It's weeks since we have walked upon the Downs

And there's more work to do before we can

Take the train to Shrewsbury for a break

To wander on the Long Mynd and the span

Of Wenlock Edge, Caer Caradoc and the hills

Which softly fold around  Church Stretton's streams.

As a boy I took the bus from town

To spend Good Fridays, lulled by Easter dreams,

Along the Cardingmill with family friends

Whose names have long faded from my memory

- David, our Aunt Dolly, and the rest -

Exposed to the expanse of my forgettery.

          This poem needs an open end, for how,

          Half a century on, will they seem now?

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 8.7.22

 Brimsdown

The weeping willow by the station house

Droops towards the level crossing gates;

Workmen boarding up the waiting room

Roll on the matt grey while he waits

The usual late arrival from the East.

The palette-works behind the down line clank

Against the latent blur of Radio One

Though he's oblivious as his earphones blank

Reality, white Metro keeps his mind

On Harry Potter, Horoscopes and Sport -

Anything but sense what's really there

At half-past seven, before the day was wrought

          Its dullness on a soul already lost

          To all the brightness life at him has tossed.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 8.7.22

 Pain Again

Everything around me seems ok,

So why then is my stomach filled with bile,

A hollow lump regurgitating while

The rest of me looks mildly on today?

Simple indegestion  will not do -

I'd take the Gavescon if that was all

It needed as an antidote for gall

And acid churning up its gastric stew.

So then, it must be hypochondria

Which doesn't mean there isn't any pain

It's just that it is easier to explain

Than deep psychosis or plain paranoia.

          'Stop feeling sorry for yourself!' you said,

          'If nothing else, it beats being dead.'

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 8.7.22

 To Martin

'Martin', she said and I had always thought

Of you as William, presumably because

That was my granddad's name, and it was

The first that came to mind, as if it ought

To have ancestral links even though

Neither of us have.  In the genealogical groups

That Dad had found, back to our Yorkshire roots

Before the Armada, not a single Tony

Or a Brian, and then, out of the blue

Your name appeared, unlinked to any other

In our past, but suddenly I've a brother

- Long thought lost - the one I never knew.

          How strange that after sixty years, you are more

          Real to me today than ever before.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 8.7.22

 Oh what joy

How can I be depressed

Cardiff Bay

And Pizza Express

Brian Hick July 09

©copyright Sally Hick 1.7.22

 Normal

'Oh yes,' I said, 'I'm getting back to normal.

Up at the usual time and off to work;

More than enough to keep me out of trouble;

Concentrate the mind, no time to shirk.'

And so I try to still the guilty wheel

Returning me each day to the point where,

Six months ago, normal used to mean

Just what it said, and he was there

In his usual place before the tele

Sounding off at all the goings on

At the Oxfam shop or in the papers

Setting the world to rights.  Oh how I long

           To sit in boredom listening to his voice

           But 'normal' now, I do not have a choice.

Brian Hick July 09

©copyright Sally Hick 1.7.22

 (coping with grief)

It's over, and I am here again

Sitting, with my coffee and the birds

Disinterested as ever, while the words

That have been beating in my brain

For ten days now are gently on the ebb.

Commuting up to London Bridge that thrust

Of returning daily life and the crush

Of rush our tubes is bliss, as routine's web

Takes over and my mind can err,

Relaxing in the dullness of the task

A stress which I can understand and ask

No more than that it simply will be there

          Rather the pressure that comes from the boss

          Than time to ruminate upon my loss.

Brian Hick 30.6.09

©copyright Sally HIck 1.7.22