903

Words are all I have;

They're all I've got

To make sense of this moment

Before it wanders off

Into a past which quickly

Turns to fiction

Where any truth becomes

Intangible as

Childhood photograps.

But how can I

With any honesty

Write

Knowing that any words I use

Will at best be

Misconstrued

If not

Deliberately

Misused?

So I must risk

Dismissal

By those who do not choose

To ask themselves

What these words might mean,

Content

With what

They know they know;

As if knowing were all.

Brian Hick March 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 27.2.23

 902

St David's Day; Halloo Hallay

Let's stand up to the neck

In icy water flowing free

And shout out 'What the heck!!'

Brian Hick 1.3.11  

☺©copyright Sally Hick 24.2.23

 901

Even though I'm on the early train

It's well past dawn so no sign of the fox

Or vixen to cheer me, just the same

Commuters, whose sour faces mock

Spring's imminence... but that was yesterday

And those few lines were all I'd time to write

Before the fog  of routine seeped its way

Into my mind and subdued all that might

Have served to make this poem worth your time

Rather than another morbid rant

Against a world where work is made the prime

Consideration, and art is naught but Kant.

          How easy it would be if we could live,

          Without the need to earn, and freely give.

Brian Hick February 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 22.2.23

 900 

Dover to Canterbury (day two)

A little coaxing from our host

And we are into fruit and toast

Before we sigh and gird

Ourselves for the scrambled eggs and bacon,

Tomatoes and fried bread; all taken

Without dissenting word.

The morning leads through Sibbortswold -

With topiary curious to behold

By the Oak Bakery wall -

Then open fields and open skies

Dry out our boots and clear our eyes

To face the pilgrims' call.

We canter over Barham Downs

But our pilgrim thoughts are drowned

By the constant roar

Of traffic at its noontide peak

And crows are seen with open beak

But we can't hear them caw.

Entering The Red Lion for lunch

We stand out like a surly bunch

Of peddlers on the make

Compared with all the well-dressed crew

Who've just popped in to meet a few

Friends for old time's sake.

The tympanum at Patrixbourne -

Survivor of  the Tudor storm -

Looks down on aged yews

Whose ancestors have stood here since

The Romans came, or Saxon Prince

Stood one among the few.

And so to Canterbury we came

A little tired but all the same

Ready for a cream tea

Then in the silence of the Quire

Give thanks for friendship and the fire

Which burns in you and me.

And were there Larks upon our way?

I saw none, but it's true to say

That sometimes far above

I sensed a call from out the sky,

The rapture of a simple cry

Of undemanding love.

Brian Hick February 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 20.2.23

 900

Dover to Canterbury (day one)

Four of us, and a two day walk

To Canterbury with time to talk

And sup the local beers.

So to Dover on the Ashford train

And, after endless days of rain,

The sun once more appears.

Across the marsh, slight signs of spring

Hide in the hedges, and on the rim

A heron's silent whiteness

Lifts lazily into flight,

A spirit from the passing night

Caught in the morning's brightness.

Up, up onto the Downs

Until the midday sunlight crowns

The tumuli and gilds

Each tree with February's charm.

A raven calls across the calm

Deep furrowed fields

Where rabbits amble unaware

Of fox or hunter, or the care

We're taking as we go

For no one told us of the mud,

Ankle deep where'er we trod,

Making progress slow;

So what should have been an easy day

Was bogged down almost all the way

Till by glum consent

We took the road to Waldenshare -

An eighteenth-century brick affair -

Then tackled the assent

To Coldred for our B&B -

Bourbon biscuits with our tea -

And the welcome showers,

Before we're taxied to the pub,

The Crown at Eythorne, lovely grub;

Then sleep for hours and hours.

 899

7.28

The fog is clearing over Warrior Square

As the seven-twenty-eight slides into view,

On time today; a restless pair

Of blackbirds, undeterred, peck at the few

Damp twigs scattered on the down-side bank.

The train is silent until Robertsbridge

Where school-boys with their mobile phones and lank

Hair call out to each other across the carriage

But only to go as far as Tonbridge Wells

Whence peace returns right through to Canon Street,

With nothing save announcements or the swell

Of distant conversations to compete.

          Oh that every journey were this calm

          Oozing contemplation's subtle balm.

Brian Hick February 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 15.2.23

 On the Origin of Species

You clutched my hand and then went back to sleep

Oblivious to the comfort that this brought

Or to the stirings of a richer thought

Your closeness prompted from some hidden deep

          Which came and went as I too drifted off

          But by next morn, its heart had not been lost.

What is it makes you and I a pair?

And what has kept us close for forty years?

Simply saying 'love' ignores the layers

Of active innovation, toil and care

          That love may hold together, but which need

          A greater snese of purpose to survive.

Darwin sensed this when he came to write

The Origin of Species, for he knew

Survival of the fittest - not the few -

Had to be more than the eternal fight

          For precedence, and needed reasons why

         We stay together, often till we die,

Rather than looking all the time for more

Or better mates, more power and control

As if we had no conscious mind or soul

To rationalise what we are living for,

          And make the choice to favour loyalty

          And trust among our friends and family.

Choice is not just a rational human trait.

We see it in our gardens all around

Where hedgehog, fox and badger can be found

In lasting family groups, no casual mate,

          And only death by age or accident

          Can part a pair whose unity seems meant.

What's more the species who elect to live

In promiscuity and pain, transform

For us the other couples who were born

To be like us, to serve and also give

          Without concern for any selfish gain,

          In order that their offspring will remain

To bond in turn, as they did, and create

A quality of life they could not know

But which we recognise as though

It were alone a human's natural state;

          Yet ther before us, if we use our eyes,

          Nature provides examples to surprise

Excite and challenge, while they demand we know

And insist upon their stubborn claims

Demanding that the human kind remains

Alone, unique and set apart, and woe

          To anyone who claims we are the same

          As any other animal by name.

And yet the evidence is clear to see,

Pair-bonding may have links to DNA

But life-long obligations have a way

Of stealing up upon us and the key

          To understanding is the way we think

          Of 'Fittest' - for that's the missing link!

'Fittest' does not need to imply brute strength

But adaptation of a subtler kind

Where loyalty and compassion are refind

To outweigh a need for violence and th'immense

          Blinkered view that refuses to admit

          That power and joy may dwell at the heart of it.

Sentimental Love can quickly fade

But loyalty and compassion, overlooked

Too often by the papers, and new books

Of chic-lit, in this sex-obsessed decade

          Quietly work on, to keep the faith

          Knowing that their hope is worth the wait.

So, like a sermon drawing to a close,

Where does this leave us do you suppose?

I love you, but this simple statement misses

The hushed reality, that moonlight kisses

However sweet,  ignore a deeper truth

Which The Origin of Species would promote,

That love alone, despite the Pauline quote,

Without Faith and Hope can prove remote,

And Paul, uncomprehending, got it right

Faith, Hope ande Love are all we need tonight!

Brian Hick 14.2.09

©copyright Sally Hick 13.2.23

 898

7.20

A fox,upon the bank above the platform,

Padding unconcerned along the path

Unseen by the commuters waiting for their train;

And then a second, appearing through the hedge.

They meet, exchange a friendly look in greeting,

Then amble off in opposite directions.

When I arrived they were not there

And seconds later the bank above the platform

Was empty, as it has been these last weeks,

But I sensed in that brief and casual meeting

That spring might at last be on its way.

Brian Hick Feb 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 11.2.22

 897

February dawn; an owl calls across

The wood, solitary, from the darkened trees

Slumped below the blunt edge of the foss.

February dawn.

Grey haze against the placid blue exceeds

Dulled expectation after weeks of loss

But nothing grows except the insipid weeds

Down runnels or amongst the rotting dross

Of autumn's memory, while summer's seeds

Cling silently below the winter moss,

February dawn.

Brian HIck February 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 8.2.23

 896

Keep silent, even when the rage

Knows it might be right and anything

That's said is just the bitter fruit of age.

Keep silent

And acknowledge there were times when Spring

Was not enough to break open the cage

Of Winter solitude where everything

Seemed bleaker; where reason could not gage

The pain within the vice of fortune's sting

And fools had more insight than the sage.

Keep silent.

Brian Hick Feburary 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 6.2.23

 895

You held my hand as we walked to the bus

From the Saville Theatre down towards the Strand

Oblivious to all that was not us;

You held my hand.

Today, fifty years on, I have not found

Anything which quickens me as much

As finger-tips when we're together, and

A sense that words can never offer such

Insight into love, nor as profound

A joy, as simply knowing your light touch.

You held my hand.

Brian Hick February 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 1.2.23