I've hung the family photos in the hall

And started to sort out those that remain;

A jumbled stack, unposed and often blurred,

The sort that get discarded, yet retain

A sense of life being lived, one which insists

On shooting past the confines of the frame

To get on with business of the day

-Like moths escaping from a candle flame.

Their stubborn wildness, cut off heads and feet,

Silent laughter, poked out tongues, recalim

A life the image tries to kill, and stirs

A joy the family set-piece can't retain.

            Momento mori photographs may seem

            But some escape to fill the gaps between.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 22.4.22

 Loxwood

A happy day. Walked over seven miles

In undulating countryside, woods of beach

And oak to shade us from the summer's sun,

Silent paths and not too many stiles.

Why then, in all this pleasure do I find

So little to inspire me, or to stir

Ideas which might just be set down as prompts

For memory to deflect a fretting mind.

Must I feel depressed before a line

Can formulate and constitute

The kernel of a verse that might just mean

Something to us, at some future time?

            I wish I knew, for then we could elope

            With memories that give some glimpse of hope.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 22.4.22

 The Face of Peace

I could not sleep, but went into a doze

Delighting the thoughts of the Alhambra.

It seemed I was a scholar chosen out

To discuss theology and write

Romantic poetry to please the court.

I had a room atop a tower where breezes

Gently kept days cool and nights were calm.

Some weeks into my stay we were all sat

Within the Sultan's inner court

When he said 'There's someone you should meet'.

I looked along the dazzling outer pool

To see a figure bounding round the edge

Skittering until it stopped infront of me,

An adult hare with a tiny engraved collar.

'He'll be your friend, but do not fear his past.

A leveret, orphaned, he was found so small

We had to feed him with our finger-tips.

He never has been pet, but free to roam

Like any other guest within our realm.'

The hare came close and we shared our food,

Then from that time we were inseparable,

He racing round the gardens to disappear

But always returning for a meal

Or curling up upon my bed at night.

'His name is Selim Mukha,' the Sultan said

(known in the Celtic tongue as Silimukha).

I dozed off and thought no more of this,

A lovely dream but surely nothing more

Till late that morning I looked up the name

And Selim Mukha means The Face of Peace.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 16.4.22

This 'vision' had profound meaning for Brian, who ever after had a love of hares.

 Come on, tell me what to do?

I know I'm not alone

But, face it, I've had enough

I'd rather be at home

Sitting in the garden

Listening to the birds

For church on Sunday norning

Is getting too absurd.

Here we are, the people

Who all have our own seat

Talk over tea or coffee -

With a little cake to eat -

But ignore any input

Which might disturb our ease

From week to week or time to time

Yet accepting those which please

Like turning all our problems

Over to the Lord

Rather than doing them ourselves

Which, of course, we can't afford

Hoping that some others

Will feel that they're inspired

For after all we've been to church

What else has God required?

In a world that's failing

Where everything seems mad

Our Sunday morning sanity

Is surely not that bad?

And just because we're choosing

To leave things up to God

Letting him clean up the mess

Who'd think that that was odd?

For after two millennia

Of churches in the world

What difference have you noticed

Of better lives unfurled?

Unless you're counting science

And philosophical thought

Which fought against theology

To create the world it bought

By standing up for humans

Ignoring all the kant

Of patriachal power

And the constant puerile rant

But now even the science

Is ignored by those who claim

Conspiricy theatricals

Though children die in pain.

Jesus said I am the Truth

But until we are clear

What truth this is, I much regret

We'll never find it here.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally HIck 16.4.22

 1698

May Day

This lovely moring seeps into my soul

Teasing out the doubts that might ensnare

Your love - freely given - so that whole,

Entire and perfect I may once more dare

To realise that you are more to me

Than anything that may have gone before

And though it's taken all this time to see

I know now why I worship and adore.

For you were there when I fought on alone

Assured that I could do it if I strived

And when I failed, your grace was there to hone

My selfishness into a faith that lived.

            The beauty of this day will slowly wend

            But unconditional love will never end.

Brian Hick 

©copyright Sally Hick 8.4.22 

 Ignoring all theology

There's nothing left but you and me

And all we need to do is love -

There's nothing else in heaven above

Or on the earth, if truth is told,

For love is worth far more than gold,

Far more than what the banks supply

To sort away, or pile up high -

It's only money after all -

And will not help me when I fall

Into despair, or lose my way,

When sudden illness or decay

Brings me up short to face my end

Alone - except for you, my friend,

Who has loved me from the start

Even when I broke your heart;

Loved me when I turned away

Loved me from the very day

On which I came into the world

And a promise was unfurled

That every moment of my life

For as long as I survive

Would be overseen by you

And, whatever I should do,

If stupid, wicked or unkind

Your love and grace would always find

A way to bring me home again

Hoping that I would refrain

From following my childish ways

Learning from mistakeds I made

Until we are face to face

In the precence of your grace

Where all is well and all above

Is nothing that is not your love.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 8,4.22

Orkney

I've always found the thought of the Trinity

Dubious if not difficult,

But on this isle the earth and sky and sea

Shimmer even as they melt

Into a singularity

Of gentleness,

Where jagged edges cease to be

And all excess

Dissolves into an ordered symmetry.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 1.4.22

 I need to spend more time with you

To listen to your peace

To seek you in the emptiness

When roaring words have ceased.

I need to spend more time with you

To hear you on the wind

To grasp the brief epiphanies

Which flash across my mind.

I ned to spend more time with you

To sense you in the needs

Of people whom I meet each day

No matter where it leads.

I need to spend more time with you

To set myself aside

Let love take over as I see

Your arms held open wide.

And as I spend more time with you

This Time itself will cease

And all I know and all I have

Will be forever peace.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 1.4.22

I spoke to Nanny Matkin

When  I was Oscar's age

Querying the Bible's facts

And though she didn't rage

She said you simply must believe -

But didn't tell me why -

The story written in The Book

That came out of the sky.

And sixty-five years later

Wandering from church to church

My mind is no clearer

I feel left in the lurch

By those demanding faithfulness

To what they cannot prove

Yet all the time ignoring

The transforming power of love.

If church is not the answer - 

For two thousand years it's failed -

Then why continue following

A Way which has entailed

So much contradiction

So many bloody ends

So many dead-end cul-de-sacs

So many dead friends?

If love is the answer

The question must be wrong

For although we go on singing

We're singing the wrong song.

Brian Hick 

©copyright Sally Hick 1.4.22