written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society
Thursday, 26 March 2026
Wednesday, 25 March 2026
Enjambment
‘Enjambment is when a sentence or phrase spans over more than one line of poetry. Because of this, a thought or idea carries on from one line to the next without a pause or punctuation mark at the end of the line’.
A glooming peace this morning with it brings.
The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punishèd.
Each line is complete in itself and the argument goes that this is an example of his early works.
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities; but I have
That honourable grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown.
The point is that the reader's eye is forced to go on to the next sentence. It can also make the reader feel uncomfortable or the poem feel like ‘flow-of-thought’ with a sensation of urgency or disorder. It is said that this is a measure of Shakespeare’s development as a writer.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
William Shakespeare
Saturday, 21 March 2026
Illustrating Fairies
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| detail from 'The Serpentine' in Peter Pan In Kensington Gardens, Arthur Rackham, 1906 |
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| detail from 'Titania' in A Midsummer Night's Dream, Arthur Rackham, 1908 |
Wednesday, 18 March 2026
Fairies
There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
It's not so very, very far away;
You pass the gardener's shed and you just keep straight ahead --
I do so hope they've really come to stay.
There's a little wood, with moss in it and beetles,
And a little stream that quietly runs through;
You wouldn't think they'd dare to come merrymaking there--
Well, they do.
There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
They often have a dance on summer nights;
The butterflies and bees make a lovely little breeze,
And the rabbits stand about and hold the lights.
Did you know that they could sit upon the moonbeams
And pick a little star to make a fan,
And dance away up there in the middle of the air?
Well, they can.
There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
You cannot think how beautiful they are;
They all stand up and sing when the Fairy Queen and King
Come gently floating down upon their car.
The King is very proud and very handsome;
(She's a little girl all day, but at night she steals away)?
Well -- it's Me!
Rose Fyleman, Punch Magazine, May 1917

Tuesday, 17 March 2026
Fairies - Tinker Bell v Titania
I’m not alone. My sister-in-law collects all manner of fairies made in various materials. Some live outside, some indoors. I think Tinker Bell was in charge, certainly in the dining-room, until I gave my sister-in-law a special gift. At the time, I was still able to do cross stitch and it was usually big projects that would take forever and a day. When I saw a pattern for Titania, I was compelled to make her. I collected everything she needed and couldn’t wait to start. It was a learning experience, too. I hadn’t included sequins or seed beads on anything I’d done before, so I was excited to see those take shape in enhancing Titania. Another new thing, I was working on linen instead of familiar aida. It took many hours to complete and I enjoyed every minute. The end result was stunning. This photo is all I have and it doesn’t do it justice. Titania lives in Scotland with my sister-in-law, pride of place on a wall where she is loved and admired. As Queen of the Fairies, she is in charge, pushing Tinker Bell into second place.
Fairies live at the bottom of my garden and I wish they would tidy it up. When my children, and later on, grandchildren came along, I would send them outside to see if they could find any. I would tell them that the fairies sometimes disguised themselves as pixies or even squirrels, so look out for monkey nuts. I don’t think they believed me.
A fairy they definitely believed in, or didn’t dare deny in case they missed out, was Peggy, the Tooth Fairy. Not only did Peggy leave a generous reward under the pillow, but also a letter of thanks for a perfect, well-cared for tooth.
My chosen poem,
Fairy Song
You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blindworms, do no wrong;
Come not near our Fairy Queen.
Philomel with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; ulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night, with lullaby.
Weaving spiders come not here;
Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence;
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail do no offence.
Philomel with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; ulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night, with lullaby.
William Shakespeare 1564 – 1616
Thanks for reading, Pam x
Saturday, 14 March 2026
Chicanery
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| Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill, Tehran 1943 |
when truth was all undone.
Thanks for reading. Stay wise, S ;-)
Wednesday, 11 March 2026
Chicanery
‘Have you ever encountered a situation where things just felt… off? Not outright illegal, perhaps, but certainly not straightforward or honest?
“The difference between chicanery and dishonesty AI 300 words” into a website entitled Create AI Blog.
Epitaph On A Tyrant
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
W. H. Auden
Saturday, 7 March 2026
On Coffee And Cafés
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| a Greek café |
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| coffee with my grandson recently |
what comfort to be known personally by Barbara,
her perfect pouring hand and starched ascot,
known as the two easy eggs and the single pancake,
without saying.
What pleasure for an immigrant—
anything without saying.
My uncle slid into his booth.
I cannot tell you—how I love this place.
He drained the water glass, noisily clinking his ice.
My uncle hailed from an iceless region.
He had definite ideas about water drinking.
I cannot tell you—all the time. But then he’d try.
My uncle wore a white shirt every day of his life.
He raised his hand against the roaring ocean
and the television full of lies.
He shook his head back and forth
from one country to the other
and his ticket grew longer.
Immigrants had double and nothing all at once.
Immigrants drove the taxis, sold the beer and Cokes.
When he found one note that rang true,
he sang it over and over inside.
Coffee, honey.
His eyes roamed the couples at other booths,
their loose banter and casual clothes.
But he never became them.
Uncle who finally left in a bravado moment
after 23 years, to live in the old country forever,
to stay and never come back,
maybe it would be peaceful now,
maybe for one minute,
I cannot tell you—how my heart has settled at last.
But he followed us to the sidewalk
saying, Take care, Take care,
as if he could not stand to leave us.
I cannot tell—
how we felt
to learn that the week he arrived,
he died. Or how it is now,
driving his parched streets,
feeling the booth beneath us as we order,
oh, anything, because if we don’t,
nothing will come.
Wednesday, 4 March 2026
Cafés
The 1945 film stars Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard in lead roles, alongside Stanley Holloway, Joyce Carey, Cyril Raymond, Everley Gregg and Margaret Barton. It tells the story of two married strangers living in pre-World War II England, whose chance meeting at a railway station leads to a brief yet intense emotional affair disrupting their otherwise conventional lives.
It has to be said that the Refreshment Room was recreated in a studio but it really does look like the real thing.
Putting my gloves on the table
I was glad I’d made time for tea
The half past five’s always crowded
And not quite the right company
The bookshop in town was quiet
I spent more than I really should
But there’s just enough left over
For those buns that Ann says are good
There’s a nice couple sat in the corner
I think that I’ve seen them before
When suddenly out of nowhere
A steam train roars by the door
But the girl behind the counter
Just smiles as she gives me my tray
And didn’t mention memories
Which is worth the tip when I pay.
(First published in Purple Patch, 2007)
Tuesday, 3 March 2026
Cafes
I’m pleased to discover that one of our familiar cafes in Kirkcudbright has re-opened. I think it closed last year and the business was up for sale. It’s under new ownership with a new name and I look forward to visiting on our next time there. We know all the cafes in Kirkcudbright and Castle Douglas, some better than others. We have lunch out most days when we are there, or coffee and cake. Less often at home, but it’s nice when we do venture out.
On my birthday, a few years ago, we were having lunch in the
Ashton Pavilion café in St. Anne’s. Someone began to play the grand piano, very
accomplished and lovely to listen to as one tune seamlessly flowed into another.
‘Nights in White Satin’, perfectly played, filled me with emotion and reminded
me of the time years earlier, when having lunch at the Waldorf Astoria in New
York, a small group of us were entertained by Michel Legrand running through
his playlist in preparation for the evening. He didn’t play ‘Nights’, but the
feeling was the same. Amazing talent.
There’s a fabulous café at the Lowry in Salford. The gallery
and theatre, not the hotel, though it might have one. My husband and I had
lunch there after a pilgrimage to the paintings, where I can gaze at Lowry’s
work and cry and sigh as I love them so much. It was a special day. We spent
the afternoon in Weatherfield on a Coronation Street tour, where I cried and
sighed again because I love it so much. I would have liked afternoon tea at Roy’s
Rolls, but sadly, the door was locked and even more sad, it wasn’t real, just a
street frontage. It would be fabulous to be an extra in Roy’s café. I would sit
quietly reading, fully absorbed in the book, newspaper or whatever, ignoring
everything and everyone around me. Maybe someone will let me.
Edward Hopper’s painting, ‘Nighthawks’ appeals to me. The
subject is an American diner late at night, not quite a café, but something
about it intrigues me enough to want to be there. The characters look glum,
even stern, like there’s something awkward going on. Ok, I’m nosey.
Park’s Art Deco Café at Stanley Park is open after the winter break and we have just about completed our Rushton & Co. style painting and decorating at home. I think we’ve earned a lunch out.
My Haiku poem,
When in Kirkcudbright
There’s a nice, new café
To add to our list.
Lunch in the Lowry,
Spellbound in the galleries,
We should go again.
I went to New York,
The Waldorf Astoria.
Lucky, little me!
I’ll sit silently
When I’m an extra
On Coronation Street.
Let’s go to the park.
We’ve finished decorating,
The café is open.
PMW 2026
Thanks for reading, Pam x
























