by Helen Ivory | Jul 16, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
In stream (after Zaffar Kunial’s ‘This in Land’) That way a river crimps eddies in its skin is this matter of my unreliable breath. That way leaves spin, pause, spin on again is as much constancy as we should expect. That way an eel suspended in...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 15, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Birdsong You’d come in the front door and whistle, I’d be upstairs and whistle back like a pair of tits sounding a return to the nest, our intuitive call and response, a sudden shared slap stick rousing the dog from its daydream, like two trainee...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 14, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
In My Last Phone Call Did I say it looks like rain? I meant the sky is black with a thirst only crying can quench, clouds smothering the hills. Did I say this was my home? It was a mistake. The walls are collapsing even as I paint myself into a...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 13, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Three Dimensions X There is no evidence anywhere that Albert Einstein ever said the definition of insanity is ‘is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results’ except there he is, all over the Internet, being attributed...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 12, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
On the Ward No place to put a man and hope he’ll stay together. The sensible nouns are already exiting the side door. They know things are not right: that a phone charger is not a walnut, that a six-bed ward is not a graveyard. Poor sort of...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 10, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Rite Maud Gonne’s grief at the death of her son led her to attempt to conceive another in the child’s tomb. Mausoleum. She puts her tongue against the word. Thinks maudlin. Thinks museum. Thinks her Georges, as darling as a Degas bronze, his...
