1233

Christmas Day

It's eight o'clock

And Santa left the toys while George and Henry slept,

Although they swore they'd stay awake to see him.

Being boys who think that he is real,

But need more Proof

To bolster up the simple joys of ripping open presents.

And the poor?

Across a fragile world the day arrives,

The same as any other,

Without hope of food or sanitation,

Where the flies stand more chance of survival,

And the children grope through what has been discarded from our lives

To find the fragments that might mean you cope.

Thank you that George and Henry will not need

To sieve through rubbish so that they can feed;

But what of me, who sees the fractured earth

And yearns to give creation its true worth?

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 30.12.24

1330

A shepherd's nativity experience.

You know me;

When I'm working nights

I don't touch a drop,

Not a drop.

So when I tell you I saw him

Clear as I can see you

You know I'm not having a laugh.

We were up by the beacon,

Close to midnight,

And everything was calm.

The others had wrapped themselves up

In their cloaks and drifted off.

I'm no star gazer but it was very bright

And that comet that's been here since September

Seemed brighter than ever.

Then it happened;

Not sure what

But out of nowhere

There was this

Angel.

No, don't laugh,

You weren't there

So you didn't see it;

But I did.

You know me;

I've travelled a lot,

Met all sorts;

There's not a type

That I've not seen;

But this was different.

This was...

Well, that's the point.

I don't know what it was;

But I know it wasn't

Normal.

Then I heard a voice

Told me not to worry

Told me to go back home-

The sheep would be okay-

And look for a baby

Who would be

The answer to everything.

Yes, everything.

So I did.

Of course you think I dreamt it

But I woke up the others and told them

And the light just go brighter and brighter

Like low winter sun blazing through the trees.

Dazzling.

And when I got back home

There was this girl,

Unmarried, thrown out of her home,

With a baby, scarce a day old.

But she didn't seem worried.

I thought she was simple

Yet she spoke as if she knew.

She just said

All will be well

And that we were not to worry.

So I didn't

And I don't.

And things are different.

I can't say how

But I just know they are.

Well, you know me;

I was always the pessimist

But somehow, something, has changed.

Brian Hick Christmas 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 20.12.24

 1232

A sparrow on the rooftop Psalm 102 v 7

I'd rather be a sparrow in a tree

            Knowing that yo know that I am here

            Than any smartly suited millionaire

Who assumes that money makes him free.

Does he delight in mornings such as this?

            Does he see the sunlight through the haze?

            Does he sense bright heaven's song of praise

Or a father's thrill at his child's kiss?

I heard you say that though I looked so small

            I mattered to you and my tiny life

            Was sacred, worthy of the time and strife

You'd put in to ensure I did not fall,

And, if you did that, why should I fear

            Singing out to wake up this sad world

            To the glories he has here unfurled

For everyone, who has ears to hear.

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright  Sally Hick 18.12.24

 1231

Christmas at Pissarro's for the Church Next Door

Sixteen hungry people wait while the wine is poured.

Everything's been ordered so that we can start -

As soon as we are seated - to satisfy each part.

Who has ordered mushrooms? How many for the trout?

Luckily we have a list so no one is in doubt

And by the time we've finished, with coffee or mint tea,

We've just time to put our feet up before we need to be

Seated in St Matthew's where, led by the Big Choir,

The annual carol service will warm us and inspire

Thoughts of peace and harmony, of friendships new begun

Till we all join with Tiny Tim, God Bless us, Everyone!

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 16.12.24

 1230

Merry Christmas? Maybe Scrooge was right

For by the time it comes, we've had enough

Of ho-ho-ho, mince pies and fairy lights.

Merry Christmas?

I wouldn't mind so much if all the guff

Were concentrated after bonfire night

But well before half-term the shops are stuffed

With all the rubbish they can't sell, and might

Be just the thing for auntie, though that's tough

When what she really wants is a new diet!

Merry Christmas?

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 13.12.24

 1229

Solstice

Winter bleeds the colour from the fields

And autumn's warmth is lost beneath the roots

Of trees that shiver as bare branches yield

Their starkness to the lingering frost, which shoots

Ice-laden needles over frozen ground

Penetrating deep to the Earth's soul

Which waits, in expectation of the sound

Of Herne the Hunter's distant midnight call

To wake, refuse the torpor of the night,

Sense beneath the mud and broken furrow

The seedling and the rootlet as they fight

Towards the lengthening sun which comes tomorrow.

            Our Solstice fire will rage against the dark

            To bring new life from one eternal spark.

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 12.12.24

 1328

Write a roundel just to prove your worth,

Given it's been seven days since last

You scribbled anything that looks like verse.

Write a roundel.

There; you've made a start, the dye is cast,

And words are trickling out as if the birth

Of any poem were as slick and fast

As calling for a burger or bratwurst

To ease your appetite, knowing it won't last

Beyond the eating - but that's the poets curse.

Write a roundel?

Brian Hick December 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 9.12.24

 1228

Snow on the Weald;

All trains late or cancelled.

Some things never change.

Snow on the Weald - so all trans

Are up the wall - at least until it rains.

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 6.12.24

 1227

So busy, that the hours slip away

As if my work alone makes life worthwhile

And thoughts of you can be ignored until

The work is done.

So busy, that I could feel quite content

Filling every moment of the day

In service and good works as if that might

Just be enough.

So busy, that I hardly think of you;

The office passes, words upon my lips,

The pages turn, as if it will suffice

To have read through.

While you, who caused whatever is to be -

From distant star to barnacles that sit

Gently flushing in the evening tide -

Are waiting, still.

As if all you had to do eternally

Was listen for that moment when I say

I've reached the end and there is nothing more

That I can do.

But turn, at last, hoping you will be there -

Forgetting that, while I might drift away

You never moved -  to sort out the chaos

In my life.

And silently, before the words are said

You've smoothed the edges, planed away the points,

Set back the joints and stood me on my feet,

Complete again.

When will I Iearn to see the maker's mark

Rather than emoting like a child

Raging in the playground, where no harm

Can ever come

Save for the self inflicted bruises and the

Pain of needless separation, from

The One whose love will always keep me true

While life endures.

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 4.12.24

 1226

Ad-vent

First Noel this year and Hark the Herald

But it's just an Advent Concert, not the blare

Of speakers down the supermarket aisles

Or buskers with faded tinsel in their hair.

If this were Christmas Eve I might not mind

But there's four weeks to go before the day

And hours and hours of adverts on the tele

All special offers and no need to pay

Until the new year, when the bills arrive,

The laptops on the blink and the wind blows

Through every chink to chill you to the bone,

Reminding you of all your ails and woes.

            And just as things calm down, you realise

            You've only six months till the next mince pies!

Brian Hick Advent 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 2.12.24