Why?

Why, when I could write anything at all

Do I find myself confined to what is close

Or has just occurred, rather than the world

Of nature or romance, the siren call

Of waves off Beachy Head, the approaching storm

Sliding up the channel on a front

Of startled gulls, the silence of the woods

Behind the lake engulfed in evening calm,

While all the buzzing rubbish of the day

Hums like a cloud of midges in my ear

Recalling the minutiae of waste,

Time frittered and relationships' decay.

          Why should you want to read what I might write

          When I dare hardly let it see the light?

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 30.9.22

 Antinous

Drowned! How could it be when he would swim

With naiads, raising up his peerless form

To fly before the bringers of the storm

And laugh to see the laurels he would win.

What deity has loved him more than I

And, jealous of my joy, ripped him away

To live eternally where he'll outstay

The very gods themselves, while I must die?

The sun is dark and all the summer's fruits

Are bitter on my tongue, all colours black

That once were rainbowed in his eyes and slack

The bow string in the hunter's hand, pursuit

          Abandoned, for the wounded hart has willed

          Himself to die, who would himself have killed.

Brian Hick September 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 28.9.22

 September Equinox

We thought the walk from Stonegate might be fun

So we parked by the church and donned our boots

Before setting off behind the school en route

For Burwash, and lunch at the Rose and Crown.

We should have realised quite early on

That way-marks seemed to disappear with ease

And comments like the 'left hand of the trees'

Were little help when other signs were gone.

The hedge-less fields, ploughed paths, no-entry signs

All chipped away at early morning calm

Until we had to accept, in some alarm,

That we had lost the route and must resign.

          Plump blackberries, plucked along the way

          Gave little succour to a frustrating day.

Brian Hick Septembe 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 26.9.22

 At last I'm free to choose what'er I will

And all the world is open to my heart;

Now I can throw off the lurking dark

That for so many years has tried to kill

My very soul, which only you have seen

Nurtured by your love since first we met

And carried through the times of silent threat

To both of us, from outside and within,

Until these last few weeks when all that we

Have yearned for, past all hope, that we just might

Eventually, break through into the light

That shone a single candle by the sea.

          When love and silence all the world transcend

          No words need bring this poem to an end.

Brian Hick September 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 23,9,22

 Who could have thought that life could be so good?

When I reached sixty, I felt I was complete

The  youthful drive to struggle and compete

Transformed to a mature adulthood,

But now I'm living in another world

Where every ceature beckons and demands

Attention, every sight and sound commands

That I explore, as nuances unfurl

In details which I missed in all the rush

To grasp the daily turmoil of a job

Which never satisfied and seemed to rob

My mind and grind my spirit into mush.

          No longer driven on an angry mill

          At last I'm free to choose what'ere I will.

Brian Hick September 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 21.9.22

 Pearl

They say you'll never find a pearl inside

An oyster, but I did, and it was large

Enough to set into an antique pin

Which Sally found for it in Brighton's Lanes.

Twelve years ago that was and I have worn

It rarely, thinking it too delecate.

Then, while in Cardiff over last weekend,

It slipped away, unnoticed at the time,

Stolen I expect or maybe simply lost.

For weeks on end it hardly came to mind

Yet now its tiny beauty haunts my thoughts

With sadness, that what meant so much to us

          Is gone, or casually sold on, to leave

          Only these few lines, and we who grieve.

            The Pearl

            I was upset

Because the pearl was lost

          Until I realised

          It was not lost

       But only lost to me.

Brian Hick September 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 19.9.22

 At the Garcon!  (Cardiff Bay)

The sun is dropping and within an hour

Will cast low shadows right across the bay.

We sit upon the terrace, and assay

The boats in rapid flurry to the pier.

A tourist in St David's hotel snaps

Us, though he wouldn't know we're here

Lost in the evening crowd, who sip a beer

Or sit as we, letting the time slip by

Between the courses of the pre-set meal

- Endive Belge et Supreme de Polet -

Idyllic as a holiday should be

But rarely is; a moment snatched, to heal

          The days when there is never time to say

          That in my heart, life always is this way.

Brian Hick September 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 16.9.22

 Down Line

The Down Line's always quieter than the up

A white cat sniffs along the wall before

It disappears amongst the scrubby trees.

A solitary school-boy, late and bored,

Frets that he is watched and cannot snatch

A quiet fag before he takes the train.

Occasional tourists for Ashford International

Await the two-coach shuttle, late again,

As usual, with no room to sit or place

Your cases.  As it leaves the unseen drone

Proudly proclaims the train will soon be here.

Stillness - and the cat slinks out alone

          Along the wall towards Warrior Square;

          A cigarette's dull haze melts in the air.

Brian Hick September 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 14.9.22

 Up line (Morning Pam)

The ticket office is closed and the machine

Is out of order. No one is on hand

To ask, although the unseen voice, obscene

In cheery tones, warns - no, it commands -

We have a valid ticket or risk a fine.

Two minutes before the Cannon Street is due

The usual suspects muster into line

Careful to avoid commuters who

Insist on constant verbal diarrhoea.

I take the second carriage which I know

From long experience is the silent car

For readers, laptops and the sleeping foe.

          On time as usual, I take my usual seat,

          And before we get to Battle, am asleep.

Brian Hick September 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 12.9.22

 Train to Cardiff - and back

Is lunch the ultimate enemy of art?

I'd hoped to write something while at ease,

But bagels - the smoked salmon & cream cheese -

With a chilled Sauvignon Blanc to start

Before the chocolate flapjacks - and the need

To catch up with the papers - all conspired

To make me doze away the thoughts inspired

By Cardiff Bay and a new Traviata.

Sunday - and I've only done eight lines;

And even then the last one doesn't rhyme.

The Quiet Carriage ought to aid my mind

But morning coffee and papers fill my time

          Till suddenly we're back at Paddington

          And all that carefully planned time - has gone!

Brian Hick autumn 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 9.9.22

 Strand

This must be the best time of year.

           The beach huts are all locked, the schools are back,

           A solitary walker with her dogs

Pads quietly along the water's edge.

The sky mocks at the date, its radiant blue

           Willing me to think it is July

           Rather than late September, for the sea

Is calm, almost to indolence, each wave

Hardly finding the energy to break

           And trickle over pebbles as it basks

          Soaking up the silence of the day

As it has done, since the world began.

Brian HIck autumn 2009

©copyright Sally HIck 7.9.22

Monday Diary

Between me and the trees a swarm of gnats

Idle their time before the sun is gone.

 This time tomorrow, if the warmth survives,

Another cloud may wander into view

But not the same, for death comes all too soon

For gnats and mayflies, living on the wing.

My life, at sixty-four, is closing in

And even if I have another score

Or more, I know that every hour I live

Simply brings me closer to the point

When time, however I encompass it,

Will simply stop and I will cease to be.

          Death may worry some, as it grows near,

          But - snuffed out like a gnat - what's there to fear?

Brian Hick autumn 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 5.9.22

 Waiting

I sit and wait for your return -

If only that were all,

For thoughts which are no use to us

Divert my mind, so all

The time I could anticipate

Seeing you again

Is frittered into mindless games

Of who and why and when.

Even simple meditation

Seems to just dissolve

Re-running minor problems

Which gain a strangle-hold

While all the time I want to be

Cut off from futile chatter

To ensure that when we meet

Nothing else will matter.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 2.9.22