Alison Lock's first collection of poetry is 'A Slither of Air' published by Indigo Dreams Publishing. To buy a copy of this collection please representingrepresentingclick here
A Slither Of Air We speak through a slither of air gulls hover bringing your ocean to me filling the deep well of my living room. I see the beach where your breath is fearless and over my shoulder a memory of you running blind brakes screeching like the sea birds now. My heart beat then and later to a rhythm that defined you. Now your feet sink into the sand as you press the text of your life into my uncoiled ear.
Small Fry
Bubbles rap the rhythmic river, rocks syncopate
with friction-less liquidity.
Water, stone, scissors, cut free,
slip-glisten fluidity through dash-head torrents,
landscapers greet with hollow pats, wet rock
on wet rock, backs thud, guarding the borders,
sentinels to a passing force. Finned, gilled, boned,
fleshly creatures in part crepuscular, seek the soup light.
Wing, scale, invertebrate, slip-minnows stickle
in the pooling shadows, as boatmen brake,
skaters dance the skin-thin surface with fine-hair legs,
water-fleas beetle in their name-sake element.
White water, rapid light, a branch lips a bend
lifts a crescent of spume, froth, lathers loose bark,
twigs criss-cross a weir made by wetland architects.
Here the water is acid brown. Peat deep.
A hint of a trap where the whirlygigs circle
and circle and mesmerise. On a mild day, like today,
it is a spawning pool, a safe nursery for the small fry.
The Blessing After you were born, we planted a tree
a sapling pear.
The glint of a spade in the afternoon sun
a signal for the soil to nourish with tenderness
a ritual renewed by a new-born's snuffle.
In time the blossom is as white as your flesh
is pink. Fragile heads that flicker in the breeze
in a salutation to Hera.
Then come the fruits, kernels of creation.
Each one a single drop of tear.
Time waits for the flight of an angel's wing
as our abundant crop hails his first cry
our blessing ? and so you were born,
a slow motion memory of pear parting tree.
Kandahar
A boy finds a fallen star
from a pocket of treasures
his hand reaches out
pulls the loop that is trip-wired
to a hurricane, it lifts him high
higher to a crescent of incandescence
then down he flitters in a shower
of pomegranate seeds seeping the ground
sweet red, dark red, black red.
Now there is light, swinging bright
he waves back with a bound stub
as if reaching for a moonbeam.
The Waiting Room (Miss Havisham) My lady waits at the table head. Bride-in waiting. The mice are hungry, the cake disgorged the hind legs of a cockroach rattle as a meal of a fly comes loose from a beam. My quick eye calculates in hanks cordage for warp, threads for weft. I bridle up, ready to sling my net from the limb of the stilled hour hand. I lick my lips around the word ?embellishment?. With the effort of birthing I let out my silks tautly tatting, inventing the wheel with spirals that drip by the light of the moon fine-edged in parallel hoops. I cast off. We wait.
All these Poems are published in 'A Slither of Air', Indigo Dreams Publishing 2011. Review on Amazon: 5.0 out of 5 stars Very highly recommended, 18 July 2012
By MoonHare - See all my reviews. This review is from: A Slither of Air (Paperback)
Alison Lock's collection of poetry is wonderful. Full of subtle twists and delicate juxtaposition, even the poetry tackling difficult subjects has an airy, uplifting quality. She picks her words so carefully that the end result is almost edible and reading each poem is like tasting a little piece of her world. With tantalising hints of autobiography, beautiful observations of the natural world and startling perceptions of life's traumas, A Slither Of Air is an unusual and mesmerising book of poems that had me gripped throughout - from the heart-searing 'Kandahar' to the resonance of 'Over and Over' to the epic styling of 'Where The Cinnabar Moth...' I enjoyed the whole volume and am looking forward to Lock's collection of short stories, due to be released next year. Judging by her poetry, they're bound to be insightful and intoxicating. Buy this book - you won't be disappointed. | Sea Swan Her loved ones sleep the naked moon white crescents etched on black. As she drifts and dips her beak turns a swarm of creatures skitter the sand. Her wingspan scoops a green under-layer drips, rippling her regal silhouette. Unruffled her deep black rudders shift, as seamless as her gimlet eye spots a flip then with precision her neck re-forms in a graceful arch.
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