1431

I need to find a form which is my own;

Not any form but one which can flow free

As if I wasn't writing poetry

But simply paring language to the bone

So that it said exactly what I think

And you would understand in simple terms

The depth and the complexity which yearns

To be transformed, changed from idea to ink,

Until, as if osmosis had occurred,

Nothing stands between the latest germ

Of an idea, and translation's worm

Cannot withhold the power of my word;

            But here we have another Sonnet, penned

            As if pentameters were their own end.

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 24.2.26

 1430

Our solar panels

Are quite unresponsive to

Fifty shades of grey.

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 20.2.26

 1429

knowing the rules

To write of Joy this form needs to explode

Yet, like the Masters, I'm bound by the rules;

Each sonnet, roundel, every type of mode

Encases all my verse as if the tools

I need to write have all been handed down

Unchallenged, unconcerned by what might change

Assuming what has been has won the crown

And I must keep my lines within their range.

But oh I long to cut the corset's laces

Swap pen for laptop, sonnet for simple line,

Throw out the narrow way, embrace the spaces

Sans iambic metre and sans rhyme.

I wish - but as this frenzied outburst shows

To give up form, I might as well write prose.

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 18.2.26

 1428

Fifty-four years since that first Valentine -

A nonsense verse because I knew no better -

But time does not encourage the sublime

And words are just as difficult as ever.

Fifty-four years of unexpected love

Tentatively etched as if aftaid

That any moment, like a startled dove,

It might fly off before a word is said.

Fifty-four years of constant mystery,

Delighting in the day-to-day unknown,

Hidden within a lifetimes constancy,

A union which endures to make us one.

We may not be as young as we were then

But our love laughs at time - and says Amen!

Brian Hick 14.2.2015

©copyright Sally Hick 14.2.26

 1427

Smile the sun is up, the train's on time,

I've coffee and a Kit-Kat as I sit

Writing this - so everything is fine.

Smile!

Smell the bacon rolls, the benefits

Of service at my seat or the sublime

Delights of doing nothing as befits

An OAP - not of course that I'm

The kind to sit around when I've the wit

To grasp each moment and to make it mine.

Smile!

Brian Hick February 2015

©Sally Hick 13.2.26

 1426

My glass is empty, the sadwiches all gone;

And still the page lies blank - a silent threat

As if it knows my pen simply won't write.

The radio drones on, time, lengthening,

But still nothing comes and what's worse

My mind is like a gnat at summer's end

Desperate to keep busy out of fear

That if I stop I'll have to face the truth

That though I want to write much more than this -

Am desperate to ensure that I still can -

The blank page stares me out until I blink

And it has won again...

            I reread these lines and realise

            This dull dross is not fit for your eyes.

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 11.2.26

 1425

A truce? So tell me now when it will end

Or rather why I should believe it will

Make any difference to the daily spree

O death and damage, killing off my friends.

A truce? A moment to pick up our dead

And bury them before it starts again

When one by one we'll drop into the mud

To vanish unremarked by those back home.

A truce? But never let us get too close

Nor recognise I've no desire to kill

You who gave me cigarettes and snaps

And shred a photograph of two small boys

And if it ever happens, would we dare

Believe our enemies, out there, might care?

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 9.2.26