Originally a Londoner, Alison Dunhill had a poetry pamphlet published in her early twenties in Paul Brown’s Trans Gravity Advertiser, 1972.
#ONE WILD MOMENT WHERE CAN YOU STREAM FULL#
Kerry’s third collection (joint winner of the Full Fat Collection, Hedgehog Press) will be published in 2022. Her poems have appeared widely in magazines and anthologies and have won or been short listed in several competitions. Her biography Kay’s Ark published by Handstand Press.
Her two poetry collections are with Indigo Dreams Publishing. Lives in Cumbria where most of her poetry is rooted. Alison Dunhill (soon to be published in her forthcoming SurVision chapbook) Splashes the moon’s gentle light, spreading it Through white arches, the blue surprise of the Greek sea.įurry welcome when we get home to Sifnaika. These rough-hewn walkways are carved from the mountain. In perfect domes, blue on white, in anticipation of volcanoes.Ĭlusters of tiny churches, white and blue too, emit a scent of frankincenseĪnd in their cool insides we intrude on precious ikons, The roofs, first mountain-strewn, now close, are balled The heady scent of wild basil, oregano, thyme. You’re looking good today in electric blue. On a tiny mountain track to Kastro, ancient capital. The sun’s un-cracked yolk slips its perfect form (published in own collection Distance Sweet on my Tongue – Indigo Dreams Publishing)įrom behind the massive night bone of mountain Published in The Interpreter’s House issue 57)Ī pillow the way your pearl-eyes searched (Published in own collection, A Lift of Wings – Indigo Dreams Publishing 2014 Sky slipped from the pines, smeared lipstick pink, Tarmac stayed warm and soft walking home, We imagined Hollywood, silk blouses, love We counted down the days for hours mouthing Other than the smell of Edna’s cooked vegetables. Angela Topping (from I Sing of Bricks (Salt 2011))Īngela Topping (from The Way We Came (Bluechrome 2007)) Smiling as the sun finally drowns itself, Adrian Rice (The Strange Estate: New & Selected Poems 1986-2017, Press 53) Geraldine Ward (previously published in The Sunday Tribune) Perhaps it has always been but not noticed before. There is no illusion, on the still picture book outlook, that I am gazing, and admiring for the first time. Germinating from the springboard of our fertile imaginations. We are all weary, but remain focussed on the frontline of life. Watching wistfully, as I hear my neighbour’s muted talk from next door. Would I have noticed this before the lockdown?Īs we remain here, still, in the present. While old ideas are scrolled across the sea.Īt this distance, detail’s lost, amorphous.Īre life and death still doled out by the sea? Yet bruises bloom like mould upon the sea.Ī full-stop moon closes the day in shadow The sky is metal-cold above flattened sea.įor now, the haven’s safe but will it hold against the sea?