INDIGO DREAMS

PUBLISHING LTD

 

BEYOND WINGS

Alison Lock’s poetry and short stories have appeared in anthologies and journals in the UK and internationally. Her work has won prizes in The London Magazine, Sentinel Literary Quarterly Review, and a semi-finalist in the Carve Esoteric Prize. It has been published in reviews, journals and anthologies including: Firewords, The Copperfield Review, Deep Water Literary Journal, Tears in the Fence, Myriad Editions Quick Fictions, Momaya Annual Review, Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal, The Lake, Haibun Today, Pennine Platform, Off the Coast, Southlight, Sarasvati, amongst others.

 

She was Poet-in-residence at Holmfirth Arts Festival 2012 and her poem 'eye of the heron' was performed at the launch of the 2013 Festival. Her first collection of poetry, A Slither of Air (2011), was published as a result of winning the Indigo Dreams Poetry Collection Competition. Since then she has published a collection of short stories, Above the Parapet, (IDP 2013) and read at the 13th International Conference on the Short Story in English, Vienna.

 

She has an MA in Literature Studies and she facilitates Transformative Life Writing courses. She is currently working on a fantasy novella to be published later in 2015.  Beyond Wings is her second poetry collection; its poems connect an inner world with an exploration of the land and a love of nature, through poetry, prose, and haibun.

 

 

 

Alison Lock

 

Beyond Wings

 

ISBN 978-1-909357-83-9

 

Indigo Dreams Publishing

 

Poetry

 

138 x 216mm

 

62 pages

 

£7.99 + P&P UK

 

PUB: April 2015

 

 

ORDER HERE

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fish Bone

 

There's a fish bone,

a Paleozoic skeleton,

a spectre, an apparition

on a sonic scan.

 

Twelve weeks in vitro

and there you are,

in perfect

working order.

 

We stare at the bird,

the fish, made

in our dreams

on a nest of pillows.

 

Now, here on a screen

framed by width

of numbers, figures,

percentiles, you are

 

here, but not here,

temporarily submerged

in a liquid world

waiting to exchange

 

the sonic booms

for airborne

cries of neither

fish nor bird.

 

 

 

 

Woodburner

 

the fish lie low

under discs

of ice slit whips

echoing through woods

rumbled hooves

halos of frost

dragged moss

logs embossed

flame for the hearth

flame for the hearth

logs embossed

dragged moss

halos of frost

rumbled hooves

echoing through woods

of ice slit whips  

under discs  

the fish lie low

Her Watch

 

Old-fashioned, delicate,

still ticking after 80 years

 

a gift from her husband

for some occasion, I do not know.

 

Perhaps to celebrate

the birth of their first born,

 

or when he arrived home

after the war – a different man.

 

Now they are gone

his gift to her is left to me

 

––too precious

 

loaded on my wrist.

I can hardly bear the weight.

 

 

 

 

Kiss

 

We are in limelight

treading a pebbled stage

 

our esses are stolen

by the waves

 

as silver tongues

lap the shore

 

our eyes switch

in the strip-light

 

our lips are

the full moon.

 

 

 

 

Guiding Lights

 

In this dream I follow

the marks made by the sea-stars.

 

I watch their

flaccid tendrils crossing

the tide-line where the curling

waves shoal.

 

I sail on a boat of glass.

Below, I see

the clutter of

a city on the ocean floor.

 

Aerials are breaking

the surface

beacons of light are blinking

from the skylights  

 

their bright orbits

guiding me over the sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oystercatchers

 

Our oars cut the lean

as piper pigeons coo.

 

On the island two trees clasp

the earth with veined roots.

 

Our feet dangle, drawing

heart-shapes on the tarn––

 

not knowing our symbols will be

read as hostile flags

 

until we see the semaphore of wings––

a nesting pair have taken flight,

 

airborne stripes of black, white,

a shock red warning

 

swooping in—all but striking

–scuttling––we swing a wider course.

 

 

 

 

The Eucalyptus of Canterbury

 

Cradled, my feet

tune in, roots vibrate

as my rocking heels

 

shelve the loam,

angered ants weave

beaded manacles

 

around my ankles.

Silver-furred trees

crest holy spires

 

littering the ground

with splintered

sheaths of cinnamon

 

castings, heavy

with the scent

of a too-long summer.

 

Rain arrives, I hug

the tree, hearing the drone

of a didgeridoo.

 

 

These are poems that connect an inner world with an exploration of the land and a

love of nature, through poetry, prose, and haibun.

 

 

 

“Alison Lock's is a highly individual voice. A traveller, an impressionist artist-inwords, her 'room' (or rooms – as she describes them, all of them 'rented') is the landscape, the seascape, the sky-scape of nature, in all its brilliant secret detail.

She's clearly a lover of words, and she's good at finding the right words. She's a minimalist; and (rare poetic virtue) she knows when to stop.

This is a collection to be read at a sitting; the whole is infinitely more compelling than its parts. It's not so much a body of verses as a travelogue of lyrical aperçus; it offers a consistent vision of an everyday natural world that is freshly invested with particularity and significance. Lock has a practised alertness to what is there. It is this focus, this closeness of attention and precision of description that gives her

verse its authority.”

R V Bailey

 

“Alison Lock is a writer who is not afraid to experiment with language and form.

This latest publication demonstrates her sensitivity to the natural world and her ability to conjure it, taking us on a journey through a personal vision of

landscape and fulfilment.”

Jo Haslam

 

 

 

 

 

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