1371

Cider with Rosie?

Was there a moment in my past

A tipping point when I slipped from one life

To another?

A day with Cousin Claude

Stands out,

But what else, in all those teenage years

Still glows?

If anything?

I hit a blank, and for all the days

Of school and friendship

A blandness of normality extends

Unnoticed, unrecalled.

Stuff happened but my future seemed to stick

At fourteen

And I remained that age until my forties -

Still do in times of stress - 

For even now close to my seventies

The fears and subtle put-downs of my teens

Return to trouble even waking dreams.

Brian Hick August 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 20.825

 1152

                          ON becoming 67

Sixty-seven - well, it's better than being dead -

But there are times, when everything is aching

And I'd like that extra glass, but dread

The thought of lonely hours when I lie waking

Torn between the gentle warmth of bed

And the Gaviscon which I have left downstairs.

If only I could eat like I once did

And drink into the night without a care,

Watch the late-night film knowing for sure

I'd stay awake until it reached its peak,

Instead of drifting off in this old chair

To back to back repeats of Mock the Week.

Thank goodness, I have friends who all ignore

My grumpy side, which can be such a bore!

Brian Hick April 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 19.4.24

 1019

Forty five years! Can it be that long

Since we moved into Camden Town?

What happened to those days we don't recall,

Amidst the glories of the ups and downs

Which jump into our minds, but seem to miss

So much that has happened in between?

The children grew up; but am I remiss

In thinking that - for all the gaps - we seem

To be the same? You haven't changed at all

And if my hair is thinner, should I fuss?

Is it really so strange if the pall

Of age falls on the others, not on us?

            Let's go on forever, until the day

            The trumpet sounds - for then we can't say nay.

Brian Hick 10.9.11 Our wedding anniversary

©copyright Sally Hick 19.10.23

 1018

A Chinese student

Helped me on the underground;

I am getting old.

Brian Hick September 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 18.10.23

 1017

So that's it then, they're all off back to school

And we can settle down to quieter days

Where the slight chill is not enough to fool

Us into thinking that autumn's gentle ways

Will all too soon give way to winter nights.

Returning to Southend, the Saga tours

Are in full flood and wind-blown fairy lights

Along the Winter Gardens promise cures

For summer doldrums and the ills that come

Too quickly with the passing of the years.

But even here the rain drowns out the sun

Cutting off an evening without tears.

            How swift the span from school to Saga coach

            Even if we're deaf to death's approach.

Brian Hick September 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 17.10.23

 1008

I have to write, that much I must believe;

Too old to start again, too late to change

My ways, to put aside the things that grieve.

I have to write.

There was a time I hoped I could arrange

My life and plan the things I would achieve

But time runs out and stultifies the range

Of opportunities, while hopes deceive

The body's gradual decay, as age

Takes over and the mind cannot conceive.

I have to write.

Brian Hick autumn 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 7.10.23

 918

Long Walks

It seems we're getting older as the walks

We're planning shorten as the years go by;

The South Downs Way of ninety-three out stripped

All subsequent endeavours by some miles:

But all have had their moments and some days

Enchanted us despite the shortened length.

Perhaps we're now concerned with quality,

With panoramas rather than the strength

Of thighs or ability to out-pace

The others? Many friends no longer can

Come with us, in the wake of bodies which

Are giving out.  How sad; the mind of man

          Longs to stride forward past the point

          Where brain decamps and knees are out of joint.

Brian Hick April 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 3.4.23

 878

The Star  (local pub)

Why is my appetite so small

And portions always large?

Can it be that growing old

My stomach's now in charge?

Refusing cheeses late at night

Or red wine in the day;

Now Gavescon is my delight

To keep nightmares away.

Brian Hick December 2010

©copyright Sally Hick 16.12.22

 Breakfast

'Would you like tea of coffee?'

'Yes. Two boiled eggs,' you replied.

Another senior moment

Or just that you relied

On what she normally asks us

Here at the Falcon Hotel

As we slip into the familiar

Pattern of breakfast.  Ah well,

At least we both started laughing

Aware from the moment you spoke

That what you had said without hearing

Was worth a repeat as a joke

When the family gathers together

And stories are being retold

Of the funny things that happen

To all of us as we grow old,

Thankful we can laugh together

Knowing, for now, we can share

A joke at each other's confusion -

Before we're too senile to care!

Brian Hick 11.1109 Stratford-on-Avon

©copyright Sally Hick 2.11.22

 Autumn - and the trees are drying up.

They may seem golden and impress our eyes

But inside the sap is thinning out

And every leaf shrinks back until it dies,

Drops off and rots beneath our feet.

Each tree protects itself so that next spring

Its resurrection simply goes to show

That natural continuity will bring

Again fruit to the earth and life will run

As if nothing can halt its endless flow.

But I, meanwhile, stagnate and as I lose

My hair, my teeth, my hearing and grow

          Each day a little less than I once was

          No spring can renew what I have lost.

Brian Hick October 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 24.10.22

 Thoughts of Home While Abroad

The wine is good, the food is better

              We sit out in the Square

              Privileged and civilised

With more than we could dare

Have dreamed of fifty years ago

              When holidaying here

              We scratched together our small change

For sandwiches and beer.

So why, when everything we have

              Enables us to roam

              Do we sit here disconsolate

And want to be back home?

Brian Hick

©copyright 2021 S Hick

No matter how

Good the music

More than thirty

Minutes on this 

Pew and I lose

The will to live.

Brian Hick

Leaving Toulouse

And so we're sitting here for the last time.

Two years' ago we sat on this same seat;

You drew the fountain while I tried to meet

Your skill and deftness in my bumbling rhyme.

If we were to die as we fly home

Then everything today would be a 'last'

And while I warm to melancholic thoughts

 Approaching death is more than just a vast

plunge into the void, for I must face

The hourly thought that time is running out

And actions planned are probable no more

With mind grown feebler and the bodies rout.

Goudouli ponders, but pigeons do not care;

They drink, fly off and melt into the air.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright 2021 S Hick