1289

There are only two

Things that make life worth living;

You - and Shakespeare!

Brian Hick June 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 2.7.25

 1168

Shakespeare country

       The doggie

          On the

  Tourist bus seemed

     More interested

     Than his owner.

Brian Hick May 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 2024

 1127

Tobacco Factory

I was their age when I first saw Lear;

But will they recall Shrapnell's King

As I do Schofield's, with that ring

Of darkness, that still makes my soul fear?

Brian Hick February 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 28.2.24

 1104

Nothing comes of nothing, speak again,

Said Lear, but of course he had not read

The latest theories circling my brain.

Nothing comes of nothing?

Well, it seems that that idea is dead,

Assuming the Higgs Boson can attain

Respectability, and assumptions wed

Themselves to prove that nothingness can gain

Corporeal presence; no matter that my head

Can't cope and needs an aspirin for the pain.

Nothing comes of nothing.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 25.1.24

 948

On the RSC's Merchant of Venice

What endures after the applause?

Despite the carnage and brutality

A simple flame of hope hints at accords,

Renewals and the possibility

That Love will find a way out of the hell

Of human desolation which is Lear.

But all the wealth of Belmont cannot quell

The appetite for profit and the sneer

Of anti-Semitism - even though

Shylock is as culpable as all

The champagne Christians who won't dare to show

Unselfishness though it prevent their fall.

          While suffering can serve to raise our sight

          Greed's mirror only cuts us from the light.

Brian Hick May 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 16.6.23

 882

On hearing your sonnets at Stratford, 7 January

It really isn't fair that after years

Of writing sonnets - some of them not bad -

I feel as though I might as well give up.

Faced with what you wrote, I must be mad

To hope that anything I might put down

Could hold a candle to your lightest line

And what I think profound will simply be

Iambic doggerel, nowhere near sublime.

And yet, and yet my heart is made like yours

As liable to vagaries of mood

Or temper, while my mind is as aware

Of failure and stupidity as of good.

          So when I read your sonnets, why am I

          Struck dumb, feeling I dare not even try?

Brian Hick January 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 4.1.23