1213

                         Timon of Athens

Back to the old, old problem - this blank page

With little swilling round worth putting down;

Nothing to provoke my bile or rage

Against a world grown comfortable and calm.

So here I sit for Timon at the National;

A pensioners' matinee, so all around

Have come to pass their time with something rational,

Uplifting, intellectual and profound.

            But from the stage, acid edged invective

            Cuts to the nerve and burns off the veneer

            Of niceness, while our bland and ineffective

            Polititians preen themselves and cheer.

           All hope for our future surely dies

            When life is nought but hypocrisy and lies.

1213a

So, life is shit, and

All  that we can do with it

Is smash and destroy.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 27.8.24

 1212

If heaven exists for all, and can't be earned,

But something recognisable lives on,

What will be left behind for those who yearned

For earthly recognition when they were gone;

I've been with many people in my time

Who knew for sure that all they had achieved

Would linger in men's praise even as they climb

Towards their crowning in the Elysian Fields;

But dare I note their names now scarcely heard,

Their books unread, their saying never quoted,

And all their dreams, abandoned and absurd,

Lie forgotten by the crowds who doted.

            If heaven exists, does it need a place

            Where the forgotten famous can embrace?

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 22.8.24

 1211

Room 220

As we sat on the

Bed, reading, a man walked in;

We were all surprised.

Why is La Strada

So much better than other

Italian restaurants?

Brian Hick September 2012  during an overnight trip to Stratford on Avon.  The man was part of a group that had moved on without him.

©copyright Sally Hick 20.8.24

 1210

Urban Fox

You are up too early for me

            But you have been here

Your small deposit left behind

            Next to the gate is clear

As instantaneous calling card

            Insisting that I know

That you are still about the place

            Though reluctant to show

Yourself now that dog walkers

            Are out to take the air.

So when you've fed and scratched yourself

            You simply disappear.

And I am left with just this pile

            Drying in the sun

Until the night, when you'll return

            To do another one.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick15.8.24

 1209

A thousand years ago this twilit scene

Would have stood devoid of points of light

Strung out on the distant coastal path

Until they disappeared far out of sight

And pools left by the tide would sit bereft

Of lighters or Thames barges, waiting for

The sea pulse to return, to float them back

Into the swell they gently road before.

But now the Cliffs Pavilion flashes out

Its neon signs and windows blaze towards

The southern shore, where headlights in the mist

Cut up the deepening night to leave it raw.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 13.8.24

1208

The sunset from Westcliff is worrying

A burning roar above suburban homes.

I wait until it starts to fall away

Gentling to orange

 As  it melts within the dove grey clouds

Dissolved behind the street lights.

The incoming sea softens up the shoreline

And the trees, dark shadowed now,

Offset the evening tide.

Are You here somewhere

Within these shifts where nothing rests,

Nothing stays the same?

Where everything is gone before the heart

Can respond with pleasure or pain?

The sun is gone but I wait in hope

That You are there regardless of the dark.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 9.8.24

 1207

Return to Westcliff

So here I am again.

I thought last January,

In the wet,

Was the last time I'd sit

In this bar

Looking at the mud across the estuary,

The lights on the southern shore.

In these eight months

Little has changed.

It could be yesterday.

The Danish girl on reception

Knew me without asking

And joked I could have phoned

To get a cheaper rate.

The lounge is empty

And I'm sitting by the unlit fire

A pint of cider

The notes for a service

In two weeks' time;

Relaxed in the comfort

Of the known.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 6.8.24

As an education consultant, Brian often worked away from home. even after 'retirement'.

 1206

A single line of

Neon pink, silent, marks the

Passing of the day.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 1.8.24