My Heart

Ten years
Has my heart been
Slumbering in beds of
Somnolent roses.
All pink and dewy and tender,
And half asleep.
I didn’t intend to nap
For so long,
But the peace was
Heaven, and
Why wake when
Dreams paint such
Sweet, pastel visuals
On my iniquity?

If I see through my heart,
Then there are
No shadows.
Only the softest
Of glimmers
From a moonlit
Sea of
Ethereal emotions.
And if I hear?
Then dissonance
Has no hope amidst the
Resounding clamour
Of clandestine whispers.

And if I feel?
Then I reign with Neptune
In the realm
Of the ocean,
And my senses are
My promise and
My passions are
A premise

And
My heart
Is a gift.

Sarah Drury 2021

Strange

Strange

I must be strange.
That weird girl.
Covid raging,
people dying.
Maybe I shut out
the reality.
Maybe my eyes
see only the beauty
in the world,
when I should weep
and mourn
the ugliness.
But how can I
bear to paint
black
that which sets
free my soul,
as I bask in
the light?
My ears may
not hear the cries
of trauma,
but my soul does,
and I paint them
silent,
and pen them into
translucent echoes.

I must be strange.
That weird girl.
Covid raging,
people dying.
Maybe I shut out
the reality.
Maybe my heart
sees only the goodness
in the world,
when I should pray
and cry for
the desperation.
But how can I
bear to sing
in rhythms of dissonance,
that which sets
free my heart,
as I dance in
the light.
My soul may not
dance with
demons,
but my mind
sees,
and I shut my eyes
and paint the pictures
and write the words
and live in
my kaleidoscope bubble.

Sarah Drury. 2021

Ava

Twenty stone of unadulterated Goddess
Bones embellished with beauty
Heart as full as a cherry blossom in Spring
Each cascading petal the lips of
Venus planting kisses on the weary
and troubled
Compassion is her gift that’s doubled
within her sacred soul

Ava went to the pool one day
Gracious, bountiful stature
Ignorance cruising to bruise her
Modest, mindful, marvellous,
Measly, mocking men, miserable males
making misogynist mallarky
Ava, in her infinite wisdom
whispers
‘I am what I am’

‘She’s fat, she’s farmyard fodder
Hairy legs disgust me
Stomach like a pregnant whale
Who would woo a whore
while wishing for
a wanton wank
Never seen as ugly
and her armpits stank
Ava, in her infinite wisdom
whispers
‘I am what I am’

Men being fools, being stupid
Flirting with the girls, playing cupid
Stupid is what stupid does its true
Diving in, showing off
Haven’t got a clue
Till tragedy struck
Man hits head and oh fuck
What do we do, what do we do?

Ava could have turned a blind eye
She could have looked up to the sky
and said karma, you get what you give
You mess up, you die
You spend your days in states of grace
You flow, you live
Ava, in her infinite wisdom
whispers
‘I am what I am’

Twenty stone of goddess
Her mermaid tale she wears
Forgetting the taunts and the cruelty
Saving souls she smoothly sails
In sanguine stars of shining saviours
Man finds breath of life within
this once monstrosity
And she stands there
Shining like a lighthouse
in a sea of misogynists
Ava
in her infinite wisdom
whispers
‘I am what I am’

This smattering of
shit on the sole of her sanctity
Their scathing tongues
are scarred with silence
In their mocking eyes
cataracts of prejudice are stripped
with non-judgmental fingers
Their taunts and wicked words
should linger
But
Ava’s words
echo in whispering mantras
‘I am what I am’

©2020 Sarah Drury

Tsunami

I have been drawing for around 4 or 5 weeks now, and enjoy it so much. My soul gets completely absorbed. I can concentrate for hours, when normally I can only concentrate for an hour at the most, when I’m watching TV or a film.

Here’s a poem:

When I put my pastels
to my paper
I get lost
in a vortex of fervour
Colours cascade from my
feisty fingers
Chroma hints
Pigmentation lingers
Cut like a diamond
dripping indulgence
on a distinguished rapper
I am rapt

Dazzling, decadent, daring
My mind dissolves
into a technicolour maelstrom
Splash of red, hint of blue
Unbridled passion sways from
these unostentatious hands
Difficult to believe
the ebb and flow from
my whirlwind mind
of shifting sands
I am a palette of tsunami
A riot of imagination

My gleeful tools
worship my paper
Making love
to the beguiling texture
of this creative emotion
A passionate mixture
Cherishing inception
with religious devotion
Trading my soul
for an effigy
Igniting the cognition
of self-expressive perception

Every stroke of colour
that blesses the canvas
is a spiritual atonement
And the completion
is an act of contrition
And I lose myself

©2020 Sarah Drury

Yoga

I have only tried Yoga once, but it went something like this….

I have a golden Buddha
and he spoke to me
He thought it time
I broaden my spirituality
So, I vowed to go to a yoga class

Well I walked into the room
and there were twenty women
with their attitudes crass
and their notions of privilege
and pretentious class
And I knew all along
they were eyeing up
my fat ass
in all its lycra glory

I knew Buddha would’ve been
very disappointed
in these women
Who think they
have been appointed
the right to hold
their prejudice
in their judgmental minds
Where are the
spiritual tenets of
being generous, being kind?
Being human?

Flexibility is not my strong point
I can’t get my leg behind my ear
I daren’t do that for fear
I would fart
or split my pants
If they want me to do
the eight angle Astavakrasana
I haven’t got
a fucking chance
I’m more a reclining
sort of person

I don’t think my can of Pepsi
went down too well
For them it was some sort
of sugary hell
With their bottles
of Aqua Vitae
and their sorry snacks
Ecologically friendly
cardboard packs
Full of calorie hate
Poncey quinoa
Apricots and dates
And I may as well have
pulled a coronary out of
my bag when
I took out my
Mars Bar

I’ve said to Buddha
Yoga’s not for me
I will meditate
I will become a fucking tree
I was getting so bloody
irate
at the pretension
I couldn’t cope with the
amount of negative attention
I was getting as a
‘Fat bitch’
So I left

Maybe I will try quinoa though…

©2020 Sarah Drury