1504

Who will be feeding the sparrows

When we are back home?

Each morning as we ate breakfast

On the terrace, in the sun,

A squawking flock would join us

More confident by the day

Till soon we found them waiting

Perched on the Oleander

Or on the iron gate

Waiting for me to crumble biscuits

Or make them some toast.

For the next ten minutes

Up to a dozen would take turns

To swoop down and settle

Until they had cleared

The patch of earth.

One morning when they had all lifted

Back up into the branches,

A tiny mouse peeped out

From behind the palm trunk.

Cautious and silent

It moved to find the tiny specks

Rejected by the sparrows,

Then shot back to the safety

Of the grass beneath the hedge.

Three times more she came that morning

But never after that

While we were there.

Back home in St Leonards

Six hundred miles away

I wonder who is feeding

Our sparrows today?

Is the mouse still living

Its solitary life?

Maybe it has family,

Children or a wife?

But then I need not worry

You have it all in hand

For not a one lies outside

Your eternal plan,

And what of us who trust you

To love us as a friend?

If we care for the sparrows

Your care for us won't end.

Brian Hick November 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 6.11.26

 1503 cont., 2 Club La Costa - bits and pieces

I

Eating breakfast on 

The terrace with the sparrows;

What could be better?

J

I don't want to write today

I simply want to sit

Beside the pool and sip my beer

Watching the walrus as they swim

And get the benefit

Of being here - Costa del Sol -

In mid-November sun

Before I am back at work

Under grey skies, where winter rain

Pours forever on.

The pool's now full of splashy and squeally

Kids who've just flown in;

Quietly I climb the steps

Take my towel, dry off and dress

In time for olives and gin.

Brian Hick November 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 30.10.26

 1503 cont. Club La Costa - bits and pieces

F

Though the clouds would hide his form

I sense Orion in the sky

Lying gently on his side

While Taurus smiles down form above.

G

My firsr mussels since

Visiting Mont St Michel

And I was not sick!

H

A scream o parrots in the trees

Though not a one in sight

As we stroll down from Sulah's fort

Through towering pines towards the beach

In winter noon sunlight.

The sun has dropped, the swimmers gone,

The children in the pool

Take a last splash then hurry off

For pizza, cheesy chips and coke

Before it gets too cool;

So we are left to swim alone

While the air cools

With sparrows out chirping the throb

Of cicadas 'neath the vines

As the evening falls.

Lunch by the harbour and as we eat

The hawkers come in waves,

Blank-eyed, assuming we won't buy

Their bags and bangles, donkey toys

Fake DVDs and shades.

Brian Hick November 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 28.10.26

 1503 - Club La Costa - bits and pieces

A

One benefit ot

Flying to Dublin; there are

No meals on the flight.

B

Brilliant white clouds and

A stretch of deep blue sing me

A heavenly Rothko.

C

Sally is watching

The end of Downton Abbey;

I write this - outside.

D

Like St Francis we must feed

The birds who sit and wait;

Chirping sparrows, collar doves,

Swallows and a single robin,

A blackbird and its mate.

F

Congratulations

Are in order - we did

Not buy a time share.

Brian Hick November2015

©copyright Sally Hick October 2026

 1502

Confidential information

To her insurance agent

'Well, I can't say what it is,

I'm on the train,

It begins with a C

Yes, L, A, M...

I can' t say...'

She just did

To all the world.

'Oh yes

And a bit of

Depression...

And a gastric band.'

Brian Hick November 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 24.10.16

 1501

My new poems are

Bleak; maybe it is just too

Much Thomas Hardy?

Brian Hick October 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 19.10.26

 1500

Momento mori

We smile back from the pile of photographs,

Ourselves, though younger,

Plus many who no longer change,

As we, still living, do,

While forgetfulness and dates that do not stick

Inch us ever closer towards a final snap

Whose deadening flash will seal

Our endless headlong dash to stay alive.

Sun bleached, the photos stare;

Accusing us because we are alive

And have forgot their names

But for the ones whose love still hurts

Hanging s thread of guilt

On desiccated branches

In the silt of memory.

Brian Hick October 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 14.10.26