by Helen Ivory | Jul 12, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Brigid’s Land Grab A white cloak that folds like a shopping bag, like a Pac-a-mac with pagan overtones, much larger when unfolded than a pocket, a TARDIS of a cloak. And when she threw it, opened it up, it kept unfurling, a flag for all the earth...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 11, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Patience I grow shoots, acid green; climb the walls, surprise myself. I dream of the way I would fall, the axe’s half-diamond. In the greenhouse, light and water make me tall, and my tremulous leaves scrawl love-letters on the windowpane. ...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 10, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Jigsaw It starts in utero, painted wood carvings thick as a finger, gift wrapped in nostalgia. Colour weaves in time, a voice with a thousand faces. Some velcro themselves, urchins of experience. Some are stolen. Onlookers swapping their gray...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 9, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Record Made a list. A record. The dishes she ate. Monuments visited. In Paris. In chronological order. A narrative into Paris, from England, through the dark tunnel, into the light. Then back, returning from steak and frites by the Arc de...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 7, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Picnic Tempting death with every cobblestoned step his face was a collection of broken records — I was devouring a cheese baguette with grape jelly — Alas, my desires are always replaced by hunger / now we avoid each other at the King Streetcar —...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 6, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Waste There’s more waste than we use for the things we ordinarily use waste for, such as piling it on barges and sending them out to sea, tucking it under the surface like a layer of insulation, diamonds were waste once, and diamonds are valuable,...
