I wrote this poem last year, after a special moment with my son last Christmas…
Wine It is civilised, beans on toast swished down with non-alcoholic Chardonnay. Generic classical music, Radio 3, Silence from lips often throwing flames and shrapnel. ‘This is awkward’ you say, sophisticated words, and we share a movie moment. You read a poem, and for a time, I feel Bohemian, and I forget that life is not art. © Sarah Drury 2021
Hope everyone had a happy solstice and Yule, and wishing you a very merry Christmas with everything beautiful for 2023! Here’s a little poem I wrote!
The sun has slipped below the monarchy of the moon its cool, harsh Winter glare clings on, a moment longer From here, the days have turned The daylight stretches out its icy respiration, Pagan gods and goddesses scatter blessings on the crackling mirror-glaze Earth the sparking lanterns lifting jovial voices into balmy, freeze-breath skies. We merrily turn our faces upwards, praise the solstice pray for hope reborn. © Sarah Drury 2022
after John William Waterhouse
Be thou as chaste as ice: as pure as snow:
your purity a catechism.
Flowers grace your palms, in repose.
Get thee to a nunnery:
a virgin? Can we know?
Anoint your flame hair -
thou shalt not escape
calumny: your visage:
your chaste lips, a phantom kiss
cheeks smarted rose with denial.
The trees are vessels of your sorrow.
Ophelia, love is a dead Hawthorn.
Waterhouse, J.W. (1910) - Ophelia [Online] Available at: " https://arthive.com/johnwaterhouse/works/255253~Ophelia"
Shakespeare, W. - Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1 (Hamlet to Ophelia)
Sarah Drury 