Ode to a Gribble
All hail the lowly gribble
Slowly munching his way
Through wooden tiers
And rotting piers
Then turning it to fuel.
Luminoria quadripunctata
To give him his proper name
Will save the world
By enzymes culled
From chewed up wood and water.
Farewell smelly petrol
Farewell natural gas
For now it seems
Our transport dreams
Will all be carbon neutral.
Brian Hick January 2009
©copyright S Hick January 2022
I thought I knew these views
But they've become
Rarefied by snow which hides away
All subtleties of colour
Flattering all shapes
To children's sketches.
Sheep, so much a part of any field,
Stand starkly silhouetted in the cold;
A solitary rabbit on the hill
Leaps for cover
A giant flea across a king-size quilt.
Only the movement of the train
Gives any sense of life,
Each station halt refracted to a
Picturesque deployment of itself.
Architectural features soften
In the lurking snow which clings
Like summer weeds
To every ledge.
Occasional bright colours break the trance
Of endless monochrome
But for now
The world is black and white.
Brian Hick January 2010
©copyright S Hick January 2022
Too much snow?
Surely, even global warming goes
Too far if it thinks our temperate fields
Could suffer more than two days of such snows
Before it melts them off to feed the streams
Which plump our Southern Downs and quiet meadows?
Yet her it is - still lying on the ground
And not a hint of thawing out today;
If anything, there's more of it around
With promises of blizzards on the way.
But walking into town down to the sea
Where dull grey waves offset the dazzling beach
My irritation, flake by flake, was eased
And all things seemed to be within my reach,
Brian Hick January 2010
©copyright S Hick January 2022
Burns Night in St Leonards - 2010
The twenty sixth of January again
And here we are around the festive board
Convivial and comfortably assured
That we are right, and all the world can wane
While we enjoy the fruits of winter's charm,
Haggis, nips & tatties, salmon and prawn
(Though this year cluttie dumplings we will scorn
For we're aware of bad cholesterol's harm).
Then raise a glass to Rabbie Burns once more -
Even though we do not understand
A word he wrote or, on the other hand,
Have any special love of grouse or moor -
But happily will celebrate with friends
The simple joy of living - till it ends!
Brian Hick January 2010
©copyright Sally Hick January 2022
Burn's Night 09
This is not the first time we have met
To raise a glass in praise of Robert Burns
And yet it surely seems a little odd
That Southerners like us find that we yearn
At this time of the year to turn our backs
On Yorkshire pud, roast beef and apple crumble
In search of boiled Haggis, onion sauce
Nips, tatties, everything that's humble
From north of the border, and which we
At other times of the year would quite ignore.
Yet here we are, all with glass in hand
Ready to raise a Burns Night toast once more.
If stomach linings do not make you frisky
Let's raise a glass in grateful thanks for whiskey.
Brian Hick 25.1.09
©copyright Sally Hick January 2022
Flash Flood
North of Etchingham the fields are flooded;
Beside our railway line, bursting streams
Run into one another, as we drift,
Stared at by sheep whose pasture, dank and muddied,
Seems more like the Somme than Southern Downs.
A heron smiles, fooled by the new lagoons
Of lifeless water, flushing out the voles
And sleepy dreys where last night all were drowned.
Higher up thin cemeteries of birch
Brood above dirty bracken and the waste
Of fallen leaves deadens any thought
That life might have survived this sodden dearth.
Yet on the bank, as we creep slowly by,
A scattered line of snowdrops gives the lie.
Brian Hick 25.1.09
©copyright Sally Hick January 2022
Winter Weather
It's daylight now when I leave for the train
And only a thin scarf is needed for
The walk down to the station, yet before,
We get to Crowhurst, we've ground to a halt again.
This time it's ice on the conductor rail.
Tension rises, mobile phones snap out
'Tell Matthew I'll be late.' 'Who's not about?'
'Is Catherine there?' 'God, this makes my blood boil....'
Two weeks ago in Prague we had thick snow
With temperatures of minus ten below
Yet everything is working, all the streets
Are safe, the buses, trams and trains abound,
Tourists fill the squares, and all around
The cities unstressed heart, contented, beats.
Brian Hick 21.1.09
©copyright Sally Hick January 2022
The Infant of Prague
'It's just a dressed up dolly,' you insist,
But I sense there might be another way,
Behind the baroque gold and statuary,
To read the tiny figure in the dress.
The deity above with pointed finger
Scowling at us all, as if he knows
We are all wicked and will come to blows
Left to ourselves, is light years from the figure
In the case, whose vulnerability
And child-like innocence can offer only love,
Untainted by desire, and above
The greedy factions of authority.
It may just be a dolly, but I'd rather
See the world through those eyes, than the other,
Brian Hick 18.1.09
©copyright S Hick January 2022
Prague Winter
A silent call to freedom
Fills the city, like the snow
Which lifts and swirls around us
As we walk its quiet streets.
Mute memorials, unremarked
By tourists, draw
My mind -
Jan Hus, pencil thin
And gaunt above
A mound of terror;
Jan Palach's cross
So small it almost vanishes
Within the bushes on the
Central reservation
Atop Wenceslaus Square.
And in between, a calm
Acceptance that
Whenever history tries to burn us out
Bohemians know that Love and Truth must shout.
Brian Hick 8.1.09
©copyright S Hick 2022
The Tree is stripped, the decorations gone
Christmas is over for another year
And life can settle down without the fear
Of heartburn or hangover. Now upon
The mantlepiece the bills replace the cards
And overdraughts are balanced as the weeks
Of winter drizzle trickle on in aches
More psychological than real. Towards
The end of January Burn's night holds
A glimpse of hope in the surrounding gloom
And plans for Valentine's, which all too soon
Will fill our shops, help to offset our colds.
How strange that after all the preparation
Christmas warrants such scant observation.
Brian Hick 8.1.09
©copyright Sally Hick Jan 2022
Ok. I've taken two weeks off but now
I need to get back to the norms of work;
No time to luxuriate or shirk
Responsibilities, for we must bow
Before the need to keep commerce alive -
The wheel of industry and toil which every day
Grinds on to ensure that each of us can pay,
Regardless of our needs to stay alive,
Substantive cash for things we do not want
But all must have, if profits are to rise
And banks and businesses, of a certain size,
Can feed their bonus margins and their kant.
While smaller fry must close up shop and leave,
Champagne still pops for subtler forms of greed.
Brian Hick January 2009
©copyright Sally Hick Jan 2022
