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

 1077

A squally night took out the kitchen's power

And washed into the hall by the front door.

Down in Southend the rough nocturnal hours

Kept me awake with memories of the raw

Assault upon our house in eighty-seven.

By breakfast it's still raging and the sky

Above the bloated muddy banks is ashen

Waiting for this bitter wind to die.

But nothing lasts, and while I am eating,

The greyness dissipates and winter blue

Seeps up from the west until the sun

Breaks on the morning's channels as they run

Back along the estuary, leaving a few

Tired clouds, as token of a storm retreating.

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 2.1.23