The Ballad of the Pink Gin

There she was.
Venus as a gin.
Pink and glistening
like the elixir
of ambivalence.
That feeling you get…
when the frets
have stretched your
worried head,
and you need
an alcohol
anaesthesia.

She slipped into
my trolley.
All regal and
queenlike.
Not like the
proletariat breadloaf,
or the lower caste
regurgitated chicken roll.
She protested as
she slipped into
her carrier bag,
but I’m not paying
for elaborate horse drawn
carriages from the likes
of Tesco.

Try carrying 6 bags
of shopping on a bus,
so, I called a cab
to carry us,
my pink gin love
and I.
But you wouldn’t expect
to lose a friend
so soon
after bonding.
And manslaughter charges
don’t apply to
alcoholic beverages.
But our love lay
shattered. Crucified.
In shards of broken glass
dreams, and
pools of wanton
aspirations.

The taxi guy,
he pleaded guilty,
but I don’t like to
see people sad
and watching his regret
made me feel bad.
I want for nothing, really.
I don’t need his
sixteen pound fifty,
when he earns a pittance
and feeds a family.
Might be his gas money
for the week,
and I know from his eyes
he is sorry to his skeleton
and remorseful to
his guilty heart.

I hope the Tesco cleaners
gave my love a
regal funeral,
and there will be a lot
of merry birds
on Gallagher Retail Park
today!

Sarah Drury 2021

Poppies

With respect to those who have served our country in the armed forces, especially those who have given their lives.

Today is Remembrance Sunday here in the UK. Poppies are laid at the Cenotaphs around the country to remember the fallen.

My son, who is autistic, stood beside me holding my hand, in a rare moment, and respected the dead and those in service. I was so proud. I wrote this poem…

Poppies

Our two hands, entwined.
You don’t often grace me with your silence.
But today, ten million poppies bleed.
As they died,
these heroes of men.
In fields of fortitude and flowers.
With wives and mothers.
Sisters and brothers.
Children.
Lovers.

Today,
scarlet paints a promise
on our hearts.
You stand there,
in the image of your soldier father.
All gallantry and valiance.
And my heart defies my eyes.

I never asked you to stand beside me.
‘respect the dead’, you said.
And you did.
And I wept.

Our two hands, entwined.
You don’t often grace me with your silence.
But today, ten million poppies bleed.

Sarah Drury 2020

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

Halo

Inspired by a trip to the beach:

You wore your halo
Of curls
That day
Sea salt kissing sun slick air
Working the art of
Not giving a fuck
Kiss or tell
Truth or dare
Sugar spun promises
Devil don’t care
Luring tastes of tantalising
Tooth-fuck treats

Kiss me quick
Before the sun pays heed to
Your blindly dazzled senses
Kiss me like
I scry in a mirror
With eyes wide shut
Cos soon I wear defences
It is not for I
My nemesis of beauty

You chose a plastic sword
You had inclinations
To be
Archangel Michael
Porcelain fingers in china hand
Gold spun tresses
Pedalling a lunar cycle
Proud sword raised
To heaven’s gate
They don’t give a shit
The angels
A plastic prayer’s
A curse to keep
Faithless
Masquerading faithful
It will be
Choking up the
English Channel
Tomorrow

©2020 Sarah Drury

Lithium Mum

I have bipolar disorder and anxiety, which pretty much rule my life. I am a widow and have a tweenage son, who has Autism. I know it is hard for him, living with a mum like me. I know I do the best I can. I like to think we are souls and he chose this life and it is part of his life path. It feels easier that way. But it is no excuse for a poor childhood, so i just try my best to keep things as normal as I can.

I am sorry for you, son
Sorry that
Each and every day
You have to live
Your fucked up life
With me
Your screwed up
Lithium mum

Necking bottles of
The good stuff praying
It is magic, mending
Melodies I’m playing
On a broken record
I’m just sayin’
There are
Nicer tunes

Mood swings
Psychotic blackbird sings
Are we up or down?
Is it smile or frown?
Are we Happy Valley
Or are we paddling in
The sea in sodding
Suicide town
Or is it a
One way trip
To the
Psych ward?

Every day I say
Today will be a
Better day
Son
and I mean it
‘Til the moods
Fuck up the way
I’m feeling
Brilliant rainbows
Slaughtered of their
Colours
Blackened tempers
Stealing
Cursing, crying
Screaming’s
Just my way
Of dealing

I will try, son
I will try

©2020 Sarah Drury