by Helen Ivory | Jan 31, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
The Stack We hold our dead like chairs hold chairs further and further off the floor until one holds no more. Tristan Moss lives in York with his partner and two youngish children. He has recently had poems published in London...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 30, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Sister Death Sits on the Back of the Settee It shouldn’t be such a surprise. She knew me better than most people, after all. So cosy. And yes, in the womb I gobbled her up and thought I’d won. But you forget such things. Behind me like a pantomime...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 29, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
I Fall in Love with a Tree Everywhere I Go When I shut my eyes all I see is the sky hung with oranges like a dozen orange golf balls; the tree itself on display like a circus animal. I am where the palm trees rise and fall on the horizon; where...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 28, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Morning Conversations Every Gulmohar flower is a vermillion cup of the night’s sweet nectar that drenches the birds’ parched songs. Every branch is a perch for daylight to scout, to rest and to tread lightly without leaving prints. The parrots...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 27, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Sonata for the Dead (After Li Shangyin) Crows pick at the rotting bones of skeletons who gaze with sightless eyes at the stars, where our dreams abide, but never come alive. Crows, seeking somewhere to feed, scatter like fallen leaves, as wind...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 26, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Fish-Tale She gorged on forests, gluttonous for the town, craved torchlit streets every time she went back to normality. She swapped her tail for a man washed up on the shore along with the shingle, salt-seaweed, and crab-carapace. She burns...
