1181

This page is as empty as my mind - 

Buzzing with words, yet not a one in a place

To help construct a thought worth passing on.

Words fit so easily, as if each space

Were pre-ordained and, long before you read

These lines, the layout on the page told you

It must make sense because it looks so right,

So neat, so tidy, rhymes so good and true;

Yet by now I expect you've realised

That just because this poem's in sonnet form

It may have nothing in its fourteen lines

More than the words themselves, and it will dawn

            On you that words are simply not enough

            For poems must be made of sterner stuff.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 11.6.24

1180

My heart is yours; although some might insist

It's just a pump, we've always known better

And now we've facts the sceptics can't resist.

My heart is yours.

It seems my heart has never been in fetter

To my brain -  assuming that's the gist

Of new research - and what I think is debtor

To those fifty years since we first kissed.

The Age of Reason may have made life neater

But oh how dull if Love were off the list.

My heart is yours.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 10.6.24

 1179

I prepare a blank page for you to write on

And wait

Clearing my mind, settling myself

In hope

Not for some magic still small voice

But faith

That in the silence I will hear

Nothing

For your love drowns out the noise of words.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 7.6.24

 1178

You trotted in to say a last goodbye

But I had more important things in mind

And did not realise, until today,

That that was it - there'd be no other time

To savour a last look, a final thought,

Take a final photo of you there

Amongst the roses or above the fence

Scratching in the early morning air.

The squirrels entertain and unnamed cats

Wander through to sit atop the shed

But they're not you, and though they pass the time

Your foxiness is still inside my head

As if the world beyond mere humankind

Were channelling itself through your bright mind.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 6.6.24

 1177

They've gone to the prom - and

I have finished marking for the day.

There's nothing on TV -

I do not care to read -

But Opus 18 No 1

Is soothing as I try

To make some sense

Of where I've got to

In these last few weeks.

Moving could have been a trial

But passed by without notice.

The marking now is almost done

The job ticks over without stress

All the things I choose to do are fine.

So what is lurking, smugly, out of sight,

Weighing at the edge

Waiting to catch me off guard?

Why do I suspect

You smile?

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 5.6.24

 1176

Where is the summer? It seems to have missed us

Down here in Hastings, where the sea is rough

And tourists cower with ketchup, chips and huss.

Where is the summer?

There were some days in May which beamed enough

To make us hope this year there'd be no fuss -

Just weeks and weeks of sun, and not a puff

Of cloud in sight - but now we lurk and cuss

The endless downpours, flash floods and the knell

Which drowns all thought of warmth this side of Hell.

Where is the summer?

Brian Hick June 2012

©Sally Hick 4.6.24 (same sentiment now)

 1175

An Edwardian garden where the rain

Unnoticed softens paths and gently greys

The edges of the distant weather vane.

An Edwardian garden.

A blackbird unseen its welcome lays

Lightening the silence of the country lane

Where hollyhocks in hedgerows wait the blaze

Of early sun to warm the window pane

At which she stands - her unwavering gaze

Oblivious, until he comes again.

An Edwardian garden.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 3.6.24