1323

27 OCT 13

So this is '87 once again

But this time we've been told for days on end

Prepare yourselves for howling wind and rain

Fearsome gusting storms that thrash and wend

From Cornwall to the Wash before they pause;

Then we can surface to survey the mess,

The missing roofs, the fallen trees, the cars

Shattered; though the mobile homes' distress

Seems gentler, as it floats out on the flood

Across the water meadows, where last week

Two stalwart pensioners played bowls and could

Commend themselves for finding somewhere safe.

            Overnight their game is flushed away,

            Nobody cares, nobody wants to play.

Brian Hick October 13

©copyright Sally Hick 22.11.24

 1322

Autumn fields pock-marked with crows

And sheep knee-deep in clovered grass

Who crop their way towards the hedge

Weighed down with blackberries and sloughs.

Brian Hick October 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 20.11.24

 1321

I am  writer, because that's what I do.

No matter whether you read this or not

I write on and trust that it is true.

I am a writer,

But all the words on earth aren't worth a jot,

Be they Milton, Wordsworth or Shakespeare,

Duffy, Johnson, Heaney, Elliott,

Until they lift the heart above what's mere

Normality, above the seething rot

And stench of how things may appear.

I am a writer.

Brian Hick October 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 18.11.24

 1320

George Herbert had a way with simple words

Realising that the working man

Doesn't have much time amongst the herds

Of cows, his flock of sheep & goats to scan

Profound ideas, theology obscure

Even to those scholars of his age;

Also so he wrote for us, in ideas pure,

Unsullied by the wisdom of the sage,

Yet speaking to the heart because he knew

The Holy Spirit burns its fiercest fire

Within the breasts of those who love what's true

And seek it with unquenchable desire.

Brian Hick October 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 8.11.24

 1319

Another round of sonnets to relieve

The stultifying mess our minds are in

Trying to pin down what we believe?

Another round of sonnets?

After Ashburnham, what can we say?

Are there yet among us those who grieve

At the name of Jesus; who don't pray

And don't feel the need; who'd rather leave

The church than maybe find a better way

Of doing things?  Maybe we do need

Another round of sonnets?

Brian Hick October 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 6.11.24

 1318

                         Ibis

                Buffet breakfast

                 Sign for drinks

         Twenty four hour service

                Lifts to all floors

          But oh so much cheaper

                Than a cruise -

  and the floor stays level at all times!

Brian Hick October 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 4.11.24

 1317

Equinox - Bewl Water

Silent sultry

Late September days

A watercolour sky

Soft-focussed brooding

Drifts over Bewl

We walk clockwise

From Three Leg Cross

Through damp woodland

Up and over gentle hills

Down toward the water edge

On churned up muddy paths

Yachts drift past

A soft splash of canoes

Solitary birds unseen

Call from across an inlet

Distant laughter

Children's voices

A peal of bells

From hired bikes

Family filled

The water-side restaurant

Shuts out drowsy wasps

Who strafe the sun-cut terrace

A time-lapsed photograph

To mark the day

Cajoled we sample

Free goat curry

Before we move on

The day cools

We trudge across a bridge

Down empty lanes

To our parked car

And home.

Brian Hick September 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 2.11.24