1208
The sunset from Westcliff is worrying
A burning roar above suburban homes.
I wait until it starts to fall away
Gentling to orange
As it melts within the dove grey clouds
Dissolved behind the street lights.
The incoming sea softens up the shoreline
And the trees, dark shadowed now,
Offset the evening tide.
Are You here somewhere
Within these shifts where nothing rests,
Nothing stays the same?
Where everything is gone before the heart
Can respond with pleasure or pain?
The sun is gone but I wait in hope
That You are there regardless of the dark.
Brian Hick September 2012
©copyright Sally Hick 9.8.24
1036
Outside the Cliffs Pavilion all is grey
As cars arrive before the evening show;
But just above its roof the end of day
Splendours the horizon in a glow
Of amber sun behind thin banks of cloud
And mist, which heighten chimneys in between
The mud flats of the Thames and the loud
Bursts of apricot, transforming the scene
To captivate the spirit with its power.
As I watched it changes - all is gone,
The grey below turning the evening sour.
Too soon the daily miracle is run.
Ruskin watched the sunset every eve.
What better point for starting to believe?
Brian Hick October 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 13.11.23
1023
September Sunset
The tide is at its lowest and the light
On this September evening is at odds
With Katrina's tail, which aids the flight
Of wind-surfers, but leaves the sky in nods
Of gently moving clouds and deepening blue.
Mud flats lie at ease and private yachts
Stuck toy-like on their keels await their cue
To bob when tidal rushes surge in knots.
But for now, the turning of the tide,
Against the twilight, brings a sudden calm
As if the gusting evening winds had lied
And all is bluster but no deep harm.
Here upon the terrace, my pint glass
Is half full, as the moments gently pass.
Brian Hick September 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 25.10.23
