967

WNO in Brum

Is a day ever wasted? Can it be

Retrieved and reconstructed in the light

Of reflection or philosophy.

This time I've spent just waiting for the night?

The hours, though slow, slipped easily away;

I read the paper, walked across the city,

Lounged in the Big Wok, as if the day

Had purpose and was not inclined to pity

Myself because there was nothing much to do.

I wrote a little, rang you from time to time,

Then mooched to the Hippo for the new

Cosi fan tutte, which should have been sublime

          But all I got was shoddiness and dross

          And the whole day became a total loss.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 31.7.23

 966

Proserpine

Of all the months I've come to hate September

For once moe it took you away from me,

Leaving winter's never ending scree

Of memories I'd rather not remember.

A pomegranate seed - a thing so small

It's difficult to realise the harm

It caused, so that your child's warmth and charm

With autumn's peace, were banished for us all.

Here I wait, counting the days until

The ice recedes and snowdrops push their heads

Up through the wasted weeds and flower beds,

The sun begins to warm not just to light,

The moon sits softer as I watch the night

Then, you are here again, and all is well.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 28.7.23

 965

Birmingham Haikus

Der frohlicher Monch

Wanderkneipe;

No wonder Victoria 

Looks the other way

Have just realised

This Dortmunder Union

Could have been a Pimms.

A haiku for each

Painting in the gallery;

How long would it take?

'Never morning wore

To evening but some heart did

Break', Walter Langley.

Why does this painting

With its simple subject, melt

My heart so quickly

Will retirement be

Like this; ticking off the hours

Until the next meal?

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 26.7.23

 964

Black headed gulls turn into the light

An east wind ruffles up the estuary.

The evening sun just catches on the bright

Grey metal holders, stark against the weary

Kentish hills.  Two yachts squat at anchor

Tipping slowly in the turning tide

Oblivious to the sluggish German tanker

Slipping out into the North Sea's wide

Neutrality.  A rush of starlings coast

Above my head, brushing the evergreen

Which holds the cliff against a host

Of subterranean forces which would cream

          The life from this frail margin of the river

          Returning it to mud and marsh for ever.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 24.7.23

 963

Wave

The sea was calm.

I was no more than an idea

Lurking in the mind of the wind

Which licked and hissed, cajoled,

Until, out of the mass of water

I started to evolve.

Gradually, without any effort on my part,

I came into being, growing even stronger.

The coast could not endure my might;

Rocks and matter smashed as I broke on them

Rolling all before me

Knwing nothing

Had my strength,

Until

On that same instant

I was gone -

A back draft and a trail of bubbles

All that for a second seemed to hang

Before the waters hid me and

The sea was calm.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 21.7.23

 962

Southend haikus

I am surrounded

By cars and wandering tourists

Yet always alone.

Southend sea-front on

A fine June evening, but why

Is everything closed?

If you thought Hastings

Was bad, you need to come to

Southend in summer.

Dr Brian Hick June 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 19.7.23

 961

Bella Italia, Southend

A poster of the Sistine Chapel pinned above my head

As I sup my double espresso and accept that I had read

All I want to of The Independent and have eaten more

Than I expected - but that comment seems to avoid the core

Of what I need to say - How quickly we reduce perfection

To a trite souvenir, a double A3 whose intention

Is to amuse not overwhelm, as surely Michelangelo

Intended, when in sweaty haste, his immortal fresco

Took shape above his head and over time has come to mean

For more than he imagined on the intellectual scene.

Yet via internet and mobile every daub has been reduced

To a faded T-shirt or an ad for orange juice.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 17.7.23