Jack in the Green

Each May I take a leaf and keep it safe

Until we re-awake the Solstice fire

When, with the charcoal from the previous year,

We burn them all to fulfil our desire

That, at the season's turn, we celebrate

Life that continues despite the pit falls

And stumbling blocks that hinder and annoy,

Accepting them as part of Life in all

Its glory, and the underlying joy

Which cuts through all the frets along the way

Surges up again, to fill us now

As we green-up and willingly obey

          The call to witness in the castle ground

          That Jack is dead, and summer will abound.

Brian Hick May 2009

☺copyright Sally Hick May 2022

May 2

A mottled sky; the sun, not yet awake,

Lies tucked behind the houses on the ridge

While mist hangs like a smoker's guilt, to bridge

The silent moments left until daybreak.

Dulled in the shaddow, we stand mute and alone,

Sliding from the bedroom to the desk

By way of instant coffee, and a mess

Of papers, laptops and a mobile phone.

Outside the carriage window, nothing's clear,

The occasional sun, a greying distant disc,

Vanishes for shame into the mist

Pleading to be anywhere but here.

          Far off, beyond the sleepers and the sea

          I hear Herne's call, and yearn to be set free. 

Brian Hick May 2008

©copyright Sally Hick May 2022

May Day

He overslept, and so missed out on all

The early morning rites up on West Hill

To dance-in May Day morn and sense the thrill

As sunrise answeres Herne the Hunter's call.

But later on our strolling sonneteer

Found tulip beds demanding to be viewed,

Their garish clashes of acrylic hues

(No pastille shades of water colour here)

Rang out across the un-mown grass in shoals

Of pink and lilac, orange-maid and red

Vying to be the brightest in each bed.

To print themselves upon a poet's soul.

          Daffodils may have tripped up Wordsworth's mind

          But Hasting's Tulips are not far behind! 

Brian Hick May 2008

©copyright Sally Hick 9.5.22