1457

They are asked to write

A paragraph on Wold Tone;

Memories flood back.

Brian Hick May 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 30.4.26

 1456

Unlike Jean Valjean I'm not so sure

And seventy years on things have not come clearer.

Looking back, I hope to see a path

Which has led on, inevitably nearer

To eternal truths, real insight and a sense

Of contentment, while doubts become far rarer.

But actually my mind is as confused

As it was at fourteen when I thought

That teenage years would pass and adulthood

Would bring the wisdom which was caught

Simply by getting older; yet today

I ponder why my life still seems so fraught.

I don't know who I am, but at least

I know who you are - and that brings me peace.

Brian Hick May 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 28.4.26

 1455

I am the song you heard before creation

I am the song that calls across the void

I am the song enfolding each sensation

I am the song the angels first enjoyed

I am the song that wakes you in the dawn

I am the song that eases you at night

I am the song that guides you through the shadows

I am the song that leads you to the light

I am the song that died away to silence

I am the song that darkness could not hide

I am the song that sang again at sunrise

I am the song that could not be denied

I am the song, sing out the joy of living

I am the song, sing out to show we care

I am the song, sing out the new creation

I am the song, sing out the love we share

Tune; Tell out my soul

Brian Hick May 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 24.4.26

 1454

Firle 2 5 15

Rain clouds drift across the beacon's head

Greying the damp spring fields, softening skies

As if muslin veils enshroud the Downs

Keeping them snug within a gentle void.

The dipoles and the ridge path where we walk

Have disappeared and even closer to

Swallows swoop then vanish from my sight,

Sheep rest, blurred against the misted hedge.

The train is quiet, a distant mobile call

Alone breaking the rhythm of the wheels.

Empty stations pass unnoticed till

The downs are gone and placid to the south

The sea yawns as the evening closes in.

Brian Hick 2.5.15

©copyright Sally Hick 21.4.26

 1453

What do they do with

All the photographs they take

On their mobile phones?

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 17.4.26

 1452

Wittgenstein sat on these steps

From forty-eight to forty-nine.

It was quiet, warm, befuddling;

Like his Tractatus on my mind.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 15.4.26

 1451

On a roundabout near Galway

There's a dump for fairground rides,

A Ferris-wheel shorn of its seats,

A switch back thrown up by the tides.

But where are the crowds who squealed and shouted?

Where the candy floss and beer?

Where the children and the lovers

Clasping hands to share their fear?

Every happy moment passes

Every memory will fade

Every touch of human kindness

Will dissolve into the grave;

So why care if these abandoned

Rides are left to rot away;

Why concern ourselves with pleasures

Long since gone and had their day?

Do these rides so soon abandoned

Call to mind our fleeting lives,

The tiny sparks of love and gladness

Shining when nought else survives,

When even memory can't temper

Emptiness with thouhts of love

And life evolves in aimless circles,

Endless, as the skies above.

The Ferris wheel waits for the breakers

The Waltzers rust into the earth

Everything returns to dust

Until the moment of re-birth.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 13.4.26

 1450

Passer meae puellae

I picked it up and hardly felt its weight,

A chaffinch, lying just outside the door.

Unmarked, its summer plumage bright and clean

Belied the dull eye and the open claw.

How long had it been flying from the South,

How many days against a wind-swept sea

Before, exhausted, it had chanced to fall,

Epiring, on the path in front of me?

Though sheltered by our garden, where the birds

From Gillsman's Wood have fresh seed every day,

There was no time to rebuild vital strength

And so his gentle spirit slipped away.

Yet his short life, like every other soul,

Was precious to the love which makes us whole.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 11.4.26

 1449

You point the way; so why do I feel blind

Confused before the grief that fills my life

As if my daily pain, the creeping haze

Or soft yet meaningless confusion, rife

With thoughts divorced from feelings or concern

Which might at some point, though they seem uncouth,

Console the spidery threads that circle round

The edges of what could just be the truth?

Despair's a sin, ending it all a crime

Against your love if not against the law

But sucked into this mire of apathy

How can I raise my eyes to with for more?

Why should I continue with this fight?

End it now; snuff out this little light.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 9.4.26

 1448

Donna, che in ciel

Mary you who shine down from the heavens

Making the world itself a better place

Today we celebrate that glorious time

You saved us from turmoil and disgrace

Recalling how you stood before your Son

Who was prepared to strike us from above

Assuaging God the Father's angry brow

Turning it to gentleness and love

Showing to the world a mother's care

To overcome our torment and despair

All mankind shook with fear at the attack

But just one glance turned all God's fury back.

The earth is now at rest, the solid rock

Lies quiet in repose at what you've gained;

The sun cuts through clouds, the rainbow's hue

Delights to celebrate your glorious reign,

Men see their payers are answered and proclaim

'See, the sky is calm, the air is clear'

While you, who see your works from up on high,

Accept our prayers for we know you hear.

Your are the star, the radiant Queen of Heaven

To whom all thanks and praises now are given.

Then triumphant mother, you whose power

Shatters the bonds of evil and can save,

Whth hope of life eternal for believers,

Hope for joy that goes beyond the grave,

Mary, bring salvation to us all,

Quench the fire of wrath within the sea,

Give us peace and joy while we're below

And endless life with you eternally.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 6.4.26

 1447

Death of a salesman;

Wonderfully acted but

Oh so depressing.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 4.4.26

 1446

      My first

    Asparagus

    This year.

    First fruits

Of summer joys

      To come.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 1.4.26