by Helen Ivory | May 5, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Daylight and Dust The real horror is a body like an empty glass slowly forgetting itself – trying to remember how to hold anything but daylight and dust. This is how men are taught to feel pain, learn which parts are allowed to break whilst they...
by Helen Ivory | May 4, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Corner Block Vigil in Cowboy Hat I’m five years old, crouched on the knee-high brick fence next to the letter box. I’ve scraped my legs getting up there. I’m wearing a cowboy hat and a man’s striped dressing gown with long red beads, and watching...
by Helen Ivory | May 3, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
At the Royal Ontario Museum Four hundred pounds of rose pink muscle, the dead heft of a whale’s heart, a mass worthy of Rubens, worthy of Moore. Visitors lean in to feel the quiver of sea, pinned and plinthed under glass, the thought of Arctic...
by Helen Ivory | May 2, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Turned Injun I Turned Injun, didn’t yeh. Riders whoop across the screen, red skinned, paint, and painted Paints. And the boy’s jolted by her cheers – outlaw to his young years, music to such green ears: Auntie Val’s rooting for the baddies. More...
by Helen Ivory | May 1, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
beltane (may day poems, glastonbury 2019) pale- moon sun: slow, heavy drops on the site of arthur’s tomb (his queen in small print!) – a quarter of a millennium, the...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 30, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
The Farmer’s Prayer He lies across the cow’s prone side and prays for healing. Smooths her flank, half-expecting some bright heat, a glowing surge to match his prayer, a vision of angels, a chorus of song. Beside them lies her calf, warm and...
