Do not read if swearing shocks you!!


So, it’s a new year
And I’m supposed to be making a heartfelt resolution
As though being a new me is a miracle bloody solution
As though being the old me is a heinous crime
And I should be having some sort of criminal prosecution
Some sort of 2020 jury
Some sort of Godlike absolution
This loony tunes girl of no constitution
My madness – my blessing, my curse
My insanity my most endearing attribution

But why should I be less of me
In order to be more of the woman you’ll probably never see?
Why should I stop swearing?
Who the fuck does that?
And who the bleeding hell is so overbearing?
It’s only a fucking word for gods sake
So, to hell with your glaring and notions of caring
It’s vowels and consonants in the order I’m sharing
Chill, bitch!

I am a mother and I am not little miss perfect
My house is a mess and my growing lad, god bless
Turns the air blue
And then I turn it neon
And I can’t see my mouth changing its hue
And I can’t see me getting mother of the year
I am just glad I’ve kept my son alive
That his clothes are washed, no nits in his hair
I don’t want a trophy to tell me I’m almost shit
And I don’t want a throne, a gold plated chair
Just a ‘love you, mum’ will do

And I can’t see the cakes or nibbly bakes
Being particularly impressed if I leave them alone
Sitting forlorn in the aisles at Iceland
when they should be loitering here at home
I may as well start gorging on sticks and stones
Even though they may break my bones – by calling me fat cow.
And what’s wrong with my butt that looks like a semi doughnut?
What if my figure doesn’t make the cut?
What if I tell you to piss off, you judgmental twat, and kick you in the nuts?
There’s nothing I like to see more
Than some sexist hanging off the end of the boot on my foot!

And who is telling me I should be more charitable
When I am the first to feed the homeless in town
I’m the first to look up at those fallen down.
Do I need to put on some sort of fucking crown?
Do the homeless need royalty in this pissy ghost town?

I could be kinder, sweeter, quieter, neater
More conscientious, less over eater
Smarter, wiser, early riser
Don’t let my kid drink Irn Bru or Tizer (e-numbers!)
Say please and thank you
Hold open the doors
Keep the house tidy
And do all the chores.

But fuck that
I’m just going to be more of me
I’ll let go of the things that feel shit and see
I’ll get bigger and better and stronger and my patience will get longer
And people will ponder and my friends will get fonder
And I’ll probably get rounder and louder and swearier
and my lipstick will get redder and my legs will get hairier
and my mouth will get lairy
and my madness will get scary
but that’s more of me
More of me!

©2019 Sarah Drury

A New year Ode

Well, its New Year, a time when people all around the world are celebrating. A time when people get together, when families and friends unite. But there are many lonely, elderly people who don’t have that privilege and will be sitting at home, alone and lonely. My heart goes out to them. Here is my ‘designed for spoken word’ ode to these people…

She sits alone
Heating has been off since six
Skint again, afraid to heat her home
As the New Year fireworks roar extravagantly on TV
But still, she mustn’t moan
When there are people sleeping out on the freezing streets
Afraid and all alone

It wasn’t always this way
The nights when her terraced home
Was full of life and family
When she shone like an illuminated flash
Of brilliance, when her life of the party would smash
The pinnacles of joy
Acting like the hoi polloi
Not alone

New Year’s Eve
Gathered outside number thirty four
Counting down the moments
Do we will away the year or yearn for something more?
Neighbours gathered in the moonlit street
Family together like some hereditary meet and greet
Moments tick tocking, the sound echoing in the vaults of time
Excitement reaches a crescendo as Big Ben sounds his infamous chime
Auld Acquaintance possesses our being
As song consumes our passionate bones
And you can hear the ringing of the messages of cheer
The loved ones at the end of the telephone
And the ship horns sing out into the dead of the night
And the world is ok and the universe is alright.

But she sits alone
Taking in the happiness on the TV screen
Saying it’s ok, the family are just busy, they’re not being mean.
And she raises a glass to her husband, dead for many years
And time has healed her wounds, and love has salved her tears
And she waits for the phonecall to prove someone cares
But the phone never rings, and there goes another year
It could be much worse
But she mustn’t moan
After all, her family hadn’t fled
Her family had just flown.

©2019 Sarah Drury
photo credit: BBC