Kathryn Davies

Kathryn lives and works in Somerset, finding time to write between tending to her horse and dog. Her personal, emotive poems try to capture brief moments of bitter-sweet sorrow or appreciation, or comment on the strange times in which we live. These moments are probably universal to us all. She writes in free verse with the occasional, well-hidden, rhyme.

See below for links to some of Kathryn’s poems.
Guide to the Galaxy
Oscar Wilde
The Happiest Face

Oscar Wilde

How can I write
without sentimentality
about my dog?
All I’ll say is this:
there were twenty minutes
on a winter afternoon

when I came back from the shower
and found you lying in a rare patch of sunlight
by an upstairs window.
And exhausted already
by all I had done
and all that was yet to do

I looked on your moment to moment
existence with envy.
I looked at your patch of sunlight
and you, blue black,
sinking into the charcoal weave
And I stretched out next to you.

Your head came home into the crook of my arm
and we slept together
I’d like a life sentence
but I got twenty minutes with you
I’ll make them count.

© Kathryn Davies, March 2020

Guide to the Galaxy

The royal mint’s making visors in their millions
A decade back we bailed out banks, not nurses
So now our government has made us wartime civilians

Technology is a bandaid but it can’t improve us
we’re still primates, hairless defenceless homo sapiens
brought to our knees by a virus

With no football no racing no golf
No Glastonbury festival no Olympic Games
No mass gatherings where we can meet and cough

No driving no malingering no contact
No exercise away from the home
No testing no handle on the stats

No school trips no playdates no birthday teas
No marathons no adventures no maps
No ventilators no PPE

No PM’s speeches no signings no shows
No gigs no cafes no bars
No online shopping windows

No, we’re not Sweden or Denmark or Ireland
Herd immunisation is abandoned
No NHS clinician left in retirement

No Pilates no yoga no spinning
No parties no dancing no crowds
No member of the cabinet left standing

No white-tie orchestra no babysitters no dates
No office workers no working lunches
No hospital beds just expo centres in their place

No lessons no lectures no libraries
No exams ‘it’s not a holiday’ no jobs
No weddings no funerals no goodbyes

But plenty of death
They tell us there’ll be plenty of death

No suitcases in the hall
No singing in the cathedral
No space in the morgue

No pilots no chefs no planes
No taxis no buses no lifts
No hitch hikers

No guide to the galaxy.

© Kathryn Davies March 2020

The Happiest Face

The happiest face
I have ever seen
Was that of a man
On the eastward A303,
On the hard-shoulder
On his feet
His clothes unrent
His golden beard
Untouched by rivulets of blood,
His feet firmly encased
In shoes,
Caught in the motion of
Swinging into his arms
His infant son,
His golden hair shining,
Not shot through by rivulets of blood,
Delivered from the upside-down red sedan
In a ditch
On its roof,
Five cars brought to a halt
And ten civilians watching.

And on this man’s face:
Pure joy.

© Kathryn Davies