WILD NATURE POETRY AWARD competition now open.

Alyson's latest pamphlet, Toots, was shortlisted for the Michael Marks Award and Callum MacDonald Memorial Award. Jackie Kay said: 'As fresh as anything, the voice just jumps straight out at you'.

Poetry, breathing, fiction, dancing, stones, art and collaborative practice are at the heart of Alyson's work.

She lives in Somerset, plays piano and swims whenever she can:

Cover artwork ‘Vision in Time III’ by Wilhelmina Barns-Graham


Author photo of Alyson Hallett by Sean Malyon


Author photo of Penelope Shuttle by Jemimah Kuhfeld




156 x 234mm


80 pages


£9.99 + P&P UK


ISBN 978-1-910834-76-3


PUB: 12/11/2018











Poems from the Lizard Peninsula




In this collection of poems drawn from the Lizard Peninsula in Cornwall, land is not just alive and singing, it's full of mischief and mystery and power.


Beaches, serpentine stone, cliffs, chips: the Lizard is a prayer book with the pages in a deliberate wrong order.  The Lizard is a church made of celtic air.


Everything is tinged with salt and freshened with a breeze that's fast and furious off the sea. St. Keverne, Cury, Ruan Minor - wherever LZRD goes, it invites you to the party.


This book opens its doors and says come in, come with us as we travel across this magical land.

AlysonHallett-021 amend Penny amend 9781910834763

Penelope Shuttle lives in Cornwall.  Her most recent collection is Will You Walk A Little Faster? (Bloodaxe Books)  of which Kayo Chingonyi  wrote:

‘…This fluid lineation is a hallmark of this book and contributes to an overall feeling that Shuttle is in perfect control of her material…’(Poetry Review).

This book is dedicated to the memory of Peter Redgrove



you interloper


you wastrel

you coil around my heart





you squeezer of vowels from words


you limpet  

you crazy misfit Cornish wonder





you wizard you witch


wildflower magnet

we can't resist




Saint Corantyn


gives me a snowdrop posy

a chunk of storm

a church built on sand


gives me the past

in the shape

of a village with five names


On Shrove Tuesday

he leaves me

(to my own surprise) well-shriven



hands me a prayer book

its pages in deliberate wrong order


offers me hail

a gargoyle’s grin

and a nudge in the ribs


Saint Corantyn gives me Antioch

all of the kit

and most of the caboodle


my ship coming in

my gold turned back to straws

blowing along the poverty road


He gives me white-hot truth

hidden in a stone-cold lie

Quimper Cathedral on the palm of his hand


He bails out my grave

He guides me

through the stone doorway


with its chevron

and pellet enrichments

to the nook shafts and the jambs


He writes me into his journal of dowsing

takes me fathoms deep

to old forests of oak, willow and hazel


gives me his freshwater blessing

sends me on my way




Lovely Lizard


how can I be satisfied

with a serpentine pebble

on a table on a balcony in Somerset

when Kynance Grade Manaccan

rival every other place light plops down on?







Thirteen Practical Reasons for Visiting The Lizard


To check-out every mischief-saint of the peninsula

To dowse your doubt

To raise your spirits    one by one

To discourse with the summer Hassidim

To hoot the owl      to comprehend the pilchard  

To hear laughter from the well-house  

To pause on the road, listening for it again    

To clean-slate your life

To call the life-boat your friend

To trust the wheat field to take you in the right direction

To remember your dead

To hold court with the living




St Ruan Minor


In a tiny village

sits a tiny church,

its tiny tower covered

in reddening ivy.

A tiny lichen city sprawls

along the branches

of a tree, crab apples

shiny as newly-lit

street lamps. Tiny steps

take us almost

nowhere as we stop

to listen to the slow

hush hush of a broom

brushing a brick-stoned

yard. The sound shakes us

down, readies us for

the church of St Ruan:

porch so low we touch

its roof with our tiny

hands before stepping

into its glove of wood

and stone and kneelers.




Dolphin Ditty


Admiral Font sang up his dolphins four

the dolphins dear to his heart


He heaved them up by their wooden tails

o those swimmers he knew so well


Zig me your zags and zag me your zigs

sang Admiral Font to his dolphins


Shiver m’timbers   my holy-water lovelies

belay belaybelay


Font full of sea     seadog full of brandy

That’s what I saw above Kynance


White sail of a sermon       anchor of a prayer

That’s what I saw with the jolly old Admiral


Font full of brandy     prayer full of dolphins

That’s what I saw above Kynance




St Keverne


After porridge get in your car

and drive to St Keverne.

Park in the church-shadowed square,

walk down past sun-spattered

fields to a stream.


See how light stretches

its thin blue tongue

over stones and water.

How trees

stride into the sky

and soil sinks around

the tunnels of worms.        


Who knows what happens

to you when you walk

here – you return home

changed and unchanged,

something soft, like the cough

of an angel, lodged

between your ribs.