880
The Light of Life has come into the world;
I feel it in the darkness of my heart
Battered by the stress which night has hurled.
The Light of Life
Has ever known that every frozen part
Of body, mind and soul will in time yield
Before the Love that's been there from the start
Acknowledging I have no strength to shield
My reason from depression's vicious dart
And will accept with joy so Love may wield
The Light of Life.
Brian Hick December 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 21.12.22
876
What shall I write for Christmas Day.
When all the world with festive cheer
Has set aside the need to hear
A truth that might show us the way
To face the things that go awry
Realising that this love
Does not descend from heaven above
But radiates from those who try,
Against the vanity and greed
Which fill our lives on working days
To Love, even though these quieter ways
Seem impotent to the world's creed.
So I will write of love which greets,
Unnoticed by the streaming crowds
Whose stoic faces are too proud
To see the homeless in the street;
Of love which puts another first
Regardless of the cost to them
And will do the same again
For there's no end to Love's deep purse.
Of Love which does not plan ahead
Or ask that favours be returned
As if all gifts must be earned
Accounts rendered, contracts read
And sealed on pain of retribution
Knowing that there is no reward
For kindness or the loving word
Freely given in restitution.
Of Love which takes us as we are
Unaware of faults or failure
Unconcerned by past behaviour
Seeing nothing but the star
That shone upon us at our birth
Bringing grace to every hour
We breath and giving us the power
To celebrate what we are worth.
Brian Hick December 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 15.12.22
875
The quiet snow has stopped the headlong rush
To empty all the shops of Christmas cheer;
The roads are silent, as my fingers brush
The quiet snow.
Grey skies massing out beyond the pier
Herald change, but near me the hush
Of snow on snow hangs about my ear
Like pearls on silk, until the distant slush
Of noise intrudes, willing me to clear
My mind of transient joys each time I touch
The quiet snow.
Brian Hick Nov 2010
©copyright Sally Hick November 2022
861
November Snow Fall (2010)
Ten inches fell last night and more to come they say
(And how I warm to keeping it in inches, by the way)
So no more school for us this week, its out into the hills
On plastic bags and old tea trays to squeel away the thrills
Of unexpected moments, stolen from the working week
And oh the joys of silence as the drivers cannot reap
Vengeance every waking minute with scowls and obscene words,
Now all we hear are children, dogs and ever chirping birds.
By afternoon we venture out to search for some fresh bread
Only to find they're all sold out and Sam looks almost dead
On his feet with all the rush to bake a triple set
As Asda, Tesco and the Coop have all run out and yet
They all bake on the premises, a likely tale, when Sam
Has flour enough for more doughnuts, with or without the jam.
But I digress, the sun is slipping gently in the west
So it must be time to settle down for dinner, and the best
Shiraz brought from M&S and a home-made creme brulee
Before a repeat of Mock the Week on Dave to round off the day.
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 9.12.22
859
The snow makes all things one in this grey light
Softening the edges of the trees
Into a hush of permanent delight;
The snow makes all things one.
Over the hedgerows and across the leas
Shadows hint at shapes beneath the bright
Expanse of winter; a robin calls to tease
The silence, warming with his song the sight
Which ravishes my senses as it frees
My soul to know that everything is right.
The snow makes all things one.
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 6.12.22
15
A writer yes, but I've not written much
These last few days and now feel out of touch
Even with my way of organising words
Into some sort of shape, where what occurs
Is more than just a pleasing way to pass
The time, and the ensuing verbal mass
Has intellectual bite as well as charm -
A hidden force to trip and to disarm.
But in the meantime I sit on the train
Traveling from Wickford to Southend
In hope that inspiration may regain
It's strength and we'll be on the mend.
For what's a poet if he cannot write
About his dearth of vision and insight?
Brian Hick Nov. 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 2.12.22
