1205

Anniversary haiku

Is there something for

Forty six years?  There should be;

We both deserve it.

Brian Hick 10.9.12

©copyright Sally Hick 30.7.24

 1204

We did not want to go to France

But, since we've returned

Everything seems different.

You probably know why

But I'm confused.

This quiet unforced content

Seems oddly strange.

Normally a holiday might last

A few days, if we're lucky,

Then the clouds return

Reducing every hour to work

And Love to something we recall

But can't enact today.

Slowly we realise

That everything could be

Like this

At peace

At one

Not just when we're away

But now

And all I have to do is to accept

That love has been there

Even when

I feared that it had gone

And I was wrecked;

For love, which came so many years ago

Has never left me, even when I thought

I was alone, and all I had was nought.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 25.7.24

 1203

It must be the end of the season,

At Kensington Spaghetti House

I eat my pizza from the inside out

Leaving the crusts

They all curve the same way.

Brian Hick  August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 23.7.24

 1202

The special of the

Day is beef ravioli

With a pink sauce. Why?

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 18.7.24

 1201

Hastings Station

'Fuck me,' she said, as

She waddled towards the stairs;

'I'm taking the lift.'

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 16.7.24

 1200

Why are we going to France?

This must be the end.

We've had enough

Of airport queues

To drive us round the bend!

Why are we going to France

When we can walk from home

Down to the beach

And back again

Without needing to roam.

Why are we going to France

When all we need is here?

The tide is out

The sun is up

Let's just sit by the pier.

Why are we going to France

When we can sit and think

On the terrace

Of this hotel

With Biddenden's to drink?

Why are we going to France

When the sea's so calm?

A two-year-old

Could jump the waves

Without coming to harm.

Why are we going to France

When, from across the bay,

The yachts and downs

Smile at us

Through the morning haze.

Why are we going to France

When we can always be,

Whatever the troubles

Dog the coast,

Beside this wine dark sea?

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 15.7.24

 1199

Have I been too busy or can it be

That for the last three days

Nothing has prompted me to write?

Sitting here, pen in hand,

It seems as though the need to write

Has faded while the pile of things to do

Jostles for attention

And my mind,

Which finds it easy to write on the train

Or in a hotel bar

Cramps in the face of lists and letters,

Of emails and request for answers now.

Is this a poem?

Well, it looks like one,

And will have to do until

Something better comes along.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 12.7.24

 1198

         Oscar at 4

       Can I have my

Froggie watering can?

 I won't water the cat.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 11.7.24

 1197

The Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway

In the August sun.

Look the guard's waving his flag,

Oh, won't this be fun!

An over-large American,

Concerned for her small hound,

Talks loudly all the way down to

New Romney, and the sound

Of her Primary Teacher's voice

Drowns out the hiss of seam;

And the lurking wine dark sea,

Which can just be seen

Between the houses on the coast

From Hythe to Dungerness,

Is ignored, in favour of

Her pooch's panting breath.

The train speeds up, the kids look out

To wave at all who stand

As we flash by, at walking speed,

Along to Romney Sands

Then through the tunnel to arrive

At our destination

For souvenirs and lunch perhaps

Brought at New Romney Station.

Behold the men who stand around

Admiring the Engineer

Who tinkers with the wheels and valves

Oiling here and there

While the mums sort out the kids,

Those bouncing for the loo

From those demanding an ice cream

Or something else to do -

'Cos if you're twelve, you're far above

All these childish things,

A family outing on the train's

Like - just - embarrassing.

But now it's time to take the train

Back along the line

Squashed with other visitors

All having a great time.

The whistle blows, we're nearly there,

Steaming to the station.

Bye ye' all. I hope you have

A really great vacation!

We wander back towards the car,

Left parked in the sun,

Wishing it were yesterday, for

The holidays are now done,

And even if the memory

Of days like this may last

All too soon they will become

Just smoke, circling the past.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 10.7.24

 1196

I've painted the shed and once again it seems

Like wood, rather than the grey expanse

Of dying timber, rotting on its beams.

I've painted the shed.

I had to wait until a sudden lance

Of sunlight held the field and hidden dreams

Basked in its warmth, as if the sullen trance

Of winter had been broken and soft streams,

Self motivated, brought the summer's dance

To saturation while the damp wood steams.

I've painted the shed.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 9.7.24

 1194

Cramp in both my calves

Is surely unusual?

One at a time - please?

1195

Mini-cheddars and

Carlsburg on the London train;

Some simple pleasures.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick July 2024

 1193

The sun is setting

Clouds hang pink and grey.

All is till;

But for the gulls.

It seems nobody told them about times & seasons,

Their hack and cackle does not rest at night,

It does not modify across the day,

And here, within our perfect English garden,

I hear

Finger nails tear down a dark chalk board,

The shriek of an arthritic hinge,

A rabbit eviscerated by a fox

Yet

Each would be more welcome

For at least,

One off,

They would cease in time,

But gulls...

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 2024

 1192

            Nessun Dorma

Our neighbour

            With the big blue van

Wakes us up

            When'er he can,

Slamming doors

            Long before five

Just to check

            We're still alive;

Then his dog

            Barks from the door

As he loads

            The van, before

Starting the engine

            With a roar

And shouting to his wife,

            To ensure

That all of us

            Are now awake,

Before at last

            His leave he takes,

So that, before

            It starts to rain,

Everything

            Is quiet again!

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 4.7.24

 1191

            The test

The Albert Hall is full of families

For a National Youth Choir Prom,

The noise and flashing cameras

Exceeded only by the Last Night.

A sixth month boy grizzles

In the row before me

Bouncing on his mother's lap

While she holds up the camcorder.

Now I realise there are two babies

Who take it in turns to be taken out

While the music rolls on,

Carefully choosing to cry their loudest

Just as the music is most hushed.

Will the music survive?

I follow the text as Flame begins

But am aware

Most of the parents have no programmes

Preferring to chat through the adult sections

Focussing only when their child sings.

Back home I listen on the radio.

This time the soprano is close to my ear

And the babies just a distant squeal.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 3.7.24

 1190

To the Master of Vectis

I'll set Medusa where you lay to dine

To ward off any evil that may chance,

With gifts from Ceres, Attis and the winds

Above a band of sea folk to entrance.

I will set Orpheus to guard your door,

Surrounded by the animals you love,

The monkey that you found in Appledoor,

Your rabbit and Britannia's turtle dove.

I'll give you gladiators in a fight

Gullus in his costume for the play

And Bacchus to carouse into the night

Thanksgiving for the wine and for the hay.

All this with scrolls like vines to link the stories

With frescoes to refelct their marbled glories.

My great-grandfather set up these mosiacs

And we've the tablets that he left behind

With instructions...

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 2.7.24

 1190

To the Master Builder

We'd like the floors to show what we believe,

Not arrogantly, but so that our friends

Will know as they are welcomed and received

That kindness and acceptance to the end

Are at the heart of all that keeps us true,

Whether in the fields of ripening corn,

The cattle on the hills, or ale we brew

As our forefathers have done since that dawn

When they first settled Vectis and these hills

Were gradually shaped by Ceres' hand

Into the pastures and the wooded rills

Which succour all who venerate this land.

            Is this too much to ask or can you find

            Designs which will entrance a working mind?

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 1.7.24