Sally Evans Poems

Cruachan: derailed train

A rare red rose bloomed for a week in June.
Perhaps it saved the lives of those
...

Not Newcastle's invader
but borderers, farmers and worse,
further over the fells than I ever walked
seeking the small, gentle things of the countryside.
...

I am constantly told
I have an English accent.
It is from the North
Pennines - Teesdale, Lonsdale,
...

I love the ends of roads,
that peter out on proms,
circle round a teashop
closed half the year,
...

He slept for years out of doors
in a garden in London, his daytime
job, some sort of writer.
...

Timeless forest
under the midnight wall -

owls haunt dusk
...

Robin and I went down to watch the boats,
past the gabled houses, the straggling hops,
over an old allotment gate,
past the scout hut, over the nettles and leaves,
...

This rolling field
waves brown over the bright
hedges. Her colander
burned with the fruit,
...

Copper leaves darker than holy wells
spin down from soundproof trees
where daisies burn the contour of the slope.
Indoors, amid cool corridors
...

You know you're in Ullapool
when the little town is a sea town,
lorries roll form the docks,
a gaggle of girls buy ice-cream,
...