spokenword poetry – Sarah Drury

My husband died 9 years ago so not only was it my loss, but my 3 year old son’s too. He has never really spoken about his father before, it is as though he never existed at times, but the other day, when it was our 10th wedding anniversary, my son’s grief suddenly hit him and came out in a huge torrent of emotion. It was a liberating event for him, but devastating at the time, for both of us. I have written this simple poem for him.

To see you
Bleeding your
Heart out
There, son
With your tears
For daddy
9 years gone
His body now
Ashes in urns
Feelings exploding
In turns
of Rage
And sorrow
Crying for a father
For who there’s
No tomorrow
Holding hands
With thin air
Wish I could
Borrow
A future
For you
And daddy

You said you feel
Cheated
9 years passed
When you could
Have amassed
Memories
Moments that last
Forever
Rage
When you’re at
A stage
Going into puberty
You missed all that
Sitting on
Daddy’s knee
And I’m trying to see
How I can make
It up to you

I want to mend
Your broken heart
Fix the trauma
Of being apart
From him
From the man who
Was our rock
Who stood by us
Through thick
And thin
Who passed away
And could
Never say
“I love you son”
And you were
Too young
To comprehend
It’s sad that
Our love had
To end

All I can do is
Hold you close
Son
Salve your
Broken tears
Try to be the most
Empathetic mother
For there is
No other
Now
It’s just me
And you
So sorry, Kid
There’s nothing
On this Earth
I can
Do.

WARNING: A FEW SWEAR WORDS

Hands up who’s starting to go mental, cooped up all day, every day, with their nearest and dearest? In my house, it’s just my almost-teen son and I and its challenging! I often go to an open mic night called ‘Away With Words’ in Hull, and due to Coronavirus, the events have gone online. I’ve written this to perform for that event. It’s hopefully a bit of tongue-in-cheek fun!

I must defiantly admit it
I didn’t think coronavirus
Would be so fucking shit
As I’m dragging out my son
From his tweenage stinking boy pit
And he’s sleeping in old pj’s
Cos I ain’t washed shit and nothing fits
It’s hard when you’re alone
And you’re on your own and life is shit
And he’s twelve years old and a bit

I didn’t think home ed
Would be so wrong
Didn’t think that every morning
He’d be singing me a sob song
That I’m working him like Jesus
And Tenko is his theme song
That his friends don’t do no work
And I’m being a cruel bitch all along
Why is my son so fucking headstrong?

I didn’t think self isolation
Would go on forever
I used to think that propaganda’s
Boris just being clever
I always hoped that we would never
Stand so close together
I’m loving that I walk around
In no clothes whatsoever
And that shaving all my hairy bits’
No longer an endeavour
But who needs a shag these days?
Wherever? Whenever?
Our sexy bits will heal up forever!

I didn’t think that shopping
Would be such a joke
I never thought I’d need two hundred
Toilet rolls fought off a bloke
Going round grabbing pasta needing
Harry Potter’s magic cloak
Can’t loiter round the entrance
Choking back a wacky baccy smoke
Standing two metres away
From your hostile Tesco queueing folk
Get your hand sanitiser out
And punch that bloke.

I must defiantly admit it
I didn’t think coronavirus
Would be so fucking shit
I can see half of the country
Panic buying rampant rabbits
And the other half are drowning
In the bog roll when they have to sit
In social distanced bathrooms
With their virus manky halfwits
And folk all over England
Are falling into death pits
When will our fucking country
Get their act together with this shit?
In another six months and a bit!

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