1074

A Japanese girl wears a face mask in town;

She stops outside Walkers

For a drink

And a cigarette.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 30.12.23

 1073

Sandown's as its best in mid-july

            But in the winter, truth to tell,

            It draws a different clientele -

Nobody under 80 need apply.

            ---------------------------

If you can push a nifty zimmer frame

            To the arcade on the pier

            There you'll find your usual chair

In its place, just ready for a game

Of bingo or, if you'd rather not,

            Then spend a happy hour or two -

            Given you've nothing else to do -

Feeding two-penny pieces in the slot

Of  the one armed bandit, while your friend

            rummages for her other purse -

            But this could be even worse,

At least you two are still able to stand

Which is more than those who simply slump

            In their armchairs at the Grand

            Staring blankly at the sand

Or west towards the corporation dump.

Along the promenade towards the cliffs

            Aged bodies slowly quake

            Towards a coffee and a cake

Before they drift back home hoping the lifts

Are working and they don't have to fight

          Four stories to their roof-top flat

          Where their leaky panes and scabby cat

Await the silent darkness of the night.

Retirement to the seaside was the plan

            Earl Grey and a nice Bath Bun

            Cocktails in the evening sun

A stroll along the prom to hear the band;

But grey clouds on the cliffs and icy sleet

            Pen up the silent days alone

          No one comes and no one phones

No one's left who you might chance to meet.

On rare occassions, risk the trip you dread

            To the Post Office to send

            Birthday greeting to a friend

You have not seen for years, and may be dead,

Then return with a supermarket bag

            Dinner for one to microwave

            Own label brandy, and points to save

For Christmas - plus the coupons from the mag -

And then - and then what follows in the days

            Alone, left staring at the sea

            Alone, when what you hoped would be

Slips unnoticed on towards the grave.

            --------------------------------------

Sandown snoozing gently by the sea

            Hopes the young will come once more

            When the old folk cease to snore

Restoring its Edwardian bon-homie;

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 29.12.23

 1072

The law is not to

Be obeyed; it's only there

To be subverted?

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 28.12.23

 1071

Rain in the air has crystalised the night.

Along the southern shore each tiny point

Of solitary brilliance cuts its way

As if honed to sell itself above the rest.

A thinning crescent drifts behind the clouds

Failing to print its image on the tide

Where a single tanker slides invisible

But for the red and green on either side.

Eastward, the darkened vastness of the sea

Swallows the line of light into itself

All boundaries of earth, water and sky

Dissolve into seeming infinity.

The street lamp overhead gives my world light

But what is that, when dropped into this night?

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 2023

 1070

Humbug

Christmas is upon us but the thrill

Hides itself behind the tat

The tinsel and the supermarket till.

Christmas is upon us.

Just for once, can we accept that

3D's not essential and life will

Not cease if we fail to buy the cat

His own television, while we fill

The groaning board with puddings, plus a vat

Of cheap Rioja in hope to assuage the bill?

Christmas is upon us.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 26.12.23

 1069

Christmas is coming

Four weeks to go - the advent candle lit -

And everybody has a little list

Of things that must be done

Of presents bought

Of menues sorted

Childen calmed

Old carols dusted down.

Three weeks to go - the second candle lit -

The turkey's in the freezer

The distant presents packed

The children's lists get longer

And the Bristol Cream sneaks back

To lurk on the kitchen table

Next to the fresh mince pies.

Two weeks to go - the third candle appears -

Panic of the gentle kind

Invades the daily calm

Piles of parcels in the hall

Decorations from the loft

Must check the lights before we leave

For the Carol Concert at the primary school.

One week to go - the final candle lit -

Cards have all been posted

Parcels are on their way

Decorations all in place

Cakes and puddings in the larder

Piles of chocolate logs and coins

With the Advocat and Creme de Menthe.

Christmas Eve; and it's all here -

All the fuss and angst and jostle

All the waiting and the tears

All the money we have lavished

All the extra food and beers -

For what?

An annual family blowout?

An annual visit to Aunt Flo?

A story we heard in our childhood?

A carol recalled from long ago?

Is it no more than sleighs and rheindeer

An excuse to eat and drink too much,

Or do the Solstice and the Star-shine

Echo,with their silent touch,

A love that goes beyond a baby,

Far beyond religion's crutch,

Towards a truth that makes us human

Love is all - for God is such.

Brian Hick Christmas 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 25.12. 2023

 1068

Bristol;

And only thirty minutes

Late.

Brian Hick December 2011

©Sally Hick 24 December 2023

 1067

I'd been busy, so did not phone

You until I was on my way

To Bristol, not that I had realised

You might be concerned, but the time

Had slipped by and this was the first chance

I'd had even to text.  Then you called

Concerned - Pouring out the list of risks

I might have run within the silence.

Of course, all was well, but how fragile

Our hope, when both of us require

Persistent proof that we are still alive!

You'll never know how

Much that phone call meant to me;

Knowing I am loved.

Suddenly the thought of all the years

We still might have together

Makes me smile, content,

Excited by the chance

Of growing up unfettered

Side by side.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 24.12.23

 1066

I gave up flying when I realised

That queues and shopping malls

Were never mean to be part of the means

To get from here to there

And I spent more time

Waiting to be bullied into line

Than ever I spent moving in the air;

And now, on train to Bristol, it's the same -

A crowded carriage, stopping all the way,

Because the train's delayed before it gets

To Acton - something about signal faults again -

Yet everybody seems to think it's normal

To be hemmed like rats, pretending we're alone

Back in the office, even though the phone

Is banned - thank God - within this Quiet Carriage.

No wonder even with the price of fuel

Many prefer their cars - it seems less cruel.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 23.12.23

 1065

You do not frighten me -

I used to think blank pages were a threat

But now I quite enjoy

The knowledge that mere words

Can be cajoled and scattered

Into shape

Like some illegal game of Scrabble

Where your rules don't apply

And I

Can set out what I choose

Checking the rules once they exist

Not worrying what they might be

Before I have begun.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 22.12.23

 1064

Outside the Wickford Diner

In the pre-Christmas fog

An accordionist

And my head is filled

Avec les Disque Bleu au Quai des Orfevres.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 21.12.23

 1063

Beauty in the eye of the beholder

I'm glad we are not beautiful -

Not that we are ugly

But I'm glad

That nobody takes a second glance

As we pass, hand in hand, towards the shops;

That nobody says beneath their breath

What does she see in him, or he in her?

Neither of us has to think too hard

About what we will wear when we go out

Or worry that we'll have to run

The critic's gauntlet

Just to get some cash from the machine.

How sad to know that you

Are only recognised for your good looks

And as they fade so will your fame,

Or what remains of it,

While we, the plain ones, gently slip the years

Unworried for ourselves - or by our peers.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 21.12.23

 1062

I read but cannot understand

Why this is poetry that counts

While what I write

Goes unnoticed,

Yet they're both just words

And mine at least make sense.

As long as music flows

The lines will all make sense

And cadences, which jangle or annoy

Will ease themselves like dischords

Just before their natural resolution,

And even if the body does not rhyme

The heart will strike the final chord on time.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 20.12.23

 1061

I've carried Mean Time

By Carol Ann Duffy

For three days now.

I wonder if I

Will find the time

To read it?

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 20.12.23

 1060

I'm still not used to the floppy feel

Half expecting all the bits

I store in the back -

The tickets, receipts, out of date flyers

And a copy of Wordsworth's

Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey -

To fall out and get lost

Each time I need to write;

So I slip the band while holding the pages

Shut, until I am convinced

No passing breeze or judder of a train

Will whisk away

My carefully filed

Detritus.

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 19.12.23

 1059

This Moleskine is soft covered.

Could that mean my poems

Might take a gentler tone

And rigid rhyme and meter

Give way to freer forms?

I'll need to wait

Six months or thereabouts

Before I know

If anything has changed.

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 15.12.23

 1058

Last poem from old Moleskin

The sky is clearing but mist clings

            In pockets there between the trees

            Greying banks across dull leas

From where a single blackbird sings.

You are not here and while I try

            To write some more amusing lines

            Your absence sours the coming rhymes

And all's reduced to melancholy.

This sunset should simply breed

            Romantic warmth before the night

            Returns to shatter all delight

And solitude aches out the need

For you

Brian Hick November 2011

©Sally Hick 14.12.23

 1057

This book is almost full of poems.

But now the last two sides

Stare at me.

Threatening their blankness

As if, even after all these

Neatly filled-up pages

There's still that risk

That awful fear

That nothing more will come;

Or worse

That whereas twenty pages back

A few lines made some sense

These last will dribble out

To fill the space

So that, flicked through,

They look like verse -

Although they might as well

Be spam, from

Silverhill's new Bodrum Kebab House.

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 13.12.23

 1056

A haiku about

Teenage abuse on the train?

They are not worth it.

Brian Hick November 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 12.12.23

 1055

11 11 11

Twenty five strangers, avoiding contact

Stand

Faces towards the war memorial

Waiting

Not quite sure when to begin.

The traffic rumbles across the park.

No gun here, no sudden maroon

To mark the silence.

A veteran to my left

Stands to attention.

His colleague, with walking stick,

Moves slowly forward till he stands, head bowed,

Before the tiny poppied cross.

We wait - as we have always waited.

No sign is given

But some people start to leave;

As they go, a gentle voice proclaims

Familiar words.

I stop, head bowed,

And I am glad.

Brian Hick 11.11.11

©copyright Sally Hick 11.12.23

 1054

Deckchairs

Along the seafront, chairs are packed away,

            Tied down under green tarpaulin sheets

            Or stacked in caverns, underneath our feet,

Awaiting the return of warmer days.

Is it just a story that, as it sank,

            The hands on the Titanic moved the chairs

            While the band played hymns, all quite aware

There was no hope for those of lower rank?

Would I have had the courage in their place

            To follow through wherever it might lead,

            Accepting death that others might not bleed

With quiet mind and unassuming grace?

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 8.12.23

 1053

A flap of pigeons

A buzz from electric wires;

A silent morning.

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 6.12.23

 1052

A storm of rooks mass over Hoad Hill Farm

            As rain clouds gather from the west;

            So we stride on, making the best

Of a winter walk, suppressing the odd qualm

At bullocks in a cluster by the thorn,

            Deepening puddles round damp gates,

            Thick mud which might make us late

For lunch, before the road back to Eastbourne.

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 5.12.23

 1051

The world is moving and I'm not prepared

For this constant change, where everything

Disintegrates; what was secure is pared

Beyond the bone and we can cling

To nothing save the fact that we ill die.

If we were happy, why not once again,

But what hope happines for your and I

When all around is misery and pain?

So that's it then, let's all give up and end,

Regardless of the things that we enjoy

And, when we've had a drink, maybe append

A moral for the rest - just to annoy.

'No matter that you're dying to move on;

You've only got one life - and phut, it's gone.'

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 4.12.23

 1050

          Westcliff - November

I stood and looked above at the night sky

          Hoping I'd see heaven's door

          Radiant as we did before

In Fenwick, when we marvelled, you and I

That there could be so many stars up there

          Jostling to be observed,

          Where constellations were absorbed

Within one great multitude of rare

Perfections; where each tiny point of light

          Masks a galaxy of power

          Pulsating in its autumnal bower

Across the milky way into the night.

But here, the lights along the river shroud

          All but the brightest few

          And the old moon's waning hue

Is hardly noticed lurking in the cloud.

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 1.12.23