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27 OCT 13

So this is '87 once again

But this time we've been told for days on end

Prepare yourselves for howling wind and rain

Fearsome gusting storms that thrash and wend

From Cornwall to the Wash before they pause;

Then we can surface to survey the mess,

The missing roofs, the fallen trees, the cars

Shattered; though the mobile homes' distress

Seems gentler, as it floats out on the flood

Across the water meadows, where last week

Two stalwart pensioners played bowls and could

Commend themselves for finding somewhere safe.

            Overnight their game is flushed away,

            Nobody cares, nobody wants to play.

Brian Hick October 13

©copyright Sally Hick 22.11.24

 1035

The hanging gardens at the Barbican

Bluster in the October wind

Lifeless as its force rescinds

The burgeoning that early Spring began.

Geraniums shrink into their pots

High above the flustered lake

Where thrashing fountains try to make

The tourists feel contented with their lot;

But it's too late, darkness has come again

And I must rise and go to sleep

Without the sunlight which could keep

My world from sinking back into its pain.

Brian Hick October 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 10.11.23

October

All facing the same way, a florid rush

Of starlings settles down atop the beech

'til at a silent signal they explode

In twittering clouds of swirling abstract shapes.

By the front steps caterpillars swarm

Over the ornamental cabbages;

Rhododendrons bloom on railway cuttings

And small oaks hold their leaves in mottled green.

The evening sun cuts through the trees to light

A stand of birches, silvering the copse;

Two pheasants poke their heads above the ferns,

A chestnut mare stands cropping in the field.

           Tomorrow, frost may tear all this away,

           But its unexpected splendour marks today.

Brian Hick October 2008

© copyright 2021 S Hick

Anticipation of the Toulouse Organ Festival where Brian was invited as music critic.

Thirteenth of October and the sun

Tries to pretend that it's still summer

But the trees know

It's nearly Holloween

And leaves trace their way

Towards the bonfires and the smoke.

Two pigeons sit upon the bathroom roof

Waiting for the bird-seed to appear

Warding off a magpie

Who tries to muscle in

And steal it all.

Our fox sneaks to the back door

For the bits and pieces we put out

Each night

Covered by the dark

And unclipped hedge.

Behind the window I could fool

Myself that all is warm and bright

But in the garden's leaf strewn rout

I breathe the coming autumn night.

Four o'clock? What time of day is that?

And why are we up long before the birds

Have even scratched themselves or next door's cat

Has slunk back home to eat - oh, it's absurd.

Of course we've got to fly off to Toulouse.

While easyjet still goes there twice a day

We have to get up early or we lose

A morning's shopping before we make our way

To the first concert at the Augustins

-a contest between Sweelinck and John Bull -

And only then d we seem to begin

To feel awake and ready for the pull

            Of lunch in Place St Georges and - joy at last -

            The glory of a simple French repas.

Brian Hick

©copyright 2021 S Hick