1010
You fill my days with sunlight
You gird my nights with peace
You concecrate my being
You make my yearning cease.
You carry on without me
You go where I don't dare
When despair has gripped me
And no one else would care.
You ignore my cliches
You don't hear my cries
You simply love the frightened child
That hides behind my eyes.
Brian Hick September 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 10.10.23
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
1008
I have to write, that much I must believe;
Too old to start again, too late to change
My ways, to put aside the things that grieve.
I have to write.
There was a time I hoped I could arrange
My life and plan the things I would achieve
But time runs out and stultifies the range
Of opportunities, while hopes deceive
The body's gradual decay, as age
Takes over and the mind cannot conceive.
I have to write.
Brian Hick autumn 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 7.10.23
1007
Simple Joys?
Of 'simple joys', like living without thought
Blotting out philosophy and kant?
Or the vapid truths religions taught
Of 'simple joys'.
Once I hoped that reason could prevent
The endless oscillations which have brought
No peace of mind, but in the event
The logical conclusions that I sought
vanished leaving nothing but a scent
Of 'simple joys'.
Brian Hick autumn 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 6.10.23
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
1004
How often did you pass that hill
Where the bodies hung in agony,
Sweating out their final gasps, until
Death restored an unsought harmony?
When did you first realise that there,
Nailed to a cross, the truth might slowly dawn
That you had failed, shouting in bleak despair,
While bored squaddies stand about and yawn?
Where then was the hope that had inspired
Three years of teaching, though the restless mob
Were more aroused by miracles than fired
By thoughts of new beginnings or of God?
As you were dying, did you really see
That you were doing this because of me?
Brian Hick September 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 2.10.23
