by Helen Ivory | Dec 19, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Lobster If my father were home, the larder would be full of brown paper bags bursting with over-ripe mangoes, purple-tipped artichokes, dead pheasant hanging, packets of stinking cheese, figs split and spilling seed, and sometimes I would be...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 18, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Afternoon Walk I went out for my afternoon walk, and dreamed of no man’s land: a Bir Tawil, a terra nullius fort; I went out for my afternoon walk: orchids bloomed on pseudobulbs ― pink, yellow and vanilla to sport; I went out for my afternoon...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 17, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Referendum I throw the ballpoint pen away. She hits the carpet with her stick and says she wants it back. I offer her another one but, no, she wants the one she’s always used. I check my watch and roll my eyes and marvel at her stubbornness, her...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 16, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Things They Tell You your mom tells you when you’re six years old that if one person says something is wrong with you get a second opinion but if two people say the same thing consider that they might be right she tells you people can see inside of you they’ll figure...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 15, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
I am the Groupie I stalk Frink’s warrior – London, Liverpool, Swindon, Chicago. He entices me into art galleries and sculpture parks in the pouring rain. I want to know the dreams that curl up in his bones, the length of his longing, depth of his...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 14, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
The Deputy His office Next to the Head’s Was so untidy, Papers on chairs, Rubbish bin overflowing But it was here They all waited, For an interview Or a result. Amongst his jumble And his wall charts And the red faced Secretary Apologising. ...
