1245
Nothing to say, no thoughts upon the page;
Nothing but the blankness of a mind
Befuddled by the comforts of old age.
Nothing to say.
When I was young it wasn't hard to find
Small tyrannies that would make me rage,
My pen denouncing all the snide unkind
Acts so liberally sprinkled, but the stage
Has changed, and routines of retirement bind
My brain within this soporific cage.
Nothing to say.
Brian Hick February 2013
©copyright Sally Hick 5.2.25
1122
This notebook is changing it's function.
For the first three years it simply showed
A careful balance of poetry and prose;
But
Since I've retired -
And let's accept
That in reality I have -
The entries are confused,
As if my life
Once ordered, regimented and secure
Had suddenly been scattered to the winds;
Every note just dumped beside the next
Regardless of the context or content.
Brian Hick February 2012
©copyright Sally Hick 20.2.24
1110
I've sawn up all the wood
Swept the kitchen floor
Answered all the emails
Read the post.
It's only ten o'clock
And I can't quite believe
There's nothing left to do.
Oh yes, I could find something,
Make work for myself,
But actually
There's nothing I need to do
So
Day-time TV here we come!
Brian Hick January 2012
©copyright Sally Hick 1.2.24
1085
New Year
I have a list of things I need to do
To fill the time from now till then
But sense the moment will come, when
I've done them all, and fear what will ensue.
Can I find a new way to perceive
The long gap between wake and sleep
Which will not require me to keep
An hourly check on what I might achieve?
Can I just let time slip by;
Ignore the email and the phone,
Switch off the TV, be alone
Without constraint or need to question why;
Sit and read, perhaps listen to some Bach;
Sit and write, for my own pleasure,
Sit and think, as if this leisure
Were a gift, a chance for a new start.
Brian Hick January 2012
©copyright Sally Hick 7.1.24
1079
What now? The years lie open and the days
That have been filled with work and purpose wait
As I stare blankly at this empty page.
What now?
Can I find a way to live which might abate
The stress which comes with leisure and the rage
Rising from fruitless empty hours, which Fate -
Oblivious to my longing to engage -
Has forced on me, as if she would berate
My impudence for living to this age?
What now?
Brian Hick December 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 3.1.24
1073
Sandown's as its best in mid-july
But in the winter, truth to tell,
It draws a different clientele -
Nobody under 80 need apply.
---------------------------
If you can push a nifty zimmer frame
To the arcade on the pier
There you'll find your usual chair
In its place, just ready for a game
Of bingo or, if you'd rather not,
Then spend a happy hour or two -
Given you've nothing else to do -
Feeding two-penny pieces in the slot
Of the one armed bandit, while your friend
rummages for her other purse -
But this could be even worse,
At least you two are still able to stand
Which is more than those who simply slump
In their armchairs at the Grand
Staring blankly at the sand
Or west towards the corporation dump.
Along the promenade towards the cliffs
Aged bodies slowly quake
Towards a coffee and a cake
Before they drift back home hoping the lifts
Are working and they don't have to fight
Four stories to their roof-top flat
Where their leaky panes and scabby cat
Await the silent darkness of the night.
Retirement to the seaside was the plan
Earl Grey and a nice Bath Bun
Cocktails in the evening sun
A stroll along the prom to hear the band;
But grey clouds on the cliffs and icy sleet
Pen up the silent days alone
No one comes and no one phones
No one's left who you might chance to meet.
On rare occassions, risk the trip you dread
To the Post Office to send
Birthday greeting to a friend
You have not seen for years, and may be dead,
Then return with a supermarket bag
Dinner for one to microwave
Own label brandy, and points to save
For Christmas - plus the coupons from the mag -
And then - and then what follows in the days
Alone, left staring at the sea
Alone, when what you hoped would be
Slips unnoticed on towards the grave.
--------------------------------------
Sandown snoozing gently by the sea
Hopes the young will come once more
When the old folk cease to snore
Restoring its Edwardian bon-homie;
Brian Hick December 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 29.12.23
1020
Real retirement?
So if there is no work, what will I do?
OK, I can write, but will that fill
The hours between eating and the few
Self-imposed appointments which distil
Into a mess of generalities,
Amorphous days which drift into each other
Differentiated only by the ties
Of weekly meetings; sound retirement fodder.
Of course, life could pick up; it seems I could
Immerse myself in real fulfilling tasks,
Unpaid, but useful to the general good,
If only I'd respond to those who ask.
But at the moment I don't feel the urge
To volunteer for things that might emerge.
Brian Hick September 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 2023
At last I'm free to choose what'er I will
And all the world is open to my heart;
Now I can throw off the lurking dark
That for so many years has tried to kill
My very soul, which only you have seen
Nurtured by your love since first we met
And carried through the times of silent threat
To both of us, from outside and within,
Until these last few weeks when all that we
Have yearned for, past all hope, that we just might
Eventually, break through into the light
That shone a single candle by the sea.
When love and silence all the world transcend
No words need bring this poem to an end.
Brian Hick September 2008
©copyright Sally Hick 23,9,22
Who could have thought that life could be so good?
When I reached sixty, I felt I was complete
The youthful drive to struggle and compete
Transformed to a mature adulthood,
But now I'm living in another world
Where every ceature beckons and demands
Attention, every sight and sound commands
That I explore, as nuances unfurl
In details which I missed in all the rush
To grasp the daily turmoil of a job
Which never satisfied and seemed to rob
My mind and grind my spirit into mush.
No longer driven on an angry mill
At last I'm free to choose what'ere I will.
Brian Hick September 2008
©copyright Sally Hick 21.9.22
Work
Past one o'clock before I got to bed
And up again at six to spend the day
At Selsdon High. I had hoped that I may
Have found the time to really get my head
Around last night's Ivanov or the National's
Portrait Exhibition, but I find
They've faded and the focus of my mind
Is Tax returns and over worked professionals.
Why can't I find a middle way between
The hurley-burley of the working life
With all its, tensions, nit-picking and strife
And the intellectual haven of what's seen.
If I retired I could have Art each day
But could I stand a life out of the fray?
Brian Hick Nov 2008
©copyright 2021 S Hick
