1484

Our garden's at it's best at Lammastide.

The burst of Spring has eased itself away

The hectic Summer growth has settled down

The beds are mellow, softened at the edge,

Colours calm yet eager to entice

A drone of bees and pairs of butterflies.

The pond lies empty, even the late frogs

Have disappeared into the undergrowth.

Our daily visitors peck casually at the grain

Or sit atop the fence to bask away

Untroubled moments in the teatime sun.

Sweet peas and hollyhocks try to outshine

The runner beans, the sun flowers by the fence.

A pair of cabbage whites dance near my head

Oblivious to my presence and delight.

            I sit untroubled, resting in the peace

            Which, like your love, I know need never cease.

Brian Hick August 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 20.7.26

 1393

31 August 2014

Last day of August and the garden rests

Before the autumn dulls the few sweet peas

And pansies that remain to help recall

Day after day of basking in the sun -

Lapped by the waves from early morn till dusk - 

Retiring to the terrace for a lunch

Free from the burning heat out on the sands.

Now distant bird calls or a burst of squirrels

Playing tag over the garden gate

Alone break up the silence of the hours

Begore an early sunset brings a close

To gentle days for cats who sit and doze.

Brian Hick 31.8.2014

©copyright Sally Hick 6.8.25

 1196

I've painted the shed and once again it seems

Like wood, rather than the grey expanse

Of dying timber, rotting on its beams.

I've painted the shed.

I had to wait until a sudden lance

Of sunlight held the field and hidden dreams

Basked in its warmth, as if the sullen trance

Of winter had been broken and soft streams,

Self motivated, brought the summer's dance

To saturation while the damp wood steams.

I've painted the shed.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 9.7.24

 1183

Just as I'd chosen all the verse

To reflect our dreadful weather

The sun came out, the coats came off,

And everyone felt better!

So, back to the drawing board to find

Something a bit more snappy

Assuming that the clear skies hold

And everyone's still happy.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 12.6.24

 1176

Where is the summer? It seems to have missed us

Down here in Hastings, where the sea is rough

And tourists cower with ketchup, chips and huss.

Where is the summer?

There were some days in May which beamed enough

To make us hope this year there'd be no fuss -

Just weeks and weeks of sun, and not a puff

Of cloud in sight - but now we lurk and cuss

The endless downpours, flash floods and the knell

Which drowns all thought of warmth this side of Hell.

Where is the summer?

Brian Hick June 2012

©Sally Hick 4.6.24 (same sentiment now)

 1171

Garsington

 

It could be November.

Low broken clouds threaten

Winds break up the valley

Kites risk the rain

Circling the park

The orchestra look sullen

Trudging up around the lake

Local scouts

Are pleased to take our bags

Chattering with enthusiasm of Iceland

We're in tent thirteen

Which keeps out all the draughts

As we enjoy our roasted artichokes

And Kalkidis olives

All picked up from Waitrose

At Oxford Services

On our way up from Hastings

Where the weather, when we left,

Was warm and wonderful.

Brian Hick May 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 28.5.24

 1170

Swallows scatter near the lake

Glimpsed as they sweep up

Above the trees

Which edge the Deer Park

Vanishing within the

Summer green.

Brian Hick May 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 24.5.24

 1009

Storm clouds gather but late summer sun

Floods the woodlands flashing past the train.

Autumn edges through the fields to run

In ever thinning lines against the grain

Awaiting the last harvest of the year.

Another week and schools will settle down

Bringing peace to pensioners who fear

The clumps of sub-teens clogging up the town.

Those six short weeks will quickly disappear

Into a facebook entry and a pile

Of used train tickets, photos on the pier,

Phone numbers from a bloke named Kyle.

Ten months will bring the summer back again;

How long will this year's memories remain?

Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 9.10.23

 983

Mid July and of course it rains.

The Kentish coast has all but been erased

Beneath the sea mist which rolls in again

Despite the days of heat which sought to raise

Our hopes, only to sluice them all away

In squalls and chilly drizzle from the west.

If there are tourists, or the occasional day

Tripper, they're hiding or doing their best

To amuse the children who have had enough

Of slot machines and pleasure parks which fill

The gaps but can't make up for the real stuff

Of holidays - sun and warmth to instil

           A feeling that we have enjoyed the hours

          We spent in Southend, in spite of all the showers.

Brian Hick July 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 8.9.23

 977

It rained after a day of fiercer heat

Than most of us in Hastings can recall-

It seems that summer time is in retreat:

It rained.

Heaving gutters gush with the downfall

Swamping paths and consuming the feet

Of tourists caught in sandals who must trawl

Their sodden baggage, hoping they might meet

A kindly taxi driver still on call

Who will take pity on their sodden state.

It rained.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 23.8.23

 974

27 June 11 - Westcliff

The tide is out as far as it can be.

The mud flats and the banks that cut across

The estuary emerge to carve the void

Between Westcliff and the terminals

On the southern side.  Water skiers

Skim between the warming greys to churn

The edges into sudden banks of light

Quickly sensed and just as quickly gone.

After a day of unexpected heat

The clouds are moving in, and temperatures

Fall back, comfortable, rather than

The endless running sweat of afternoon.

A tanker slides down channel, and the glow

Of evening sunlight calms the after tow.

Dr Brian Hick 27.6.22

©copyright Sally Hick 16.8.23

 973

Txt pm

          2hot

          2write

          2day

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 14.8.23

 Going Home

The train is packed - the last day of the hols -

A family returns to its estate

In Peckham, and tired children wait

Eking out time with MP3s and dolls.

South London accents swim across the aisles

Excitement tempered by the thought of school

Next week, for nobody can fool

These returnees to keep their summer smiles.

A last view of the sea, a final wave

To cows and sheep before the suburbs close

Upon them and a sudden strillness shows

They're nearly home; now they must be brave

          Till they can come to Hastings once again

          But, oh, the months of dullness until then!

Brian Hick September 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 29.8.22

 Summer's End

During the night a flower pot was up-turned.

We saw it from the windo but the rain

Gusted by the wind, kept us indoors

Until mid-morning, when I ventured out

To see if our badgers had returned.

No sign of them, but, despite the warmth

Oozing from the late August sun,

The air had turned autumnal and the leaves

Were blustering above me, shutting out

The distant whine of gulls - and starlings, who

Sat clustered on the chimney-pots before

They swirled and scattered to the south once more.

Brian Hick August 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 19.8.22

 Failed Again

When I came to write about our visit

Strolling yesterday to see the view

Across the lakes with Hannah, mum and you,

I thought it would be easy to envisage

The summer afternoon, the cricket pitch

Empty golf links and the occasional flash

Of butterfly or rabbit, but the hash

I've made so far makes me keen to ditch

This effort, after all there's hardly time

To wind this up before we're on our way

To Shropshire for a break of a few days

Walking round Church Stretton - to Llanfairwaterdine?

          Thankfully this poem - bland and trite -

          Will never get beyond your casual sight.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 22.7.22 (sorry B)