1442

Equinox

The birds have sensed the turning of the days

And rock-bees warm themselves against the wall.

A robin boasts unseen beyond the twitten

Challenging our blackbird's morning call.

Skirting round the oak wood, as I stroll

To fetch the bread for breakfast, tiny points

Of pink smile from the branches which have stood

Barren since the winter dried their joints

Until this morning's sun - poised midway

Between a winter death and summer joy -

Heralded the signs of love to come,

All the gifts that nature can employ;

            As if I can't recall the endless years

            Your love's been there to dry up all my tears.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 23.3.26

 1441

What do you want to be?

How about a gap year before I face

The prospect of retirement by the sea,

When I'll have time to take a break to ask

What it is I really want to be?

After all for sixty of those years

I've studied, worked and striven for the sake

Of others who've my best interests at heart

Pointing to the road that I should take

But while I have enjoyed the way I've come

I've never really chosen what I'd do

The day-to-day simply relied upon

Necessity - the need to get us through.

            Perhaps at last I'll take a moment which

            Will bring a chance to really scratch the itch.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 21.3.26

 1440

Frost on the fields

A heron lifts and glides

Silent

Silhouetted

A dark gash

Glimpsed against

Pale morning sun.

Two rabbits run

Along the hedge.

A pheasant stands

Perplexed, unmoving.

Near the railway line

Snowdrops and crocuses

Crouch

As if afraid

Their colour will confuse.

Commuters, closeted behind

Their headphones

Heedless

Unaware

That Spring

Is on the move.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 18.3.26

 1439

What will be written on my heart

What truths will endure

When all the jostle of this life

And language ae no more;

When conversation and debate,

Invective, boast or prayer

Have run their course, and drifted off

Like smoke, into the air?

What will survive when I am gone

If what I've left in print

Does not reflect what's in my heart,

What I feel and think;

And how can these amorphous words

Ever hope to be

More than a distant mirage

With little that is me?

And will this futile pleading

To try to prove that I

Was more aware of what you were

Before we both should die,

Be enough to overcome

The limits of these words

Which want so much to tell the truth

Yet always seem absurd

When faced with love that reaches out

Beyond the sterile spree

Of words on paper, trusting that

You'll know the best of me.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 16.3.26

 1438

On a balcony

Overlooking the canal

Italians chatter.

Clear skies and bright sun;

But, I am not in Venice,

This is Birmingham!

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 13.3.26

 1437

Two larks call to me

High above Ditchling Beacon;

Spring is here at last.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 11,3,26

 1436

Bind my head, place coins upon my eyes,

Carry my willow coffin to the sea;

Build my pyre at the turning tide

To let the gentle flames set my soul free.

        Pour the oil and set the wine,

        Sprinkle salt and break the bread,

        Share the fruits that have been gathered;

        Do not mourn that I am dead.

As smoke drifts up towards the rising moon

The ashes settle and the sea is calm,

Let me melt away into the night

Until there is nothing for the dawn.

        Nothing save a memory

        The sum of all the hours passed

        A clutch of fading images

        Disappearing like the grass

For you will thrive though I have left this place

To generate the truth which we have known

Touching lives and healing all who come

To celebrate the love which was our own.

Bind my head, place coins upon my eyes,

Carry my willow coffin to the sea;

Build my pyre at the turning tide

To let the gentle flames set my soul free.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 9.3.26