1219

Sun and wind and sea

Autumnal mists linger, where the trees

Silhouette, before the morning sun

Warms away the grey expanse to ease

Its daily resurrection.

Breakers dash each other to the shore

Spilling white foamed flecks along the strand

Where solitary walkers risk the raw

North-eastern as it reaches land.

Sun and wind and sea move as they must

Indifferent to the lives of you and me

Who, before we're rendered back to dust,

Would make some sense of what we see.

But sun and wind and sea move on

And, just as quickly, we are gone.

Brian Hick October 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 19.9.24

 1186

Magic Forest

A magic forest, so I looked for You

In the Serpent's  Nest and Mystic Pond

The Indian Totem and the forest view;

But it seemed that You were far beyond

These tricks, which made me feel the You were there;

For all I found, thought pleasant, was the art

Of conjuring the surreal from the air

When all the time, You kept from me apart.

Deep in the woods the deer cropped unconcerned,

The peacocks lurked for snacks by picnic tables,

Sheep rambled the vineyards, while I yearned

To find You in the midst of ancient fables.

Then I heard you laugh - Can you not see

That everything you look upon - is Me.

Brian Hick July 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 17.6.24

 1143

The owl, unseen, sweeps silent on the vole;

The cat sneaks up upon the baby bird;

The tied dog howls into the coming dawn;

The brown rat scutters darkly and unheard;

Each one happy, living in the now,

Oblivious to death which lurks unreckoned

A breath away, yet cannot terrify

Where minds are focussed only this second.

          But human minds fret endelessly between

          The faulted past and the furtive void

          Knowing failure cannot be restored

          Or coming challenges, by thought, ignored.

          So we endure the present as we are toyed

          By Time which does not care to intervene.

Brian Hick March 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 25.3.24

 898

7.20

A fox,upon the bank above the platform,

Padding unconcerned along the path

Unseen by the commuters waiting for their train;

And then a second, appearing through the hedge.

They meet, exchange a friendly look in greeting,

Then amble off in opposite directions.

When I arrived they were not there

And seconds later the bank above the platform

Was empty, as it has been these last weeks,

But I sensed in that brief and casual meeting

That spring might at last be on its way.

Brian Hick Feb 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 11.2.22

 889

Spring is on the way even though

It's sleeting and the temperature's at nought

With winds from the north east threatening snow.

Spring is on the way.

The starlings know; the fox has taught

His cubs to sense the warming sunlight grow

Day by day; a neighbour's cat is caught

Idling on the shed roof, while below

The badgers scratch and make a sleepy effort

To shrug off winter's comfortable glow.

Spring is on the way.

Brian Hick Feb 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 18.1.23

 886

Consider.....

Little bird why is your song so bright

On this grey morning, when the trees are dead

And not a hint of welcoming sunlight

To warm us as we struggle out of bed?

Could it be your limited brain size

Does not have room to contemplate the way

Things might turn out, so that your spirits rise

And cheerfully give thanks for the new day

When all we see is weeks of steaming trains,

Cold blasts and irritation at the thought

Of all we must endure befoe the gains

Of late spring warmth and all last summer bought.

          You sing so me as if there were no need

          To take thought for the future and its seed.

Brian Hick Jan 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 11.1.23

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