Author Archives: Gill McEvoy


Every time a charity bag
is posted through my letterbox
I think ‘this time I’ll let it go’

But then I stroke its fine velour,
admire the red silk lining
of its jacket

take it out to dust it down,
put it back and close
the wardrobe doors again.

I cannot bear to let it go
even though it’s a long, long time
since I sat sideways on a horse,

even though I was
a different, smaller, size
back then.

Gill McEvoy

Paintings in the Local Art Exhibition

Paintings in the Local Art Exhibition

1. ‘White Poppies’

Look at them,
crowding from the frame
like girls in Communion frocks
who wait for the photographer
to pose them,
drop the shutter’s blade,
fix them in their purity.

Already a red spot
on the corner of the glass —

the Wolf loves innocence.

2. ‘Single Red Poppy’

Dark gape of throat,
blood on the canvas.

People are skirting it,
eyes lowered.

Wolf is in the corner,
wiping a long tongue round his teeth.

Gill McEvoy


A poem more about the truth, naked truth, of what’s going on right now…


A high price to pay at their journey’s end
they travelled a long way, he on foot,
she on a mule,
and she heavy with child.
All doors were closed against them.
No welcome anywhere.
And the night bitterly cold.

There are others travelling now,
paying a cruel price
for unsafe boats, or crowded lorries;
men, children, women heavy with child.
Many die on the journey.
No welcome anywhere
and the nights bitterly cold.

How they would be glad of a stable,
the body-warmth of beasts,
the small comfort of straw.

Gill McEvoy Dec 2015

The Happiest News!!

Dear all,
please rejoice with me: I’m on the shortlist for the Michael Marks pamphlet award (see The Wordsworth Trust website) for “The First Telling”. Can’t quite believe it. Winner will be announced on 24th Nov at a dinner in the British Library. I’m looking for some posh shoes….oh this is nerve-wracking!!
Love to you all from a

My Mother Makes Apple-dappy

My Mother Makes Apple-dappy

She rolls the dough to an inch-thick slab,
covers it with milk-white Bramley chunks,
smothers it in spice and Demerara, cuts it into
coiled sections, lays them in the baking dish.
Then she soaks it all in golden melt
of honey, lemon, butter. Sets the dish to bake.

Her kitchen fills with fragrance,
the family hordes come tumbling in.
Soon there’s not a spoon-scrape left.
She runs hot water, slides the dishes in,
a smile of satisfaction on her face.

News from Gill McEvoy

I’ll be running a Poetry Breakfast in Chester, starting Monday sept 28th. At Beatons tea- rooms, Bell Tower Walk. 9.30-10.30, £6.50 to include simple breakfast. Poetry theme= City Life. All welocme

2. Thrilled to have a request for 3 previously published poems for 2nd Light’s forthcoming anthology “Fanfare”

3. Abridged online (N.Ireland) seeking submissions on the theme of forgetting. (They like serious poems!)