1332

A snatch of

Fingal's cave

While I'm driving to the Post Office.

 A memory of

Proms heard

On the radio long before we married.

A fleeting warmth

On a damp morning.

Brian Hick January 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 24.1.25

 1062

I read but cannot understand

Why this is poetry that counts

While what I write

Goes unnoticed,

Yet they're both just words

And mine at least make sense.

As long as music flows

The lines will all make sense

And cadences, which jangle or annoy

Will ease themselves like dischords

Just before their natural resolution,

And even if the body does not rhyme

The heart will strike the final chord on time.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 20.12.23

 995

After Havergal

Bryan's Gothic, Mahler 2

Seems rather reserved.

Brian Hick August 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 18.9.23

 Prom 12

The Planets from Proms on the TV

Sir Charles Mackerras conducting in full view

As I'd pressed the red button and could see

Every phrase and nuance as it flew

From his fingertips into the hall

Enticing the music to ensue.

Fifty years ago we stood to hear

Sir Malcolm Sargent and the BBC SO

Working their way through the English Prom

With Paul Tortelier and the Elgar Cello

Concert, In the South or more,

Perhaps, the Introduction and Allegro.

          The music is the same; I wonder why

          If it doesn't change, oh, why do I?

Brian Hick 25.7.09

©copyright Sally Hick 22.7.22