1451

On a roundabout near Galway

There's a dump for fairground rides,

A Ferris-wheel shorn of its seats,

A switch back thrown up by the tides.

But where are the crowds who squealed and shouted?

Where the candy floss and beer?

Where the children and the lovers

Clasping hands to share their fear?

Every happy moment passes

Every memory will fade

Every touch of human kindness

Will dissolve into the grave;

So why care if these abandoned

Rides are left to rot away;

Why concern ourselves with pleasures

Long since gone and had their day?

Do these rides so soon abandoned

Call to mind our fleeting lives,

The tiny sparks of love and gladness

Shining when nought else survives,

When even memory can't temper

Emptiness with thouhts of love

And life evolves in aimless circles,

Endless, as the skies above.

The Ferris wheel waits for the breakers

The Waltzers rust into the earth

Everything returns to dust

Until the moment of re-birth.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 13.4.26

 1370

This coming week I thought I could laze,

Watch TV, cut the grass or read,

But work has seeped in to fill up the days.

This coming week

Is now packed hour by hour with tasks that breed

Like flies above the wormery, a haze

Of buzzing nuisances contented to feed

On quiet moments, interrupting ways

Which could rejuvenate and might succeed

If work had not tried to set ablaze

This coming week.

Brian Hick August 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 18.8.25

 1279

I stood and watched a ewe give birth today;

Easily, her lamb slipped into life,

A twin, standing pristine, while she lay

Breathing softly, blooded, but the strife

Of transference, the time before the knife,

Hung easily, as though a benign earth

Held close reality, a silent midwife

Cosseting a child against the dearth

Of gentle dignity, which would deny it worth.

O looked up but saw no shepherd was in sight

No human hand had guided this gestation.

A ewe's instinct, an afternoon of bright

Spring sunshine, a meadow's germination

Out ran any human intervention,

Where silent nature, seeded to ensure

Another life, another generation,

Led the ewe to wash the lamb she bore

Then slowly turn to graze, as she had done before.

Between the blood of birth and sudden death

How little time to contemplate and dream.

No sooner on your feet than your life's breath

Is scattered to the elements, the gleam

Of promise, as your mother washed you clean,

Will vanish even quicker than my own

And all the hopes of youth, which now seem

Everything, be flushed away unknown

Long before you or I have time to sense we've grown.

Brian Hick May 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 9.6.25

 1209

A thousand years ago this twilit scene

Would have stood devoid of points of light

Strung out on the distant coastal path

Until they disappeared far out of sight

And pools left by the tide would sit bereft

Of lighters or Thames barges, waiting for

The sea pulse to return, to float them back

Into the swell they gently road before.

But now the Cliffs Pavilion flashes out

Its neon signs and windows blaze towards

The southern shore, where headlights in the mist

Cut up the deepening night to leave it raw.

Brian Hick September 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 13.8.24

 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

 1019

Forty five years! Can it be that long

Since we moved into Camden Town?

What happened to those days we don't recall,

Amidst the glories of the ups and downs

Which jump into our minds, but seem to miss

So much that has happened in between?

The children grew up; but am I remiss

In thinking that - for all the gaps - we seem

To be the same? You haven't changed at all

And if my hair is thinner, should I fuss?

Is it really so strange if the pall

Of age falls on the others, not on us?

            Let's go on forever, until the day

            The trumpet sounds - for then we can't say nay.

Brian Hick 10.9.11 Our wedding anniversary

©copyright Sally Hick 19.10.23

 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

 1006

Four old men, sitting in the corner,

Arguing about the R A F

Oblivious to the sea beyond the terrace,

Immersed in memories of what is left.

'Did you know that Johns was not a catain

And what about the oil that leaked away

While he was landing? Have you got the sugar?

Oh, please, no more chips today!'

Across the road, the wavelets turn in silence

Ruffled by the wind but not upset

Even by the centuries of blindness

Which pass for human influence and wit;

For they know that when these humans have passed on

This surf will still be singing its own song.

Brian Hick autumn 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 5.10.23

 967

WNO in Brum

Is a day ever wasted? Can it be

Retrieved and reconstructed in the light

Of reflection or philosophy.

This time I've spent just waiting for the night?

The hours, though slow, slipped easily away;

I read the paper, walked across the city,

Lounged in the Big Wok, as if the day

Had purpose and was not inclined to pity

Myself because there was nothing much to do.

I wrote a little, rang you from time to time,

Then mooched to the Hippo for the new

Cosi fan tutte, which should have been sublime

          But all I got was shoddiness and dross

          And the whole day became a total loss.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 31.7.23

 887

Tae Friendship

Where are the days we used to know

          The memories of what has been

          When you and I were young and keen

And life was just an endless flow 

Of days and nights without a care,

          Slipping onward while we lived

          And loved, ignoring how life sieved

Our thoughts and feelings, unaware

That all the time an end was calling -

          Not that it would be today -

          But what we cherished on the way

Would all too soon be past recalling

Unless we hold to what is here,

          The friends who share our daily round

          Our moods, flippant or profound,

Our celebrations, times of care.

So on this night when we again

          Share haggis and a glass or two

          Let's pray we will continue true

In friendship, as we've always been.

To Friendship

Brian Hick Jan 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 13.1.23

 BS 1

I'm not used to filling out my time

Waiting for the next appointment

Who will probably be late

And meanwhile I'm at a loose end

With nothing that's essential

To the smooth running of this place;

But I'm annoyed by waste

Which only functions to abuse

My agitated passion to achieve,

To complete one thing

Then move on to the next

Rather than sit here suppressing grief.

If there's  to be no fire in my belly

I might as well watch Countdown on the tele.

Brian Hick November 2010

©copyright Sally Hick 9.11.22

 Bank Holiday - musings

I wanted to stay in and do some work

          - not that I had any work to do -

          But the sea was calling me to go

And simply be, whether or not I wrote.

Stripped to the waist, he stands upon the groin

          Posed until the moment when he flips

          Into the air and lands, to laughs and quips

From those who watch, but do not join.

Indulge each moment for we never know

          When it will simply be too late

           To gratify each other and the wait

May be too long for love to gently grow.

I took some pics while walking by the sea

          And some of them were good, but when I came

          To download them and give each one a name

I pressed delete - and so they ceased to be.

Brian Hick summer 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 24.8.22