Month: April 2024

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

An immigrant dared to sing

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I was very excited to have been shortlisted for The Bridport Prize in 2022, with this poem! It was inspired by an incident which occurred as I sat in the hospital gynaecology department. An immigrant woman, heavily pregnant, was trying to communicate to the receptionist, but had no English. The receptionist was shouting at the woman as though she were a second class citizen. Talk about dehumanisation! 

AN IMMIGRANT DARES TO SING


The bellies are fecund, dumpling-doughed 
in their roundness. 

The names roll, no one choking.  
I clutch my pot, all yellow, all of it. 

In walks a womb. A refugee cradles it.
It is full of child but does not exist for

its mother has no tongue to match our ears and
she knows none of our songs.

The receptionist gets loud and slow, and people stare.
This woman has the audacity, they say

to bring her womb to birth babies, steal roofs
from heads and snatch notes from palms. 

To sleep with ears not bleeding and folds of flesh
safe in the knowledge they’re her own.

I am ashamed to be English. 
To nurture a visible womb.

I am unable to sing Arabic.

©2022 Sarah Drury

Exploring Mixed Media Art: Techniques with Acrylics and Decoupage

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I have been venturing into mixed media, and have enjoyed using acrylic paints and inks, decoupage and embellishments such as buttons, beads and jewels to create these latest pieces, which are gifts for friends.

©2024 Sarah Drury