1477

I wait until the train's announcement stops

When only the tap of laptops and the click

Of iphones can excuse the hesitation

Before the first ideas begin to tick.

But words lie scrambled somewhere in my brain

And only as they spill out on the page

Shaping themselves into familiar forms

Can I begin to see what they might mean.

Six lines to go after the first quatrains;

The end's in sight and now I must display

A pithy couplet to ensure the tag

Will capture all I really wan to say.

            There, it is finished, but I doubt you'll find

            Any hint of  what's deep in my mind.

This poem is about nothing;

Writing poems is easy -

Saying something is hard.

Brian Hick June 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 22.6.26

 1468

Five years ago these notebooks all were full

Of poems and the comments in between

Far less substantial than the teaming verse;

But now creative notions are more lean

With pages full of meetings and the terse

Reflections on directives, new reports

On better ways of filling up our time -

As if that really mattered - when the curse

Of work is draining all the daily joy

Which comes from letting new ideas flow

And writing for its own sake seems to pale

Before the need to let the minutes grow.

            So I write this in hope for better days

            When verse won't need excuse to sing your praise.

Brian Hick June 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 25.5.26

 1459

Let it go ...

If I forgive, can I forgive myself?

If I let go of all these pent up hates,

These nasty thoughts, these wishes to expunge

The other who dares to contradict myself,

Will I find relief turns into peace

And all the tensions of an argument

Long since forgotten fade in cinsequence

As face-off dwindles down to acceptance?

You smile as if it's easy to let go

After I have fought to keep control

Of all this seething separation, this

Deep division with its silent void.

            Yes, overhead, wings outstretched, a dove

            Convinces me I'm sheltered by your love.

Brian Hick May 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 5.5.26

 1445

Don't judge, you said; but how am I to live

Without the fleeting comments, angry thoughts,

Unbidden outbursts, snide remarks and looks

Which spill out long before they can be caught?

And even if I have some self-respect,

Can see the other side or try to tweak

The impact of the vitriol, I feel

The chances are I will be seen as weak

Appeasing rather than confronting wrong,

Failing to stand steadfast for the right,

Allowing vicious actions to succeed,

Impotent while they silence the light.

            Yet, as I am thing these things through,

            Judgement is out - and I've dishonoured you.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 31.3.26

 1441

What do you want to be?

How about a gap year before I face

The prospect of retirement by the sea,

When I'll have time to take a break to ask

What it is I really want to be?

After all for sixty of those years

I've studied, worked and striven for the sake

Of others who've my best interests at heart

Pointing to the road that I should take

But while I have enjoyed the way I've come

I've never really chosen what I'd do

The day-to-day simply relied upon

Necessity - the need to get us through.

            Perhaps at last I'll take a moment which

            Will bring a chance to really scratch the itch.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 21.3.26

 1431

I need to find a form which is my own;

Not any form but one which can flow free

As if I wasn't writing poetry

But simply paring language to the bone

So that it said exactly what I think

And you would understand in simple terms

The depth and the complexity which yearns

To be transformed, changed from idea to ink,

Until, as if osmosis had occurred,

Nothing stands between the latest germ

Of an idea, and translation's worm

Cannot withhold the power of my word;

            But here we have another Sonnet, penned

            As if pentameters were their own end.

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 24.2.26

 Returning late from Tonbridge on the train

The taxi dropped me, sped off, and I stood

Alone beneath the silent autumn sky's

Pinpoint brightness stretched out beyond the woods.

Orion smiled, Auriga curved in joy,

Taurus galloped on towards his foe,

Castor, Pollux, the clustered Pleiades,

Sang and circled, while transfixed below

I wondered why this glory of the night

Seemed just for me, as if the universe

At this brief point in time, was mine alone

And nothing could destroy nor doubt reverse

            The truth I felt so deep within my heart

            That I was loved and love will ne'er depart.

Brian Hick October 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 3.11.25

 1294

Of course you're there but I will still wait

Until you tell me what I have to do,

Like some old prophet searching for the bait

To reel in converts daily, two by two.

Your silence in this noise of summer days

Rests on my heart, knowing you're aware

I'm eager to give more than simple praise

And worship, if you need me to share

The joy that comes from following the Way

The joy I feel in your abiding love

The joy that never fails or says me nay

The joy that floods like sunlight from above.

            Your silence speaks more life than life can bring

            Turning bleak winter to eternal spring.

Brian Hick July 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 14.7.25

 1358

If I must be a sheep let me be Shaun!

Not some dull ewe, out grazing in the rain

Tupped twice a year till the next lambs are born

Then doing - again and again

Until it's time to greet the butcher's axe

Dividing leg from best end, Barnsley chops,

Honey-basted, minted, ribs in stacks,

Each living sinew packaged for the shops.

I'd like to think my mind was worth something,

A consciousness, a personality

That had some value, individual worth,

Rather than some atoms set to be

            Reformulated as a rock or tree

            With nothing left of what once was me.

Brian Hick May 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 4.6.25

 1272

I'm up to date, so why do I feel confused.

As if there's something lurking out of sight,

That little something, leaving me bemused

Because it hints that everything's not right.

Perhaps it's always been like this, for when

I try to recall what I have done

Only failures float back up again,

Embarrassments, and not a hint of fun,

Which surely must have been part of my life

And yet it's missing from my memory,

Wiped out by depression's endless strife,

Cancelled by a faceless enemy.

            If you can wind the clock to show me more

            How easy then to worship and adore.

Brian Hick May 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 17.5.25

 1271

At a funeral

What am I doing here? No, don't laugh,

Although I wouldn't blame you if you did.

Ninety minutes on, I'm none the wiser

And all the endless verbiage could not rid

The doubts which bubble up and make me dread

The platitudes, the clichés and the Kant

Washing around this refuge for the dead

Where those who long ago abandoned thought

Of faith, of hope, of spiritual insight

Fall back into the stark familiar forms

Ignoring the beliefs which lead to life.

            You deserve much more and this limp praise

            Insults your memory and your loving ways.

Brian Hick May 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 14.5.25

 1267

Why is it so difficult to say

Thank You, when you answer all my prayers?

For days I've moaned about your endless silence,

Bound up with depression and old cares,

But now, within this hour, you've sorted out

All the things I've thrown at you, as if

You've been so close I hardly needed think

Before you'd lavished on me every gift

Necessary to ensure that all

That I had asked has fallen into place -

With more - to quietly confirm that you

Have been there all the time and I was safe.

            I fly beneath the shelter of your wings

            Where Love alone such joy and bounty brings.

Brian Hick March 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 3.5.25

 1268

                          Easter 2013

A Song of Love Unknown? Oh, not for me;

My life is filled with all that Love can give.

Love unexpected, Love without a fee,

Love that spends itself so I may live,

Love when anger overcomes my soul,

Love to raise my hopes out of the mire,

Love to cherish, Love to play the fool

Love to seer my spirit with desire,

Love regardless of the final cost,

Love of parent, husband, child and friend,

Love provoked to search for what seems lost,

Love lavished on me without end.

            In everything Your Love has always shone

            Far brighter than the glory of the Sun.

Brian Hick 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 18.4.25

 1345

During the storm the birds had disappeared

But this morning a blue tit fluttered through,

Stopping briefly at the coconut,

Before it dived across the hedge onto

The barren branches of the only tree

Left in our garden.  It soon flew away

But a pair of blackbirds swooped down to the fence

Eyeing the line of seeds, but did not stay.

A sparrow landed, flustered, hesitant

Then two wood pigeons dropped onto the shed

'Til, singly, they pecked their way along the rain

To find the sesame seeds among the bread.

            Spring seems a long way off but this quiet morn

            Life returned with birdsong in the dawn.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 24.3.25

 1246

How wonderful to be a poet, free

To conjure images of beasts and bears,

Juggle words so that they seem to be

Far deeper than the trivial affairs

Of office conversations or txt spk,

Which pass for communion, but snare

Themselves upon our deafness and the bleak

Technologies which ape a show of care.

Some would-be poets can't escape the vice

Of simply writing down what they can see;

No concepts, which sing out like mice,

Untramelled by discrete reality.

            Is there a place for we who draw

            Attention to what others find a bore?

Brian Hick February 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 8.2.25

 1243

Brake failure

Do I give thanks that I'm stuck on this train

With not a clue when it will start again,

Given the brakes have jammed and they don't know

How or when we're liable to go?

We could be here all night, which might be fun,

But I'm already hungry and I've run

Out of things to read, or things to do

Except that I am writing this for you;

Because you gave me this brief interlude,

A little test, knowing I could be rude,

Blaming the driver, guard, demanding why

They're forcing our blood pressure far too high.

            Then, just as this sonnet has no more to say,

            The driver says it's fixed - we're on our way!

Brian Hick January 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 31.1.25

1235

New Year 2013

The old year ended in a fit of squalls

Lashing rain and wind from off the sea

Keeping us indoors to clear the dregs

Of staling Christmas cake and cold turkey.

But the new-year's sun rose undefiled

To warm the downlands and our winter hearts

As we strode out to Alfriston, across

Firle Beacon, Bostlal Hill and parts

So muddy that we'd rather not recall

Their dank reality, preferring more

The joy of fierce light from out the east

And life returning from cold earth's core.

            No larks above, but our way is clear

            As we set out to face this brand new year.

Brian Hick January 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 3.1.25

 1226

Ad-vent

First Noel this year and Hark the Herald

But it's just an Advent Concert, not the blare

Of speakers down the supermarket aisles

Or buskers with faded tinsel in their hair.

If this were Christmas Eve I might not mind

But there's four weeks to go before the day

And hours and hours of adverts on the tele

All special offers and no need to pay

Until the new year, when the bills arrive,

The laptops on the blink and the wind blows

Through every chink to chill you to the bone,

Reminding you of all your ails and woes.

            And just as things calm down, you realise

            You've only six months till the next mince pies!

Brian Hick Advent 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 2.12.24

 1323

27 OCT 13

So this is '87 once again

But this time we've been told for days on end

Prepare yourselves for howling wind and rain

Fearsome gusting storms that thrash and wend

From Cornwall to the Wash before they pause;

Then we can surface to survey the mess,

The missing roofs, the fallen trees, the cars

Shattered; though the mobile homes' distress

Seems gentler, as it floats out on the flood

Across the water meadows, where last week

Two stalwart pensioners played bowls and could

Commend themselves for finding somewhere safe.

            Overnight their game is flushed away,

            Nobody cares, nobody wants to play.

Brian Hick October 13

©copyright Sally Hick 22.11.24

 1181

This page is as empty as my mind - 

Buzzing with words, yet not a one in a place

To help construct a thought worth passing on.

Words fit so easily, as if each space

Were pre-ordained and, long before you read

These lines, the layout on the page told you

It must make sense because it looks so right,

So neat, so tidy, rhymes so good and true;

Yet by now I expect you've realised

That just because this poem's in sonnet form

It may have nothing in its fourteen lines

More than the words themselves, and it will dawn

            On you that words are simply not enough

            For poems must be made of sterner stuff.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 11.6.24