1107

31 Jan (2012)

Grey, cold, depressing,

Every endless winter day;

And now comes the snow.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 30.1.24

 1101

The earth is waiting silent as the sun

Which slinks across the greying winter skies

Content that the warmer days will come.

The earth is waiting.

Trees and bushes, dead to the casual eye,

Are urging early snowdrops to arise,

As far away they hear the muted sigh

Of Spring returning from the depth, to prise

A resurrection from the fields which lie

Expectant, knowing nothing really dies.

The earth is waiting.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 22.1.24

 1100

17th January

Late frost trims the uncut winter lawns.

Against the blackened branches up above

The cherry blossom spreads its pale-pink buds.

The Rose Garden seems dead

But every woody stem is touched with green.

At low tide, two dogs race the sands,

Blurred shadows in the mirrored midday sun.

A couple sit for coffee on the White Rock terrace

Wrapped up but relaxed.

A flock of gulls swoops, turns and melts away

Beyond the pier.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 19.1.24

 1097

I'm on the train coming back from Birmingham

Surrounded by the clack of laptops

In the quiet coach

Indifferent hedgerows scutter past the window

Beneath a lifeless January sky

The coffee fails to come

I've read the Metro

Checked the verse I am to read

As entertainment for the Christmas  lunch

And can't be bothered with my current book.

Boredom, ennui or simply laziness?

I'm on the train.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 17.1.24

 1089

My local Co-op

Open on New Year's day is

Full of Easter Eggs.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 9.1.24

 1083

The Dark

Mid-winter's day and Christmas have both passed;

Dull January's darkness marks each hour;

Our Solstice fire is cold, the punch won't last

Beyond this evening, and the wine's turned sour.

Outside the furry golfers are at work

Chipping frozen divots in search of meat

While starlings hang around the hedge or lurk

In hope of scraps which we're not moved to eat.

And here, where all could feel a Christmas joy,

A Yuletide promise shared with all the earth,

The festive lights do little but annoy

Those who would ignore a certain birth.

The darkness of the season may depress

But why so little risk of happiness?

Why so little risk of happiness

When money has brought more than most desire?

Surely our lives must have more finesse

Than simple greed; and do they not require

A sense that to be human is to strive

To go beyond the mundane and the course.

To raise our understanding while alive

Rather than trust in superstitious dross

And myths that put the emphasis on death

Rather than living this life to the full

With love and mercy shown in every breath

We utter regardless of self-centred will?

When I risk speaking with you face to face

A spark of promise lights for the human race.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 6.1.24

881

January

Individual leaves hang like dead men

So many corpses from an autumn cull

Their weight, lightly suspended from the boughs

Await the final drop into the pool

          Of mud and mucus, melted where it lies.

Across grey swathes of marshland, morning mists

Ooze and bite the tired commuters' ears

Drifting back to work after a week

Of too much drink, no exercise and fears -

          In spite of all the crackers and mince pies -

That weeks now wait inert before the sky

Will welcome them with light as they leave home

And early morning warmth will creep down roads

Now damp, silent and endless before dawn

          Awaiting their salvation from the skies.

Brian Hick January 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 2.1.23 

 The Tree is stripped, the decorations gone

Christmas is over for another year

And life can settle down without the fear

Of heartburn or hangover.  Now upon

The mantlepiece the bills replace the cards

And overdraughts are balanced as the weeks

Of winter drizzle trickle on in aches

More psychological than real. Towards

The end of January Burn's night holds

A glimpse of hope in the surrounding gloom

And plans for Valentine's, which all too soon

Will fill our shops, help to offset our colds.

            How strange that after all the preparation

            Christmas warrants such scant observation.

Brian Hick 8.1.09

©copyright Sally Hick Jan 2022