1444
The Red Falcon is
Leaving for the Isle of Wight;
Would I were on board.
Here they only speak
Italian; how do I
Ask for a decaf?
France 1961
In Avignon the
Waiter joked I was always
Writing; I still am.
26 3 15
Re-internment of Richard III
Today of all days
I need a white rose to show
I am for Richard.
Brian Hick March 2015
©copyright Sally Hick 28.3.26
916
Late March - mid week
The tables empty and the afternoon drifts on.
It's not yet summer warmth buth the clear sky
And unexpected brightness of the sun
Lull me into thoughts of mid July.
Scattered tourists squat upon the beach
Or stroll in clusters by the burnt out pier,
While last year's language students teach
Newcomers how to drink our English beer.
Saga parties fill the Whiterock bar
Preferrint it to walking on the prom
Where they have heard of feral youths who scar
The seafront, picking fights and doing wrong.
As for me, I'll sit here with a pint
Of Harvey's as it drifts towards twilight.
Brian Hick Late March 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 29.3.23
904
March
The sky is bright and clear, but in the street
Thick frost clings to windscreens and headlights,
Yet bushes glisten as the early sun
Melts away the frosting of the night
Turning a Winter memory into Spring
In one unnoticed moment as I stride
Towards the station, unaware of ice
Which lurks in shadows on platform or track-side.
A watercolour haze of wet on wet
Drifts the tree line as far as I can see
Merging the familiar into one
Free flowing canvas, as if it had begun
To recreate a world of ease for me
Back to a time before we ever met.
Brian Hick March 2011 with a note written at the side of a printed copy for me to read through as usual. I like this because for once it's not my voice and the 'you' is definately not you in the final line!! X
©copyright Sally Hick 1.3.23
