990

Fossiling

On Chesil Beach the turning tide is clear,

Even the thrash and push cannot conceal

The rolling pebbles underneath the waves

Which churn like jewels in the midsummer sun.

Yet picking up each perfect form they dry

And dull as if removal from that nether world

Of sea and shore, halfway between each,

Yet home to neither - like Schrodinger's cat -

Forces choice and so kills off the life

Which only blossoms when in constant flux

Between the two uncompromising worlds

Gringing against each other to produce

          The perfect smoothness which each pebble knows

          Ensures survival and a beach which grows.

Brian Hick August 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 12.9.23

 989

Jurasic Haikus

The Spinnaker Tower,

An engineering miracle-

For retail therapy.

At Pizza Express

No poems, just a menue

For the holiday.

On European alcohol limits

Italy allows

An extra bottle each week;

Viva Italia!

The bed is lumpy,

The coat hangers are missing

But we both slept well.

Pip, pip, pip, pip, pip

Off goes next door's smoke alarm;

Good job it's not ours.

It rained this morning

So I took my mac, but now

Swelter in the sun.

Junior disco

I cannot see to

Read or write, and the noise

Blots out all thought.

The beach, sans fossils,

Is silent, but the swallows

Swarm in happy clouds.

3.15 am

A young sea-gull calls

Like a squeaking gate up on

The caravan roof.

Austen & Palgrave,

Tennyson & John Fowles

All lived in Lyme Regis.

If I canot see 

The Long Man for the darkness,

Maybe he's not there?

Brian Hick August 2011  on holiday with our granddaughter

©copyright Sally Hick 11.9.23

 984

14.7.11

Here is where it all started;

Scribbled words on a

Pizza Express napkin;

What Poet could ask for more?

Brian Hick 14.7.11

©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

 982

Wicked will close soon;

The adverts in the Standard

Get ever larger.

Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 6.9.23

 981

I see you in the darkness of the night

I hear you in the silence of the seas

I touch you in the breeze upon the hills

I sense you in the garden, on my knees

While weeding out the plants which you have watered,

While warming chilly hands beside the fire,

While meditating on the evening sunlight

While singing cheek-by-jowl in the choir

For you have never left me when I doubted

Nor given up the fight I might have lost

When, ignorant, I thought that you had vanished,

Insisting I alone must count the cost

For all the stupid things, the selfish actions,

Which blight my memory and seek to crush

All hope of any single act of kindness

Which could alleviate the futile rush

To justify myself, when all I needed

Was simply to accept, not question why,

Your selfless love that's always here beside me

And always will be, till the day I die.

I see you in the darkness of the night

I hear you in the silence of the seas

I touch you in the breeze upon the hills

I sense you in the garden, on my knees.

Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 4.9.23

 980

Wormsley

Look, four kites circling

Silent, over the deer park and

My chilled sauvignon blanc.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 1.9.23