White Flag

Dedicated to the unknown guy who used to live in my flat.

She couldn’t stay forever,
But you were fragile.
Her apple pie love
Baked into nothing.
Just ash.
The black dogs
Snapping at your 
Wearisome existence.
You cried to absent hearts,
And your tears tainted
Moods black.
Mists of a grey void
Clouding judgment.
Grief, hurt, 
Tears laced with blades,
Slashing courage
With fear.
Eyes cannot see
For the cataracts
Of razors,
And grief.
The balcony was
A portal.
Your way out. 
Void breathed,
Soul ascending to heaven,
Flesh flailing to hell.
But this life
Carved war scars
On your mind.
White flags cascaded
Like peace doves.
You surrendered. 

Sarah Drury 2021

Infinity Line

Written whilst waiting for the bus on my council estate. I love people-watching, its great poetry inspiration.


A blancmange of a woman:
Lycra lathered onto
Pinkened, porcine flesh; 
Today’s special
On the estate –
Succulent and free range, 
Farm fresh.

Choc-slathered toddler
Whined, beside her. 
All sluggy, grubby fingertips
And muted by the 
Volume of
A clackety, gossipy,
Cheap-lipped mother. 
She had been trying,
She said,
To get through to the doctor,
And obviously was (not) the
Introverted type,
As her mobile phone sang 
Dead tones
On loudspeaker. 
The bus came,
And I sat miles away,
As I was out of caffeine…
And valium.
Think the GP’s have infinity lines.
Phones which swallow
Their own screams,
And feign ignorance,
On a perpetual loop 
Digital evangelists,
Preaching promises
Of forever
To those who barely
Have the time.

©️ Sarah Drury 2021

New poetry book out! Glimpses

Glimpses – my new poetry book

I am pleased to announce that my new poetry book, Glimpses, is available to buy on Amazon, as from today,

Glimpses is much different from my previous work. It is more sensitive and personal, and comes from the depths of my heart and soul.

It covers things like motherhood and autism, love, relationships and life in general.

You can purchase it here:


Your support would be gratefully appreciated.

Abstract Dad

I wrote this poem and drew this portrait as a tribute to my dad, who died when I was 7 years old.

It’s a long time,
Fifty-one years minus 7,
For ‘dad’ to be
An abstract concept.
The one photo
Pretends, from a frame,
That we remember each other,
And it feels unnerving,
Gazes meeting in
Cognition of
Memories never

I have modelled
My own men;
Collaged works
Of art from
Movies and books,
Myths and magic.
And each one bears
A heart shaped
Like you,


You were 83,
And immediately I
Asked you about the war,
As if you were
An historical relic.
And I had visions of
Women painting
Stocking seams on legs,
And cans of Spam,
And dating an
American man.
But you were only
A kid.

You said you were lonely,
And you only
Came out to be
Amongst people,
And I realised
You were a church
Without a steeple,
As you pray
For souls,
For your empty days
To be made whole,
By the passers by,
And bus stop dwellers,
And anyone who
Has a pulse.

To be thanked for
Loosening my tongue,
And sitting a while
In a dual of ‘am’
And ‘was’ and ‘maybe one day’,
Sort of makes you
Feel bad;
This old lady, sad,
And happy,
Ricocheting fragments
Of a lonely life
Onto a mirror of
Beaming for the camera
That captures
Brave smiles,
And then putting away
Her lips,
As she doesn’t need them
When she gets home
To herself.

©️ Sarah Drury 2021