Tag: love

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

Glass

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My husband passed away 12 years ago, which affected me deeply for a long time. I have come to terms with his death, which was traumatic. I wrote this poem as a tribute to our love. 

GLASS


You hold me, I am porcelain. 
I am chipped in places, but not broken.
You like the chinks and cracks, 
they let hope shine in. 

Our lips meet in earthshine, 
until the moon’s shadow dances 
at my throat.

Your hands, they are granite, 
they are feathers.
I like the crowns of thorns 
you wear upon your palms. 

They make me bleed 
when you place
them on my breasts.
I know we are living
amongst the dying.

I am Venus, you create me. 
You take me from my abstract world 
and paint me into starry skies 
above the Rhone.

Your kind hands model the widow 
from the girl. You carve me 
out of glass to see 
if this heart still beats –

if it is still yours.


Copyright © Sarah Drury 2022

Tears

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Tears


Don’t want to write
A sad poem,
But my eyes
Refuse to cooperate
With my
Polite smile
And weather worn
Bravado.


Feelings are seeping out
Of closets
Where I thought
I had sealed doors with
Art and beautiful music.
Thinking I had grown beyond
The tears.
But I hadn’t.
And haven’t.


I saw a homeless man
Yesterday.
His face a map of pain
And dejection.
And today the black girl
On TV,
With eyes that
Sold a charity,
And broke me.
And my tears feel like
Insignificance.
Like a first world indulgence.
Privilege.
But I miss you.

Sarah Drury, March 2021

Glass Jar

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GLASS JAR

Sometimes I wish that
hearts were like spiders,
and I could trap yours
in a pretty glass jar.
I would gaze all day,
contemplating reasons you should stay,
and we would sleep silently together,
under a duvet of opalescent stars.

Arachnids move so fast.
And I don’t want you to
move at all.
I am so tired of loving from a distance.
You are oblivious to the longing
in the rise and fall
of my half heart hope.
I want to gaze in awe.
As you weave your spun silk webs,
to grace the gardens of my metaphor.
Mine only.

I would covet your little glass house,
cup my loving hands around the
fragile glass.
Sense the lukewarm flesh and bones
of my unrequited, taboo lass.
No escaping my love,
in your little, crystal prison.
The fireflies would cry by the dark
of the night,
and the moon would whisper secrets,
when the trusting sun had risen,
and no-one would hear,
but the universe would listen.
And our hearts.

Sarah Drury