Sally Evans Poems

1.
Dear Quintus Horatius Flaccus,
may I have a poem?
We run this little magazine.
...

A country there was no room for
compressed into a town
of sophisticated music,
the magic violin -
...

Under the Castle gate
bringing my store to the kitchen
I am asked to wait.
Honey shines in crocks in my basket.
...

Via the pole, I look down to the angled view from the wing,
and wonder I let myself in for this adventure of words.
Once the action took over I was shepherded into the plane.
Here I am in a prison cabin bound for Chicago.
...

Each year turns, every year renews.
All variations of green shade shine
thousands in each of a million trees
meanwhile in hundreds of towns the travellers
...

A is for airborne, an arctic affair,
B is a box for a battered brown bear.
C is a clock that cannot count figures,
D is a desk for a diary, dumb diggers.
...

Shoes from the rough icy sea
with voices chanting above,
boots of boys and men,
legions of sandals,
...

Although we don't recall an overlap
we owned the same secret land
of Country Durham,
flat, unregarded, whale-shaped,
...

Outside my castle I have flower beds.
Not trees or lakes.

Trees don't last long enough for me
...

old road
hidden from the modern road
runs parallel,
...