by Helen Ivory | Jun 8, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
My kitten takes me everywhere I need to go When I am sunk her ears remind me of lightness and rightness and treats, they are paper cones for sweets, chips or popcorn, except these are upside down and miniaturised and made of ultra-thin flickable...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 6, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Trips Are Verbs The ferry chuffed with a lyrical rhythm but I found myself blowing chunks off the starboard into churning green and gray. The islands looked like donkeys in the distance and then like elephants as we drew closer. My mouth tasted of...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 5, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
What if? I once read a poem about how a mother can repair a book when it has fallen apart. And I thought what if it was the mother pulling it apart and throwing the pieces into the air for them to fall like confetti? And what if when life puts them...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 4, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
the explorer i’d always thought my mother was a hearth rug an astrologer’s words blew me off course even in your pram she poured voyage into you there were the solo cruises of course dad died and she took to the qe2 even dallied with a dance host...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 3, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Search Party Damp October grass left watercolour Brush strokes on my grey Golas As the path retreated behind us like a shrinking quayside. We scouted the undergrowth like a crime-scene Armed with pictures from a stranger’s Instagram, Placing...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 2, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
My father is calling the neighbours names Out on the grass my father is calling the neighbours names. It is his art. Softly, he starts to mourn. The sky’s a mild suburban blue, each lawn so circumspect it’s like a stamp, but he is being moved by...
