14
North facing in November
Grey seas curl against the shore
Brown ridges falling awkwardly
On pebble bank before
They sink as quickly as they came
Driven by a Viking storm
Cutting across the Irish sea
Out of a blustered sawn.
How quickly it has changed;
Yesterday morning
Could have been Spring,
Its open sky
A zircon set
Above a placid sea,
As we stood unmoved
By the coolness
From the south.
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 30.11.22
11
The Wanderer
Autumn's gold has rusted in the fog
And trees stand damply waiting for the frost
To strip away the few remaining leaves.
Quiet melancholy silences the cost
Of darkness, scattering the hopes of ease,
The distant memory of bright yule logs,
Shared feasts and friendly faces in the glow
Of fire or tallow flames, where warmth was more
Than sitting near the hearth. I am alone -
As lifeless as the drift-wood on the shore -
No kin alive, no place to call my own,
No love survived to let my spirit grow.
Where can I turn when all I had is lost
And thought can only serve to count the cost?
Brian Hick 28.11.22
©copyright Sally Hick 28.11.22
12
I've never been so cold;
But that's not true.
Fifty years ago there was no heat
Except the kitchen fire
That my mum lit
Each morning
When I went out for a wash.
My bedroom window frosted every day.
Inside the glass and out,
The lino burnt my feet
If I missed the slip mat
Made of old nylons
By Mrs Bright upstairs;
And even this was mild
Given the dash across the yard
Round past the shed
To the outside loo
Where the wind whistled in the bottom
And out the top.
Cold?
You don't know you're born!
Brian Hick 2010
©coyright Sally Hick 25.11.22
The News
Sally prefers not to watch the News
But dutifully I plod through until
Guilt or frustration overtakes the drive
For information and I switch off, but still
The ghosts remain to sour our evening meal.
Impotent against the endless flow
Of pain, injustice, arrogance and greed
I flail around to make sese of the slow
Acidic drip etching each raw fact
But smothering the spark of hope with lies
Accumulating till I cannot tell
What I should think, and thinking act, to rise
Above this indolent depressive mood,
Fight for the preservation of the good.
Brian Hick Nov 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 23.11.22
I've
Been here
Too long; today
I did not notice the
Pylons.
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick November 2022
9
I pass him on my way
And sometimes give spare change;
But next day
He is there again.
We smile politely,
Knowing he's well trained
To ignore those
Who ignore him.
He used to have a dog
As neutral in its pose
As his
Even when a coin
Dropped near its nose.
But since last winter's ice
He slumps alone;
The faded blanket
Loosely wrapped
Leaving just his head
To hint at life.
I could give so much more -
Do so much more
Of course he knows
And know I know.
So what is stopping me?
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 21.11.22
7
There are leaves on the line, so obviously we are late-
No matter that it's blowing a gale
As we stand waiting for the ten to eight.
There are leaves on the line.
But worse is to come; the final nail
A stream of cancellations at Liverpool Street
Because their over-running works entail
The closure of the entire Southend fleet,
While any other routes are sure to fail
To get me to work sometime this week.
There are leaves on the line.
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 18.11.22
