard about the time a colleague’s husband turned up at the staff barbecue and punched him. We met at The Prince of Wales but he refused to go in because a sixth former was working at...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 7, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
A mother teaches her Neurodiverse child colours What colour is the dog? The dog is brown. Can you see the brown dog? What colour is the cat? The cat is black. Can you see the black cat? What colour is the school? The school is too-bright primary...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 6, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Some Hope I am a clown performing slapstick at a funeral, Cassandra whispering to Narcissus, an ant on the lawn at a posh garden party mooning policemen with pepper sprays, I am a blunt pencil snarling death-threats at the deaf (while hoping for...
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 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...
