69. Sadie Maskery

A delightful and provocative jazz singing poet.

Sadie lives in Scotland by the sea. In addition to writing, she sings jazz and attempts to sketch. Her thoughtful, sensual, and image rich poetry is both delightful and provocative. She has a number of published collections including Love Shanty, Shouting at Crows, and Overheard Love Songs. Her latest work The Usual Apologies is published by Red Ogre review. She is on Bluesky and Facebook, and is always up for a reading or festival if you provide snacks.

Poems

Seasonal
Clutter
Executive
And All That Jazz
You Taste How Love Feels
Ohh Mate
Haiku

Seasonal

(First published in Love Shanty, Mariscat Press, 2023)

Helen lived next door.
Her boyfriend liked her quiet -
She would never last long,
too bright to turn a blind tender eye
beyond one summer. I loved her smile.
Helen worked the hotels, cleaning rooms. 
Deep pockets held sachets - 
tea, sugar, coffee, shampoo,
the last a bare smear of goo but
we worked hard, squeezed out
every drop into a wine glass. 
Nothing was used straight 
from the packet, that lacked class. 
Coffee, powder, granules and chicory
she drank all together, thick with cream,
fag smoke mingling with the steam 
until I was dizzied by her glamour. 
Hot chocolate from the pierside four star.
I'd lick my finger and dip it in the jar,
then stir sugar round a margarine tub.
"Don't spill it!" she would shriek,  
"We'll get ants!" She tipped me home
when her boyfriend rolled in  
with hooded eyes.
We never wanted for toilet rolls 
that July, or towels,
then she was gone, 
no goodbyes.
A gig on the cruises - 
free food, and fewer bruises.

<<< 

Clutter

Things disappeared each season, toys
kept in boxes, and a trunk with treasures 
for my first home, left too long.
I thought you'd grown out of it, 
they were worthless anyway,
as you gazed at walls,
ceiling, anywhere but my eyes -
but they kept the bailiffs away.
and you afloat one more day. 
I cling to things, flotsam, even now 
it is hard to let go.
There is an attic full of them,
they are for the children,
grandchildren, ghosts.
I save for the knock that never comes 
but it might, it might.

<<<

Executive

The little woman
from the agency 
wipes up his messes,
as per;
brings cups of tea 
with biscuits, sighs
at rings on the desk
slopped into the varnish
like infinity signs
or, if he squints
love hearts, the crumbs 
of custard creams
discarded like confetti.
Maybe she would make
a good mistress
he thinks, idly,
as she checks her diary
and pencils in 
his bloody defenestration
for Tuesday.

<<<

And All That Jazz

The sound of an ice cube melting
as I stare at the glass.
The trouble is the low alcohol content.
You have to drink five just to feel.
Better off with shots. You do 
keep cropping up don't you, love.
I hate this place but where else
can I go? Our merged shadows
brushed its walls. Maybe 
we are ghosts here, I just have to die.
So much music and one chord missing,
unwanted notes crushing concentration 
yet always the silence in one small spot
where your voice resonated under my ribs.
I miss my soul singing in harmony
with your laughter. Never to be held again. 
Just cacophony and that emptiness
where the ice disappears.


<<<

You Taste How Love Feels

warm and sticky 
sin wrapped in caramel
I swallowed it all
so clever so unwise
so terrifyingly sane
in the specificity 
of my insanity
and you laughed
knowing my lips
would part again

<<<

Ohh Mate

And then the final spear,
that horrible circumstance
smacking against truth
a hair's breadth below the nip,
one gasp and breath flown,
to flush down and spill guts,
cold shocksweat drenching 
His batty crease with
awful realisation: 
poor sod. For why?
He can't help it,
the disappointment ...
His face a cracked vessel 
draining hope and the whole
edifice arched to scream 
at blank eyed sky.
You mean it never was
real, the vital thing,
the business; that
the world never saw
Him as anything 
except a joke, not God?


<<<

Haiku

Chapter closed he said.
But there would be many nights 
re-reading each word.

<<<