Seeds
I go outside to my hens, while fifty miles away
thin men in Edinburgh are feeding birds.
They are always thin, and the birds crowd round,
starlings, pigeons, spugs, vying for crumbs
of love and humanity, on the bleak squares,
the paving where they are tutted at,
both birds and men, by hurried passers-by.
From the calm, grassy, choice environment
around my flock, I feed those men
with quiet eyes these seeds of words.
The Sleeping Poet
The poet who went to sleep
dreamed impossible dreams.
The poet who stayed awake
wrote impossible words.
The poet who went to sleep
dealt with the situation.
The poet who stayed awake
wondered what to do.
The poet who went to sleep
kept all his secrets.
The poet who stayed awake
spilt hers on the floor.
The poet who stayed awake
became exhausted.
The poet who went to sleep
saw all the colours of leaves.
The poet who stayed awake
sang such a melody
that like a bird disturbed
the sleeping poet awoke.
Sally Evans lives in Callander, Scotland. Recent books include Bewick Walks to Scotland (2006), The Bees (2008), The Honey Seller (2009), Poetic Adventures in Scotland (2014), The Grecian Urn (2015) and Anderson’s Piano (2016). She also edits the broadsheet Poetry Scotland and the blogzine Keep Poems Alive. Facebook https://www.facebook.com/sallyevanz
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