1338

Another wintry dawn, another day

Of searching for enough to eat, before

The darkness and the ice return to claw

My mind, and steal my life away.

Alone upon the rooftop ridge I sit

Aware that any second I could die

Mauled by a cat or pierced by eagle's eye

Yet unobserved  by those who daily flit

Below me, without compunction or concerns

For anything that does not meet their need,

For shattered bodies as they sate their greed

Careless while the world contorts and burns.

Everything seems poised to take my life

Yet your love lifts me up above the strife.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 3.3.25

 1247

Dammerung

Watery evening clouds

And lemon haze

Have gelled to apricot

Striated bright

Above the skeletal

Late winter trees.

The unseen sun

Warms the last moments

Of the day

Softening memories of

Bitter morning winds.

Ruhe, ruhe, du gott.

Brian Hick February 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 10.2.25

1333a

        Miracles are a problem;

                 Believe one

And you have to believe them all. 

1333b

          Trees in the morning mist

             Backlit by winter sun;

Blackened bones bathed in bright gold.

Brian Hick January 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 29.1.25

 1242

This

Is this for me - this silence of the snow

            This calm of early morning light

            This gentle easing of the night

Before the winter sun begins to glow?

Is this for me -  this distant blackbird's call

            The silvered trees above the road

            The shimmer of their chilly load

Expectant of the morning's new snow fall?

Is this for me - this sunlight on the hills

            This flock all facing the same way

            Grazing at the break of day

Along the freezing rivulets and gills?

Is this for me - this amplitude of space,

            This joy, this sense that everything

            That is, flows from the eternal spring

Nurtured by your outpouring of grace?

Brian Hick January 2013

Sally Hick 20.1.25

 1240

There's snow in the air and ice upon the rut;

Skeletal forms, unmoving and unmoved,

Stark reminders of Death's scything cut.

There's snow in the air.

Grey the street and grey the sky, amazed

By silence after all the Christmas glut

Of ice-rink carols and town centres' paved

With wooden huts, bratwurst, the gentle phut

Of hand-cranked roundabouts; all now passed

Dark as ashes from the Yule - but

There's snow in the air.

Brian Hick January 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 15.1.25

 1228

Snow on the Weald;

All trains late or cancelled.

Some things never change.

Snow on the Weald - so all trans

Are up the wall - at least until it rains.

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 6.12.24

 1113

Late evening snow has blanketed the land

Turning all that is to wedding cake,

Broken only by the shards which stand

Crystaled near the edges of the lake

Where she dances, innocent, as though

This virgin world were fashioned just for her

And its fragile unity, aglow

With promise, waits till we concur,

Joining the figures that she traces here

Across the Downs and out above the Sea

To link earth and water, fire and air,

In one eternal round of harmony.

Brian Hick February 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 6.2.24

 1112

Morning apparition

I'ts only half past seven

But a snowman

Fully formed

Is staring at me

From across the road.

What late reveller took the time

To put him there?

But my morning innocence

Could not see

He was more of phallus than of me.

Brian Hick February 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 5.2.24

 1109

Hearing the six o'clock alarm;

Realising I don't need to get up.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 31.1.24

 1108

Winter 1960

Grey and cold - the coldest day this year -

And January has two days to run

Before the February frosts can tare

The snowdrops from their beds and the dull sun

Drag itself beyond the morning mist

To tempt the hibernating forms to stir.

Beneath the blankets, ticking off the list

Of things that won't get done today for sure,

I hope the clock is wrong and that I've got

At least another hour before I need

To risk the freezing lino and the spot

Out in the yard where icy waters breed.

Perhaps when I grow up, as most folk do,

I'll have enough for a bathroom and an indoor loo.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 31.1.24

 1107

31 Jan (2012)

Grey, cold, depressing,

Every endless winter day;

And now comes the snow.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 30.1.24

 1105

From the train

A fox trots gently

Across the early morning

Frost towards the wood.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 26.1.24

 1100

17th January

Late frost trims the uncut winter lawns.

Against the blackened branches up above

The cherry blossom spreads its pale-pink buds.

The Rose Garden seems dead

But every woody stem is touched with green.

At low tide, two dogs race the sands,

Blurred shadows in the mirrored midday sun.

A couple sit for coffee on the White Rock terrace

Wrapped up but relaxed.

A flock of gulls swoops, turns and melts away

Beyond the pier.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 19.1.24

 1092

The wings of the wind

For two long nights the wind has howled the house

 Rattling windows, drumming the kitchen roof

 Oozing through the cracks around the doors

 To chill our feet as we curl up

 With gin & tonic or repeats of Morse

And yet I'd rather be outside

 Blown away on a downland slope

 Caught for breath by the channel's surge

 Leaning against the ebb tide's force

For then my mind is scourged and cleansed

 Of all the doubts which clog and stall

 As I hear somewhere on the wind

 The wings of life beat with your call.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 12.1.24

 1090

New Year 2012

No snow this year and winter seems to be

A waiting room before the new buds burst

To green and warm our gardens by the sea.

No snow this year.

On New Year's day, we join up for the first

Walk of the season with friends who willingly

Brave the cold, aware we've walked through worse

And knowing four brisk miles will find us ready

For lunch at The Queen's Head, our chapped lips pursed

And keen for wise and wassail; though sad to see

No snow this year.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 10.1.24

 1088

A week from Solstice

And at four o'clock the sky,

Though grey, is still light.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 9.1.24

 1083

The Dark

Mid-winter's day and Christmas have both passed;

Dull January's darkness marks each hour;

Our Solstice fire is cold, the punch won't last

Beyond this evening, and the wine's turned sour.

Outside the furry golfers are at work

Chipping frozen divots in search of meat

While starlings hang around the hedge or lurk

In hope of scraps which we're not moved to eat.

And here, where all could feel a Christmas joy,

A Yuletide promise shared with all the earth,

The festive lights do little but annoy

Those who would ignore a certain birth.

The darkness of the season may depress

But why so little risk of happiness?

Why so little risk of happiness

When money has brought more than most desire?

Surely our lives must have more finesse

Than simple greed; and do they not require

A sense that to be human is to strive

To go beyond the mundane and the course.

To raise our understanding while alive

Rather than trust in superstitious dross

And myths that put the emphasis on death

Rather than living this life to the full

With love and mercy shown in every breath

We utter regardless of self-centred will?

When I risk speaking with you face to face

A spark of promise lights for the human race.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 6.1.24

 1080

Solstice Toast

Spirit of earth and sea

            Of air and fire;

Spirit of life to us

          All we desire.

Thanks for this bright Solstice glow

Thanks for this our Solstice meal

Thanks for seasons as they flow

Thanks for love to bind and heal.

Solstice & Wassail!

All Solstice and Wassail

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 4.1.24

 1078

I don't like snow - I suppose that I don't mind

The stuff on Christmas cards or on TV

But not the real wet and chilly kind.

I don't like snow.

There was a time when I'd happily be

Out hiking in a blizzard, where the wind

Whipped round my ears and I could hardly see

Because of ice on eyelids; but refined

By age and custom, I prefer the sea

In summer, downland springs and autumn's vines.

I don't like snow.

Brian Hick December 2011

©Sally Hick 2.1.24

 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