Remember 70s National Health Specs???

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Can you remember the National Health specs of the Seventies? The ones the council estate kids had to wear? They were blue or pink translucent plastic affairs!! My sister had a blue pair.

Children weren’t so fashion conscious back then. We weren’t defined by the clothes we wore. Social media wasn’t a thing. We were out on the streets most of the time, not caring how we looked!

Graceful dancers by an artist with two left feet

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I had a request by a lady for cards and prints of some of my watercolour dancers.

I thought I would share them with you. I am particularly fond of the male dancers, which were drawn in pencil using a continuous line technique, before a loose, watercolour wash was added.

I am the least graceful dancer you could ever imagine!!! A sort of deranged elephant after drinking 5 bottles of Prosecco!

Do you ever use the continuous line technique? Watercolour wash? Do you enjoy dance or ballet? Do you sketch dancers?

These images are available as cards or prints. Please use the contact page for sales enquiries.

Man with grace, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

Flamenco i, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

Flamenco ii, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

Blue kick, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

Voile, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

Sea shell, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

Blue man dances, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

Leap, pencil & watercolour ©2022 Sarah Drury

©2024 Sarah Drury

Balcony Poems: Embracing Nature’s Melodies

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I sat on my balcony and listened to the blackbird leading the dawn chorus. In the early morning hours, I wrote this poem. I find birdsong so joyous! It uplifts and gives me a sense of freedom.

I sit on the balcony, the moon
not shining in a miner's coal sky.

The birds must know something.
They sing with voices looped

around my breath's plume; pale –
a ghost, an albino wren; its beak 

submerged in a lake. A blackbird 
is a piccolo; your smooth hands 

silkworms, spinning skeins on my 
breasts. Your breath, a warm breeze

at the nape of my neck. The white 
dove's wings are flutters in my chest

as I stargaze; I look for your heart. 
I see your lips in the blackbird's

song. Your whispers beguile me,
is that so wrong?

©2023 Sarah Drury

I said to the moon, ‘You know nothing’.

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We stand at the shore,
our toes foam with blue ink.
I dive for oysters, my graceless feet
a mermaid’s tail.
I anoint your milky orbs with pearls.

Your eyes are moonstones,
smile, a crescent moon.
You are the lighthouse; I am a moth
attracted to your light.

I stutter constellations;
Cassiopeia trips over my tongue.
A Mirrorball of stars ricochets from
the sunburst of your song.

The sea makes screen prints;
sells them to tourists drinking tears
from champagne flutes.
They cling to glaciers;
carve ice sculptures of love lost.

Our skeletons are xylophones.
We play all the songs —
they are lifelines on our palms.
I do not believe in God,
but we kiss and the universe is ours.

We are stardust,
I write sonnets,
You sing psalms


©2024 Sarah Drury



Poetic Reflections on Time and Nature

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Death of a swift

I am a clock.
How many chimes
until I am

a swift?
A blackbird?
This is a fine song.

I weave blue ribbons
in my hair to catch 
dragonflies. 

Their lace wings
shroud my eyes.
A womb gorged 

with embryos waits
til the next time 
I die.


©2024 Sarah Drury