Dandelions

I sat and watched you in the garden
This morning
Your lips like fairy kisses
Blowing those dandelion seeds
Like scattered, forgotten dreams
Some victories, some near misses
Your little face like peach fuzz
Your glistening cherry pout
Poised to whisper those innocent wishes
Within and without
A wish for a promise
And I always promised you
Love

Boy, we have had our battles
Time when Fortune thought
She’d overdose us
For the adrenaline thrill
Maybe a lifetime sentence
With a mother like me
Was overkill
But hey
It’s character building
Watching mummy meltdown
Maybe pop a pill
Or plot ourselves in a movie

Maybe your wishes will be
Bigger than us
Maybe you’ll skip the mental bullshit
Get your ride in a limousine
Rather than catching the crazy bus
Maybe you’ll dare to dream
Where demons fear to live
For son you deserve the light
You put up with some shit
And I don’t know
If you’ll make it big
But I know
My love for you
Will always be
Bigger

© 2020 Sarah Drury

CoronaKid

I was thinking how hard it is for our kids at the moment, having to be locked away constantly, hiding from an invisible enemy. Their whole world has been turned upside down! My son has it especially tough as there are only the two of us in the house and i suffer with bipolar disorder and anxiety issues, and he has autism and challenging behaviour so it’s like a pressure cooker at times!

Here’s a poem I’ve written for spoken word, seeing life in Coronavirus times through his eyes.

MILD SWEARING

It’s a bit shit
Couped up
Coronakid
Walled up in a council tomb
Tempers flaring
Like a pressure cooker lid
Wishing there were dos
Which don’t
Which must
Which can’t
Which didn’t
Which did

Walls seem scary
When your life is really
Coronation Street
Without a plot
Hours which seem
Like days
Which seem
Like years
Which seems
Like concepts
That I’ve not yet fully got
Mum’s ready to blow
I’m really so, so worried
That the going’s
Got so hot
Feelings churned
Around like
Psycho soup
In a perpetual
Emotional boiling pot.

No school
No mates
No welcoming
Playground gates
But then I hated school
Mum tries her best
But she’s not
Getting rest
Her moods are
Tending to be
Hot not cool
I give her shit
Because I’d rather sit
And waste
My days away
Fuck this home ed shit
School’s bollocks
All I want to do
Is fucking play
But all my momma
Has to say is
Do your bloody work
Or there’s
No PlayStation
Today

I miss my family
And my friends
It’s like looking in
A claustrophobic mirror
Seeing our two faces
Day after day
Like a glitch in the matrix
Like a horrifying error
And I don’t know
What’s worse
In my life
The insane boredom
Or the
Abominable terror
Cos we’re in
An invisible war
And it feels like
We’re fighting on
Forever
and ever

©2020 Sarah Drury

Too Big for Hugs

TOO BIG FOR HUGS

You’re too big for hugs
Now
Too big for hugs
Now you’re 5ft tall
Catching me up
I’m pretty sure
You could
Pin me up against
The wall
As you
Meltdown

This morning
Leaning into me
And those sweet words
“Hug, mum,”
In your sleepyhead
Voice
And your
Dreamland eyed
Glaze
Smelling of
Tween
Head of clean curls
This is a miracle
You’re usually
Not playing
Keen

Where did my baby
Go
Where are those
Hazy days of
Snuggling at
The breast
And toddler dinner
Mess
Wobbly
First steps
Potty poop victories
First time you said
Mamma
Sobby
First days
At school
But
You’re too big
For hugs now
I Guess
They’re just
Not cool

© 2020 Sarah Drury

My Son Had a Panic Attack

I have a son with Autism and he has bad anxiety and sometimes hallucinates. I have been trying to get him sleeping in his own bedroom (he’s 12) but last night he had a really bad panic attack and was hallucinating. It breaks my heart…

Oh, my son
The tears dripping down your ashen face
Falling from deep within, a place
Where childhood dreams turn sour
Where the careless day becomes the anxious hour
And the hallucinations and nightmares come to devour
Your poor mind.

The sobs become cries become yells become screams
With the nightmares victorious over suffocated dreams
And you shake
And you shake
And your carefree spirit aches
And the bastard anxiety takes
What sanctity I try to make
In your head
Your screwed-up head.

Once a joyous ocean
But now a choked-up lake
And every day you fake
Every day to school your smiles you take
Like a cyanide laden cake
That you eat alone.
And you choke
On your insecurities
Gone are the childhood ways
The sitting on your mother’s knee
While she kisses your sore finger better
And hello
To this inability
To grow
Hello to the nasty fucking paranoia
And the seeds the anxiety sows
And the fear that through this wrecked bundle of autism and emotional delays
Flows

And I cannot see what you are seeing my love
I cannot feel the fear
As faceless faces fly towards your eyes
And your desperate breath escapes
To some nightmare psychosis place
And anxiety invades your only safe space
With your mother.

We have the experts
Three years fucking with assessments and funding
Yet that can’t buy a boy a crystal mind
Put the textbooks down and take a look behind
Your degrees
And your astronomical fees
And set this boy free
For this anomaly
Will not die if he
Always feels alone
If his mother’s omnipotent love he cannot see.
And another brick in the Pink Floyd wall he will grow up
To be.

©2020 Sarah Drury

Butlins

It’s holiday time, we’re going to Butlins
Only fifteen sleeps ‘til our only break
From this grimy, shitty council estate
This holiday made of fine gold plate
It’s going to be great, it’s a break from depressing
It’s going to be bloody great!

Two little girls in the dodgy hood
Council kids but our manners are good
Journey to heaven in the clapped out car
Two cheery fingers to our neighbourhood.

Holiday paradise in concrete banality
Chalets which challenge your standards and sanity
But fun filled, paradise days ahead
Contests that challenge your dignity and head
Wrecking your arse at the donkey derby
Saddle sore, bum sore, wallet sore, pride sore

And how lovely are your lanky legs?
Will you win a cheap prize for your nice shaved pegs?
Lusting red coats drooling, sexist society dregs.
Wanting some sex action, wanting to beg.
Deluded kids paraded along in a beauty frenzy
Back in the day when our clothes weren’t trendy
Forced to look ‘pretty’ with fake smiles plastered on
Along with mascara that weighed a ton
With spider lash eyes and blood stained lips
And a quirky walk with swaying hips.

But my favourite was the knobbly knees competition
Half of those blokes should’ve seen a physician
With their bones sticking out like a medical condition
And we laughed and we mocked, making cruelty our mission.

And the treats and the candyfloss, toffee apples and junk
And the swimming pool after, we should really have sunk
Feel the water around us, not council land concrete
As the happiness choked us, to smile was a treat
And the fun of the fair, the lofty big wheel
Bravely swinging the carriage, nerves made of steel
And to some it was nothing, but for us a big deal.

And the beach and the beach and the beach and the beach
Feeling the sand beneath our working class feet
Thermos flask ready, not warm council pop
(when there was no money to go to the shop)
And sandwiches gritty with traces of sand
Which stuck to your fingers, wouldn’t wash off your hands

Lunches in dinner halls, military precision
Lukewarm and beige, with no varied decision
Warm, canned fruit cocktail with a smidgen of cream
Or pink, firm blamanche like a traumatic dream!

Whiling away hours in cash hungry arcades
Pennies to spend, simple games to be played
50p limit, we’re not made of money
While the rich kids scoffed and thought it was funny

The memories, the memories, the Butlins of old
They were my best times, my moments of gold
And the council kids were jealous no holidays for them
I wished I could take them, the great Northern gem.

©2020 Sarah Drury