Peppercorns, Slate & Spitfires

Peppercorn Rent was published by Flarestack in 2008 and a full collection, Slate Rising, by Indigo Dreams in April 2014.  Alison was awarded funding by the National Lottery through Arts Council England in 2015 to research and write Sisters in Spitfires, which celebrates the women who flew with the Air Transport Auxiliary during the Second World War. Order direct from Indigo Dreams or on Amazon.

Magazines: Orbis, Envoi, Fire, Pulsar, Ripple, Obsessed with Pipework, Poetry Now, SOUTH, ARTEMISpoetry, 14 Magazine, Ariadne's Thread, Snakeskin, Reach, Ink, Sweat & Tears and on the Mary Evans Picture Library.

Anthologies: This Island City (Spinnaker Press, 2010), And the Story Isn't Over (poetry pRO, 2009) and poetry tREnd (Lit Verlag, 2010), Poets in Person at the Glassblower (IDP, May 2014) ed by Aprilia Zank, Poems for a Liminal Age, edited by Mandy Pannett, in aid of Medecins Sans Frontieres UK (SPM Publications, August 2015) and Fanfare, Second Light Publications (November 2015).

Two poems appeared in the XXI Century World Literature, published in New Delhi in February 2016.

Alison is available for readings, festivals and workshops - please use the Contact form to get in touch or email
alison-hill@blueyonder.co.uk

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BROOKLANDS SWING
 
They’re in the mood – swirling
the dance floor, hands skimming
hips, scarlet lipstick glossing, all
eye-linered nylons & vintage chic.
 
There’re hovering at the stalls,
clustering rails, rummaging
period pieces, yellowing maps
offering up roads still to travel.
 
From the clubhouse balcony
classic cars slip into easy mono,
Diana wafts by as Lettice strides
the other way, ready for the sky.
 
Spring sunlight dances back into
Brooklands, crowds lap nostalgia,
the glitz & glamour of bygone days
cheering races, applauding flights.

Sisters in Spitfires and London Grip, December 2015
 




BLUSH

She liked to collect pink light bulbs
neatly, in her third drawer down.

She knew they would be found;
her secret stash, her weakness
for a soft glow to warm the edges
of the darkening room
as she tapped   out   time   with
hot-pink nails on powdered hands.

She liked to watch the light
shifting through the delphiniums,
creeping up the sliding hallway
to prod spring bulbs into life.

She liked to watch the dawn,
to catch the first glimmers
of the varnish-streaked sky -
the pink light bulbs neat
in her third drawer down.

from Slate Rising