by Helen Ivory | Aug 15, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Clocking off from Sankeys This young man’s veins run with smelted iron. Shift ends. Furnace bellows push him home. He feels for his key in the oil worn bag rummages for fags wedged between Sketchpad and empty sandwich tin. Lighting on the...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 14, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Out Of Bounds The sweet shop, for starters. Dabs, dibs, Creamola Foam, anything with a fizz. The maids upstairs in their own dormitory, who passed us a copy of Modern Sunbathing. Travelling too far beyond the cricket pavilion, where temptation...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 11, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
The calling You’re sitting in the half-light, in a cavern scoured from limestone, on a boulder by an underground stream. Behind: a dark tunnel, too narrow to crawl through, where water flows from, cool and clear. Ahead: heaped debris, the walls of...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 9, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
The sisters of stone wend their way in a line one after another the sisters of stone walk across the hollow lake quieten their legs on the dry drowned bridge listening they prayer their fingertips around the cupped whim stones that hold neither...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 8, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Proposal Oh yes, I can still rise with the best of them, sink with the worst. I can play my violin outside your door as easily as spit on your roses. How would you like your jazz? Perfectly syncopated or horribly atonal? I got the sun in the...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 4, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Arpeggio I lie awake. Night presses down my eyes. A blackbird’s song scythes through the gloom, its silver corkscrew ripple reminding me the days are longer now. Susan Castillo Street is Harriet Beecher Stowe Professor Emerita,...
