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 |
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 |
