Fake Friend

You all know the type!

You call yourselves a friend
Lipstick painted selfies
on your four caustic lips
of your two vitriolic mouths
of your two faceted faces
One eye as vigilant as
a ravenous hawk
Sparkling with the thrill
of intoxicating gossip
The other black
as an executioner’s hood
But faceless
unlike yourself
And I wait for the axe
to fall

I bear witness to your
two faced vitriol
Your Fakebook falsity
Your P’interest pretensions
Your Instagram irony
Your five hundred followers
your two thousand likes
Insert love heart emoji
Vomit

There is no angel
for a back stabbing bitch
As you wield your
Gordon Ramsey knife
and carve a noxious laceration
in my spine
But you are the spineless one
Your bones are brittle
with back fence talk
The fishwives would
make a place for you
at their table
Gutting their fish like
you gut my nonchalance
The ocean is teeming with haddock
Too many for the women
with the clackety clack tongues.
And too many for you
my dear

©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

Procrastinate

Feeling a bit lazy today and a bit lethargic. Could do without it as I have a million things to do.

I sit here
I procrastinate
Tv blaring
MTV churning out
the usual generic shit
Smooth guy
Don’t know why
this pathetic, inane drole
is called a mega hit
Put your clothes on woman
The diva title
don’t comfortably fit
Where’s your dignity?
Do you think it’s sexy
I know you think you’re lit
But you look like
a fame hungry tart
from where I’m sitting
in my baggy PJ’s
Shit all around me
Last night’s grimy pots
insulting the kitchen sink
Head’s pounding
Just wish I could think
Life’s got me in a head slam
Just wish I could move
Get my arse into gear
So I sit here and
the tears fall like
molten coffee beans
into the bitter dregs
of my Nescafe

Procrastinate
I fear
the social worker will
pop round
In for a penny
in for a pound
and do I give a fuck
I often wish my laziness
could just be mistook
for depression
Black dogs could
thankfully do the housework
I’d pay them in Prozac
and electro convulsive therapy
But I’m no dog trainer
My lackadaisical soul
is the astronomical fee
They have the leash
They’ve hoodwinked me
and I cannot see
the woods for
the piles of inertia

Procrastination
Write another poem?
Paint another masterpiece?
Should I pour out my soul?
I’m no Leonardo DaVinci
But slaving over dirt
is not my life goal
Drudgery, fucking drudgery
Washing up to the roof
Socks in piles waiting to
be sorted
Waiting for their soulmate
But my willpower’s contorted
My power lies in
the pen
not the fucking hoover

So, I procrastinate
I procrastinate

©2020 Sarah Drury

Father

My father was
an accountant
Man of many vices
But he loved us
to the grave
Coffin in the flames
I waited for a phoenix to
emerge
But got Pompei

Juggling booze
and fags
and indiscretion
Libido painted
as a female fuck
Alibis weaved like
religious confessions
sliding off a
secular tongue

Thirty three years
gone by
History repeats
like an acid reflux
deja vue
And they say
my son needs
a father figure
And I say
fuck the patriarchy
I am all the man
he needs

©2020 Sarah Drury