Ink Sweat and Tears

6 days ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

باز هم دوربین ها می چرخندزمین سرگیجه می گیردو  CNNبالا می‌آوردآمار کشته ها رااین شعر راMen are the color of soilWomen are sitting on the ashesAnd white sheets are losing their colorBecause of children’s bloodAgain CNN is puking the numbers of people killedI put this poem In a cornerAnd hope it is carried away on a windMohsen Hosseinkhani was born in Iran in 1988. He began reciting poems professionally in cultural institutes in 2007.

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

It is smell that forgets us last even if we would forget ourselves Babusyu your coffin laid on the frost I was not there Odourless and tasteless you are as water I can never grip however much I look at the photo Laid on your back you are the shadow slipping through the mirror The rim of bronze light at dawn on the tundra My father’s letter found after his death Milk and fresh baked bread the pine boards of your house The spun yellow silk of your head the salt tears I will never taste Not...

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

Losing it before the UFO can find a parking spotUsed to be the stain inside a makeup bag, glossed on inside cheek, socked on the stairs, Auntie at the Embassy, the sink over adverts and the sinnerman,and too much, I’ll keep going: my face, not like the moon, my face, like a hot cd. We’re stuck on a scene, frozen,like the ice cubes I begged Mum to get with the little flowers in them. Like taking a test in the school gym but your knees are so big they’re banging into the desk.

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

Thoughts in the Time of CollisionI am all hair, glittering with diamond-glass. A forehead streaked with blood, rubies and roses crisscrossing the tangerine flaps of a ripped collar. Ripped skin. The air is blue and then bluer and then green and then black. Black is absence of color, white the sum. When I come to, a mangled fender dangles halfway through the windshield, inches from my face. When he sees it, my brother bursts into big pearly tears. Why is his arm on wrong? He is all geometry.

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

Without a FollowingIf you could call that friend,the special one,the one you always love and know loves you,if you couldand she were not also dead,she would be the oneto let you go. Even so,let go,even without her you can do this,alone, if you have to. You have to. We are all alone at the end. Letting gowith just yourselfbeing for the last timethe way youare. Stephen Chappell started writing poetry when he was pushing 70 and is now addicted.