1478
Children's voices playing in the tide,
Cut the endless pulsing of the waves.
A solitary gull rests on the air.
Grey clouds gather in the south
Threatening rain even as we sit
Waiting in the sunlight.
Tea and cake entice a red squirrel
And our table turns
Into a photo opportunity for passing tourists.
On Victoria's private beach the sun
Briefly warms us, then moves north
Exposing the brilliance of a sail
A flash of Spinnaker.
Brian Hick June 2015
©copyright Sally Hick 24.6.26
1295
St. Leonards, July night 2013
Hannah wanted to paddle,
So we did,
Leaving our shoes and socks
Dry on the pebble bank.
A haze of apricot from the late sun
Softened the silhouette of Beachy Head,
Where tiny dots of light
Pricked out the line
Between tidal forces and the shore.
The moon,
Unnoticed earlier,
Had crept into a sudden blaze of light
Reflected on the stillness of the sea,
Until it fractured
In the turning waves
To broken diamonds in the evening's blue.
Even Hannah's chatter
Calmed,
As we stood,
While shingle oozed between our toes
And twilight's calm
Ravished all our woes.
Brian Hick July 2013
©copyright Sally Hick July 2025
Hannah is our granddaughter, then aged 13
1136
The tide is going out and where waves turn
Small patches of damp sand appear
Dark against the brilliance of the foam
Which idles on towards the rotting pier.
The wind has dropped and some folk even risk
T-shirt and shorts to jog along the prom,
While I lean here, watching the time run by
Unconcerned at what's about to come,
Accepting that the beauty of this day
Suffices - no - is more than I could ask
And far more than I could dare demand
Of life, which wraps its warmth around my hand,
And leads me on towards a greater task
Which lies in wait, somewhere along the way.
Brian Hick March 2012
©copyright Sally Hick 14.3.24
1131
Lenten Psalm 12 3 12
The sea mist over Galley Hill greys out
The western cliffs,
But on the beach, east of the pier,
Sun calms the tidal drifts
Where scarce a ripple turns the edge
And gulls, far from the shore,
Call lazily above the waves
And do not ask for more.
I sit and know that you are here
In everything I see,
In every pebble on this beach,
For all are here for me -
Not because I am special
Or subject of this scene
But because I'm part of it
As you have always been;
And here, this quiet morning,
Delighting in the peace
Which I know you alone can bring
To us, help me to cease
The strife that separates us,
Pour on us from above,
Like this sunlight which warms our hearts,
Your never-ending Love.
Brian Hick 12th March 2012
©copyright Sally Hick 6.3.24
1054
Deckchairs
Along the seafront, chairs are packed away,
Tied down under green tarpaulin sheets
Or stacked in caverns, underneath our feet,
Awaiting the return of warmer days.
Is it just a story that, as it sank,
The hands on the Titanic moved the chairs
While the band played hymns, all quite aware
There was no hope for those of lower rank?
Would I have had the courage in their place
To follow through wherever it might lead,
Accepting death that others might not bleed
With quiet mind and unassuming grace?
Brian Hick November 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 8.12.23
1023
September Sunset
The tide is at its lowest and the light
On this September evening is at odds
With Katrina's tail, which aids the flight
Of wind-surfers, but leaves the sky in nods
Of gently moving clouds and deepening blue.
Mud flats lie at ease and private yachts
Stuck toy-like on their keels await their cue
To bob when tidal rushes surge in knots.
But for now, the turning of the tide,
Against the twilight, brings a sudden calm
As if the gusting evening winds had lied
And all is bluster but no deep harm.
Here upon the terrace, my pint glass
Is half full, as the moments gently pass.
Brian Hick September 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 25.10.23
996
All I wanted was a little time;
A break, to sit on the beach,
To think, perhaps to write
And certainly not to talk;
Definately not to talk.
But we were not alone
And so we talked
Endlessly
Pointlessly
And I could not think
Could not write
Until I got home
And spat this out.
What a waste.
Brian Hick August 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 19.9.23
991
Twilight - Chesil Beach
You sneaked up on me, in the evening light
After a day spent trudging Chesil Beach
For unfound fossils and renewed insight.
You sneaked up on me.
Just as I thought that I'd begun to reach
That point where nothing ever would be right
You transformed the darkening bay to teach
Me, through every nuance of twilight,
That anything from indigo to peach
Is mine, if only I'll accept the sight.
You sneaked up on me.
Brian Hick August 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 13.9.23
974
27 June 11 - Westcliff
The tide is out as far as it can be.
The mud flats and the banks that cut across
The estuary emerge to carve the void
Between Westcliff and the terminals
On the southern side. Water skiers
Skim between the warming greys to churn
The edges into sudden banks of light
Quickly sensed and just as quickly gone.
After a day of unexpected heat
The clouds are moving in, and temperatures
Fall back, comfortable, rather than
The endless running sweat of afternoon.
A tanker slides down channel, and the glow
Of evening sunlight calms the after tow.
Dr Brian Hick 27.6.22
©copyright Sally Hick 16.8.23
Strand
This must be the best time of year.
The beach huts are all locked, the schools are back,
A solitary walker with her dogs
Pads quietly along the water's edge.
The sky mocks at the date, its radiant blue
Willing me to think it is July
Rather than late September, for the sea
Is calm, almost to indolence, each wave
Hardly finding the energy to break
And trickle over pebbles as it basks
Soaking up the silence of the day
As it has done, since the world began.
Brian HIck autumn 2009
©copyright Sally HIck 7.9.22
Pebbles
You wander off to paddle
Choosing a spot where the outgoing tide
Has left a small patch of damp sand.
I prefer the pebbles
And stay half-way up the beach.
I'd like to pick one up and take it home
But find I'm at a loss
And cannot choose.
I lay surrounded by them
Millions of years old
Milled by the channel currents
And the wind
To a lumpy mattress
comfortable enough for half an hour.
My fingers rummage but the more I look
The less I seem to see.
How can I pick just one
When all are perfect and unique
Worth a world of scrutiny
Before I dare pass on to the next
Yet, as in any gallery,
It's easier to scan than to observe
And so I miss each tiny miracle
Less aware
Than the boy who picks with care
Then skims his choice across the evening's tide.
Brian Hick 2009
©copyright Sally Hick 12.8.22
Oh for the days when I could slip away
At lunchtime to the sea, where I could sniff
Th'ozone, and dippers skimming over pools,
Left easing in a midday warmth, that fools
My senses to believe this fragile life
Could last forever, if only I could day;
But working every day, I've found no time
To walk down to the shore, as winter drifts
Its way onto the beach, and cannot curl
Myself into the silence of the swirl
Of spume cresting the pebbles as it lifts
The flotsam of the day out of my mind.
When daily tension's grind tears me apart
Our Sussex sea alone can heal my heart.
Brian Hick December 2008
©copyright S Hick 2021
