Poems
Sally’s POEMS have been published in Acumen, Agenda, havr Ambit, Assent, Critical Quarterly, Coffee House, Dream Catcher, Envoi, Equinox, Frogmore, Ink Sweat and Tears, Interpreter's House, Iota, Links, Magma, New Welsh Review, The North, Obsessed with Pipework, Orbis, Outposts, The Poets’ Republic, Poetry Nottingham, Poetry Review, Seam,The Shop, Smith's Knoll, The Spectator, Stand, Staple, The Times, Under the Radar, The Wolf, Wordplay, “14”. Anthologies include Skein, Templar, 2014;  Peleton, Templar, 2013;  Running Before the Wind, (Grey Hen Press) 2013;  Soundswrite Anthologies (Soundswrite Press, 2005 & 2006,)  Poetry Wivenhoe (2008);  Light Unlocked, Christmas Card Poems, (Enitharmon, 2005) Out of Bounds For Sale. The Sunday Times displays a honey-coloured pile and yet I know the stonework’s Portland. Grey. We wore grey hats to match. Midnight I led illicit troops onto the roof. Mornings, snitched sugar from the tray outside the dreadful Study (paying for sins). Leo, Regent, Stucco, Princess, Cornflower – our dormitory windows framed the pampas pluming in new-crushed grass. Mozart spilled through the Italian Gardens, our songs shuddered the chandeliers, cartwheels hardened lawns beneath the portico. Sunday afternoons I lay behind the 15th century church with a book and lakeside view. Did walking round that lake help me escape the palace where our fathers paid so handsomely to place our promise in someone else’s hands or was it the appeal of out of bounds? Once a cormorant flew to the lake. It was under a long time searching for fish. I knew what it meant to find myself lost in a blear of the flow. The building isn’t gold, it’s grey. And grey rain washed my long hikes past the boathouse.                         The Spectator, 8.9.2018  A Poetry of Release with a debt to WS Graham Derek’s efforts ran unhgindered as the rain. Those dearest to him from childhood gone, he thoaught grief a gift he shsould earn. There’s relatively little wowrds can do for grief but what else did he have? There were, he knew, huge worlds to share. Explore.                                   * ||||Let this poem be a still thiang, a mountain constructed from glass. I begin with the ghost of an intention which blasts itslf to nurture a new collision. Perhaps the shape of us  the wreckage, the shame and the dance – is in our language.   Tears in the Fence, 2019