Wisdom

“With age comes wisdom.”

It would be nice to think so, but a lot depends on an individual’s lifestyle and experiences. Some people never grow up, in the eyes of others. We are all how we are meant to be, with a few tweaks here and there as we seek knowledge or self-improvement.

Oscar Wilde, “With age comes wisdom, but sometimes age comes alone.”

“A word to the wise.”

Something my dad would say to me, starting a conversation offering advice, brief opinion or more often, a heads-up on a point of interest, usually negative.

Quote from Wikipedia regarding wise owls,

“The perception of owls as symbols of wisdom dates back to Ancient Greece, where the owl was sacred to Athena, the goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare. Owls were often depicted perched on her shoulders representing knowledge, vigilance and intellectual prowess. Greek soldiers even regarded the presence of an owl as a favourable omen before battle, and the bird appeared on coins called ‘glaukes’ reinforcing its symbolic link to wisdom and insight. The Romans later adopted this symbolism through Minerva, Athena’s counterpart, maintaining the owl as a representation of intelligence.”

Between the ages of eight and nine, I attended the village school in Padfield, near Glossop. The head teacher was a formidable looking woman, always wore her cap and gown at school and made me think of a wise, old owl. She was Mrs Swift and at the time, I thought Mrs Owl would be a more appropriate name. She was lovely and kind, not a bit like her appearance suggested. This was a very happy time in my childhood and I have fond memories of the short time my family spent there.

My photograph is of one of my late aunt’s religious pieces. I have it in the landing window, to keep me in check.

I found this poem by James Joyce, written during his time in Zurich,

Bahnhofstrasse

The eyes that mock me sign the way
Whereto I pass at eve of day.

Grey way whose violet signals are
The trysting and the twining star.

Ah star of evil! Star of pain!
High hearted youth comes not again.

Nor old heart’s wisdom yet to know
The signs that mock me as I go.

James Joyce (1882 – 1941)

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Deal Breaker

One word: Brexit. It's now ten years since the infamous and deeply flawed referendum that not only split the nation in half (52% to 48%) but in many cases divided families, friends and workmates. It was the worst kind of deal breaker, a divorce from a union that had actually benefitted us for over 40 years. 

"What do you mean you voted for Brexit?"

I recognise that no one wants a long-haul analysis of all the whys and wherefores of one of the most crass acts of self-harm we've inflicted on ourselves as a nation, but maybe I can quickly summarise in a few bullets:

- Britain had been in decline and fall as a country since the early 1950s. The swinging sixties only glossed over our underinvestment in manufacturing and technological innovation.

- Joining the EU (or EEC as it was then) in 1973 actually saved Britain from total stagnation. It gave us a bit of a lifeline and an economic boost for a while, but a deep-seated insularity prevented us from making the best of the opportunities on offer. 

- Governments (Conservative for the majority of the time) were not as 'state oriented' as on the continent, so our systemic slowness to modernise, and our deepening infrastructure malaise became stumbling blocks that we have still not overcome. Thatcherism has a lot to answer for.

- Our growing dependence on services and the financial sector to bolster GDP exacerbated a deepening divide between the poorest 30% and the wealthiest 20%, with the rest of us stranded somewhere in the middle.

- Faced with that malaise and its inherent inability to do what was necessary, the Conservative party started to infight, and the Brexit Referendum was Cameron's attempt to try and save the Tories from disintegrating all together. (Just look how that's worked out)

- Those who promised us that "getting our country back" would be in any way better than a dive back into the shrinking insularity and stagnation of the 1950s and 1960s were peddling illusion at best, cynical deception and lies at worst - as I think we've all come to realise after the event. Leaving the EU has been an economic and a social disaster for the UK and Reform/Restore would only lead us deeper into the hole we've dug for ourselves.

Seriously, folks, it's time to start planning to reverse the mistake and rejoin the EU.

"We've all been done."

For my poem, I've written a variant on Martin Niemöller's famous 1946 apology for not speaking out in opposition to the advances of fascism/nazism in 1930s Germany. Several other straightforward pastiches have appeared in recent years, and you can google alternative versions of the 'First they came for...' theme at your leisure.

However, I wanted to flip the narrative and give my rendition a different slant and structure, a more positive and progressive one in the face of the cynical attempt by right-wing billionaires to bankroll the overthrow of our cherished multicultural democratic values, a move that has been gathering pace, as I've intimated above, since the machinations of Brexit.

They Came First
They came first to escape war
and I did not freak out,
because I was not a racist.

Then they came for social security
and I did not freak out,
because we are the sixth richest 

country in the world, for fuck’s sake.

They they came for trades and training
and I did not freak out,
because they didn’t “take our jobs”,
often did work we didn’t want to do,
and they paid their taxes.

Then they came up for election
and I did not freak out,
because they had assimilated
into our democratic institutions
and frequently championed

multiculturalism at its best.

Then they came to be demonised

by the lies of wealthy xenophobes
and finally I did freak out,

because we all know

Pastor Martin Niemöller's poem

off by heart... 

...and this monstrous tide 

of modern monied fascism 

threatens to tear all that's good 

in our febrile "sceptred isle" apart.

Thanks for reading my stuff, S ;-)

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Deal Breaker

I started an article in Psychology Today about research into what makes a deal breaker in relationships. It was a bit technical but still very well written. And then I happened upon a site where people were commentating on what they really didn’t like in potential partners. I was hooked. The first one below is what kicked it off for me:

"Most common dealbreakers include abuse, rude to servers and others, drug use, adultery, etc. Ignoring the obvious dealbreakers, what are some unusual dealbreakers you have? For me, it was a hatred for theme parks. I couldn't have fun with someone like that."

"People who think reading is 'boring'."

"A hatred for fandom/dressing up. I love going all out for Halloween or theme parties etc. I couldn't be with someone who didn't want to go all out too."

"Camping. I hate it, I never want to do it again. Couldn't date someone who was into that sort of thing."

"Can’t cook? If you can’t cook, I can’t be with you. I’m not going to be the only one feeding us. If you can’t cook and expect me to feed you all the time it literally won’t work out."

"Not liking fun facts. I know who I am at this point and if you don't enjoy random tidbits of useless knowledge neither of us are gonna have a good time."

"I would veto someone for not knowing how to use apostrophes correctly."

"Influencers/lifestyle bloggers are a big no for me. Staging everything in life for likes is not how I want to live it."

"Posting pictures of themselves 'meditating' on social media. If you are meditating you wouldn't be trying to convince everyone that you're meditating... it's just weird."

"Don’t like people who chew with their mouth open or talk with a mouthful of food. Gross. I’m out if you do that."

"Those weird folks who take selfies constantly."

"Supporting Spurs - and I’m not joking,"

"I ended it with someone who once turned up in some bloody awful Paddington like checked trousers. I icked right there and then."

"A nail biter makes me cringe."

"Someone who’s too lazy to pronounce the TH sound - I live in Ireland."

"Sport, watching, playing, reading or talking about it. Any of it at anytime. And the gym."

"Astrology; homeopathy; imperfect grammar or syntax in text messages. All instant deal breakers."

"Anyone who wears what I think are horrible shoes - slip ons (double nope if they have tassels) pointy toed shoes, sandals (with or without socks) flip flops, crocs, sliders. Men should wear proper boots or decent trainers."

"I wouldn't date anyone with the same name as my ex. No thank you."

I can’t stand when people put wrappers into cups of tea/coffee that they’ve finished. Total deal breaker."

"Someone who didn’t like my dog sleeping at the end of the bed. He said it was her or him, it was an easy choice, I loved that dog."

As for the poem. I couldn’t resist this:

The author Daniel Defoe controversially wrote of the town mentioned in this poem in his 1704 book 'The Storm '. The town accused him of libel and refuted the allegations he made. Defoe wrote:

If I had any satire left to write,
Could I with suited spleen indite,
My verse should blast that fatal town,
And drown'd sailors' widows pull it down;
No footsteps of it should appear,
And ships no more cast anchor there.
The barbarous hated name of Deal shou'd die,
Or be a term of infamy;
And till that's done, the town will stand
A just reproach to all the land.

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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PRSNL FX

What colour is your aura? I was once told mine is purple... whatever that signifies, if I even have one. And does a person's "effect" on others depend on whether one is trying or not? Being or doing - is that the question? Being natural without ulterior motive versus deliberately working at making an impression and building a following? 

prsnl fx

Some historical figures are renowned for having possessed charisma sufficient to bend or persuade others to their beliefs, cause or purpose: think priests and prophets, military leaders, orators, politicians, confidence tricksters. Others are famed for inspiring less impacting allegiances: actors, musicians, sports people, writers even all have their fan bases. We're used to the rise of "personalities", a pervasive phenomenon that has grown with the arrival of the press, movies, recorded music, radio and tv, the internet.

However, since online social media birthed the "awareness economy" and its monetising plague of influencers, I feel it's all got a lot more competitive and cynical, with any Tom, Dick or Harriet setting themselves up as some sort of influencer or oracle. I think I can ignore most of it and resist pretty much all of the lies and lures, but I sense its corrupting advance all around as we slither collectively towards a less moral, less principled world.

Recently I was reminded of Mahatma Gandhi's reclassification of the Seven Deadly Sins, as quoted by President Carter at Senator Hubert Humphrey's funeral in 1978. Ghandi (a charismatic influencer himself) itemised the modern Seven Deadly Sins as follows:

  - wealth without work

  - pleasure without conscience

  - knowledge without character

  - commerce without morality

  - science without humanity

  - worship without sacrifice

  - politics without principle

and I think that's a pretty damned fine check list by which to identify much of what's wrong with the world today.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

As I typed out the list line by line, names just came straight to mind: Elon Musk, Jeffrey Epstein, Donald Trump, Benjamin Netanyahu, Vladimir Putin, Peter Hegseth, Nigel Farage, Bezalel Smotrich. I could go on. It's like a carousel ride at the world's end fair. But those are only the most high profile and shocking. Beneath them come the legions happy to embrace the same lack of ethics in their quest to make their own "personal effects" tell on us all. As Bob Dylan said, "Watch your parking meters".

Oh dear! To lighten the mood on this depressing Saturday evening, here's a new comic poem tenuously about personal effect, class conflict and mild thuggery..

Hugh or The Tin Of Tartan Paint
They thought to cut Hugh down to size
that first day, have a laugh
at his expense, son of the owner.

A quaint initiation rite: ‘Go to the stores
and fetch…’ He knew what was coming
and played along, thought he’d be cunning,

had made the label in advance, being good
at art. ‘McGregor’s Finest Tartan Paint.
One coat required. Apply thick. Do not stir.’

All he had to do was stick it round the tin
and walk back in. His workmates’ ready smirks
soon turned to scowls and chips. He was

making them look fools, not mindful of
class sensitivities. Not clever. Big mistake.
After hours, some of the lads lay in wait

and though Hugh bolted hell for leather,
unsure if this was still all in fun,
the pursuing clan soon outran him,

hauled him down, the owner’s son,
administered a broad-brush beating,
black, yellow and blue, a tartan Hugh.

  

Thanks for reading. Stay colourful and wise, S :-)

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Personal Effects

I was at a golden wedding anniversary event the other week (congratulations Sue and Mike) and happened to be in their back garden when their granddaughter looked at the watch on her wrist and said “There is someone at the front door”. How did she know this? She explained the details.

So when I got this week’s topic of Personal Effects I started to wonder if there could be a system called ‘Personal effects’ such as in email as one of the definitions of Personal Effects is things that you take with you.

Now that could cover a multitude of stuff but I’d like to take the opportunity to look at how medical technology has and might affect us. I’m taking the invention of wearable spectacles in Venice during the 13th Century as my starting point for how it has assisted human beings in our everyday lives. 

A brief run through includes pocket watches in around 1590, wearable hearing aids in the late 1800s and in 1949, American biophysicist Norman Holter invented the first portable health monitoring device. And that is about it for personal devices. I’m not counting things like stethoscopes which are used by medical professionals.

Things changed with the development of electronics. We can see this in smart watches used, for instance, in counting steps, in portable measuring devices for various bodily functions, in implanted devices.

But what about future developments. The website techtarget suggests:
Wearable technology is becoming increasingly popular and is set to revolutionize the future. While fitness trackers, smart devices, intelligent clothing and VR and AR headsets have gained widespread approval, the full potential of these technologies has yet to be realized.

The following are some futuristic concepts tech experts have predicted will shape wearable technology:
Energy harvesting. One drawback of wearable technology is that it must be taken off for regular charging. 

Energy harvesting is being researched and could prolong battery life by converting body heat, movement or solar energy into power. Piezoelectricity is one example of energy harvesting where piezoelectric ceramic can convert the body vibrations produced during movement into energy.

Smart contact lenses that contain microscopic sensors could directly cover and move with the human eye introducing the possibility of far more sophisticated capabilities than smart glasses.

AI integrated sensors that help with performing functions associated with thinking are currently being developed. Brain implants that could help people recover from traumatic brain injuries, alleviate mood disorders and assist those with communication disorders.

I was particularly taken with epidermal electronics which because of their mechanical properties resembles that of skin. With this inherent ability epidermal electronics can accurately acquire data without altering the natural motion or behaviour of skin. The thin, soft, flexible design of epidermal electronics resembles that of temporary tattoos laminated on the skin. Essentially, these devices are ‘mechanically invisible’ to the wearer.

And how much more personal and effective is that.

This poem was published in a Poetry Anthology, organised by Christabel Hopesmith, called 'Body and Soul ', to mark 70 years since the start of the NHS. I’m including it as it covers some of the above from both a technological and personal point of view.

It’s never finished

Over a coffee
I wrote up the job.

Replaced ECG lead.
Tested ok. Informed Staff Nurse.

and that was that
which didn’t seem enough
considering
so I added the Staff Nurse’s name
and doodled
an arrow tipped wire
threading my lines
into a cartoon heart
which seemed appropriate
for the Cardiac Catheterisation Suite

and dunked a biscuit

wondering whether
if I’d been the patient
would I be disturbed
by some jerk
trying to chat up a colleague
by reciting the reasons
why platinum was used
in the guide wire
about to go into my heart

or would I give a damn
as long as it was obvious
they knew what they were doing
as long as I knew I’d get back
to family and friends

and if I was that patient
would I have helped the jerk
by saying that platinum
was also an anniversary
so why not celebrate the NHS
by taking someone to dinner

I finished the coffee
and wished I’d thought of that.

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Personal Effects - How Little We Need

 

There’s a small box in the attic. It contains the last of the personal effects of my late aunt. Things have reduced over time. She passed away in 1998 and for many years I kept her paperwork. After about twenty years, I shredded most of it, keeping only important, historical or sentimental documents. Items of costume jewellery includes a mink brooch which I remember from my childhood. They were fashionable once, horrible now. I can’t part with the bits and pieces of her Catholic faith, her wall-hanging crucifix and her statue of Christ which was placed on her bedside table. The Jesus statue was a wedding gift from the priest, I believe. I’ve also kept a few old black and white photos that mean nothing to me, but were something to her, so they stay, for now. Anyway, that’s it. The remaining possessions of a life spanning seventy-four years, or thereabouts, neatly placed in a box only slightly bigger than an average shoe-box and stored in the home of her first niece. That could be me, one day. I think I should speak to my niece. There isn’t a box large enough for all my personal effects. Things can shrink, though.

Books, of which I have many, can be stored on a Kindle, or similar. Photos, again lots of them, can live on pen-drives. Music, my collection of vinyl and CDs can be digitalised. Not for me, though. I like real books on shelves, to feel pages and see the different prints and fonts. I don’t care if anyone calls me old-fashioned.

My house is my home. It’s not quite how I like it because I’ve packed away most of the non-essential things, ornaments and pictures, ready for putting the house up for sale. No, it hasn’t happened yet and I’m still going on about it. The sooner, the better, but there are obstacles still in the way. Considering that so much has gone into a storage unit, there is no empty space here to speak of.

Compared to home, we manage with very little on our caravan. Unfortunately, it hasn’t had much use over the summer due to present circumstances. Instead, we managed a mid-week break to a hotel in Cheshire, with all necessary personal effects for both of us, in one, middle-sized suitcase.

My Haiku,

A box in the loft
Auntie’s personal effects,
Left over from life.

Fond mem’ries remain
Which will always stay with me.
I look back and smile.

PMW 2026

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Swimming Pools

What on earth to write about Swimming pools? Frankly, the topic's wasted on me as I never learned to swim. However, I know some cats that do, so we're heading off to Türkiye today (not literally). I haven't yet visited that country, but I've long been intrigued by its breed of swimming cats and by the cascading thermal pools of Pamukkale. I once thought they went together.  I was misinformed. No matter. I pair them up here for your delectation and will finish with a new cat poem that's not entirely on theme. 😸

otherworldly Pamukkale

Pamukkale is an UNESCO world heritage site in south-western Türkiye. Its terraces are made of travertine, a spectacularly shimmering white limestone deposited by mineral waters which have been cascading down from hot springs into its layered pools for millennia. The name in Turkish means 'cotton castle' and it is easy to see why.

There are seventeen hot springs and the waters at source vary in temperature from 35C to nearly boiling. By the time they have mingled and flowed down the cliff to the pools below they are pleasantly warm the year round.

Pamukkale's thermal springs and pools have been attracting visitors since antiquity. The ancient Greek city of Hierapolis, founded as a spa resort, stands above the springs on the site of what was once a cult centre of the Phrygian mother goddess Cybele. It was founded in the 3rd century BC and there is abundant evidence, in the ruins of the city and its nearby necropolis, that many came to the pools for their supposedly - though clearly not always successful - curative powers.

Although this otherworldly site is now carefully curated, it is still possible with permission for visitors to bathe and swim in designated pools at Pamukkale today.

I was led to believe, many years ago, that Türkiye's swimming cats regularly enjoyed the waters of Pamukkale, an unfortunate conflation of facts. The snag is a geographical one, for Pamukkale, as stated, is in the south-western region of the country in Denizli province, while the water-loving cats live over a thousand kilometres away in Anatolia, eastern Türkiye, near Lake Van from which they derive their name...and in which they do swim.

They are distinguished by their snow-white fur, except for brown markings on their head and ears and their brown hind-quarters and tails. They also have odd coloured eyes (quite common elsewhere in white cats, apparently). It is believed they have lived around Lake Van as a feral landrace for several thousand years, originally brought there as pest control by early Anatolian settlers. 

swimming Van cat

Nowadays there are only a couple of hundred pure Van cats living wild in their native area, but breeding programmes have spread their numbers around the world in the last thirty or so years. I wonder if this domesticated diaspora will retain its love of swimming. Only time will tell. I'm just thinking that if I were a Van cat, I'd love to swim in the year-round warm pools of Pamukkale.

I was originally going to call this latest poem Mrs Schrödinger's Pussy, in an oblique cultural reference to the 1970s TV series 'Are You Being Served' and its standing joke about Mrs Slocombe's Pussy, but on consideration I thought it deserved more gravitas than that. It's a work-in-progress and I may tinker with it a bit further. We'll see. 

It's based on the lives of Erwin Schrödinger (of Schrödinger's Cat fame) and his wife Annemarie and the essentials are absolutely true. As well as being a brilliant (and Nobel Prize winning) physicist, he was a serial philanderer with a predilection for young girls. He was twice Annemarie's age when they married in 1920. She was a photographer and supported him financially for many years. As a couple they were childless and she did have a cat called Milton (and another called Marvell, as it happens). She also remained loyal to him despite his many transgressions. The twist is my whimsical invention. 

Mrs Schrödinger's Cat

In the dull red glow 

of an ornate Vienna washroom, 

expectant faces stand by the bath. 

Something is developing slowly

between Anny and Erwin.

They don't speak, don't touch.

 

She's teaching him,

who is so cleverly theoretical,

the practical art of the photograph -

learned in her youth

from her father, chief lensman 

by appointment to the Austrian Court.

It ought to vex her

in years to come,

married to a man twice her age,

that they still survive

mostly off her wage

while he tutors young girls

 

and researches particles and waves,

strays away for days and nights

so that sometimes 

when she's half sleeping 

she doesn't know if he's out or in.

But she has her cat,

jet black and blind like the poet

after whom he's named.

So Erwin framed his wife: white-dressed

and clutching furry Milton to her breast 

in affectionate pose...

and now they're waiting the reveal.

Through stop bath, fixer and wash
Anny conjures chemical magic, hangs
the dripping film. Shot after shot shows
her languid figure, her happy smile,

her empty arms. They stare. Both know

the camera never lies and yet

there's no cat in the photographs,

not even a blurry pale shadow 

of Milton's cradled feline form.

Her black dress, her empty arms,

her knowing smile, his reeling brain.

This is some serious sorcery.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Swimming Pools

I note that the theme is entitled Swimming Pools and my immediate reaction was open air pools or Lidos. I also note that the word is Pools and I wish it were so here in the North West. Indeed, I wish there was actually one that I could highlight. It used to be the case that nearly every town and city would have its own lido but no more.

Before I can go any further it has struck me that I don’t know why it is called a Lido. It seems that it was first termed this in the 1930s and is an Italian word for ‘beach’ such as Lido di Venezia, the barrier beach enclosing the Venetian Lagoon. There is another article on this at some point.

But for now I want to concentrate on this area and one place that is fighting back against the closures and that is the Grange-over-Sands Lido which opened in 1932. The buildings are in Art Deco style. Historic Pools of Britain describes the lido as ‘A very fine intact Art Deco mushroom shaped lido in a stunning setting on the edge of Morecambe Bay’.

Grange Lido in its heyday

English Heritage state the reasons for the lido's Grade II listing in 2011 as:

Completeness: as a complete example of a 1930s lido with the survival of all key ancillary buildings and structures
Pool: for the unusually shaped pool, designed for multiple uses and which retains its original stepped diving stage
Historic: as an evocative reminder of the former popularity of sea-side towns such as Grange over Sands and the inter-war cult of fresh air, fitness and mass leisure.

The lido closed in 1993 after a report suggested that necessary repairs would be too expensive to be justified and then crucially in 2011 the Save Grange Lido campaign was established, aiming to "transform it into a vibrant community owned leisure facility with a restored 50m pool at its heart." Save Grange Lido Ltd incorporated as a Community Benefit Society in January 2019.

the derelict Grange Lido

The Society has grown year upon year, and now comprises people from a range of different backgrounds and specialisms. It includes experts in leisure management, lido operation, business, civil engineering, restoration of historic buildings, tourism, marketing, planning, law, IT, journalism, history and architecture, as well as concerned mums, dads and grandparents. All those involved in the Society are volunteers. The group produced a detailed business plan setting out how it believed this could be achieved. It also has a Friends of Grange Lido.

In February 2019, the local council allocated £2 million for ‘light touch refurbishment’ of the lido, to include making it structurally sound, bringing it back into public use, and providing refurbished units for community groups or entrepreneurs.

In February 2023, it was reported that the repair work was to start the following month and later that year the lido's pool was given a ‘temporary infill’ of stones in order to create a public space. In March 2024, works were anticipated to finish by summer, however in May 2025 it was announced that the reopening had been delayed due to issues with concrete repairs.

At present the Westmorland and Furness Council is carrying out a £6.8 million pound restoration and promenade project and recent progress includes the upgrading of the central pavilion, making an accessible promenade entrance, stabilizing changing areas, repairing the diving board structure and adding a playground.

the planned SGL renovation

The Council's current stage of work on the Pool Basin involves a temporary infill of the main pool area to create a multi-purpose public space rather than an immediate refilling for swimming. Meanwhile Save Grange Lido are pushing for future stages to fully restore the 50 metre pool for swimming and to add a cafe, gym and community hub.

Back in 2019 I wrote this poem about the Lido which was published in Magma in July 2020 but I don’t want to use all of it just a few lines from the middle:

Grange-over-Sands Lido

...to stroll along the Promenade
in time with tipping our hats
to folk with dogs
and it was all a bit splendid

apart from the fact
I knew it would end
when she peeked through gaps
in the Lido’s wall
at shattered Art Deco
splattered in filth and graffiti

and end it did
she was heartbroken
even before finding
photos from the fifties
pasted on the fence
of kids diving through summer...

Then a few years later I wrote this poem:

Grange-over-Sands Lido II

She was so excited
she started to mix up
her SGLs and her SLDCs
while I was no better
as I tried to get to grips with
Community Benefit Societies

all so different to the last time
when there were no noticeboards
just black and white photos
of folk gathered round summers
that had closed years ago
and I wondered if any of the kids
paddling in those photos
are part of the campaign
that we’re reading about
friends and then Friends
who’d dropped a pebble
in the centre of dirty water
and seen ripples spreading
past filth and graffiti
ripples cleansed and clear
pressured by their campaign
battering against rusting wire

we strolled along the Promenade
back to the railway station
signed up by mobile phones
pleased to be part of success.

Published in Reach Poetry, 2026

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Lancashire Dead Good Poets' October Open Mic Night

...on zoom coincides happily with National Poetry Day on Thursday October 1st at 7.30pm BST. The non-compulsory theme in 'Wonder'.

All are welcome. There are 20 x 5 minute slots. Email: deadgoodpoets@hotmail.co.uk to sign up.

I hope you can join us for a magical night of poetry.

Steve ;-)

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Reflect

Reflect is one of those odd words in English that can have completely opposite meanings. Reflect as in a mirror which is instantaneous or Reflect as thinking about a subject deeply. I wondered whether there is a word which describes this state of affairs and lo and behold there is.

The dictionary meaning of the word contronym is ‘a word having two meanings that contradict one another.’ A contronym is also called a ‘Janus word’ or auto-antonym. It's a word that has contradictory (or reverse) meanings depending on the context.

For example, the word ‘transparent’ can mean either something that is invisible or obvious. Or ‘dust’ which can mean to remove as in dusting a shelf or to add as in dusting a cake.

My new printed Oxford English and my old Chambers dictionaries do not have definitions but the online Oxford does. OED's earliest evidence for contronym is from 1962 in the writing of J. Herring.

I’m going to have to choose which Reflect to look at and it’s going to be this one.

Whenever I think of poems or literature about looking back to reflect on things done or not done, then the following poem by William Wordsworth usually comes to mind. It’s generally known as 'Tintern Abbey' but I prefer the full title. This is the extract that does it for me.

Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798.

But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too

Wordsworth claimed to have composed the poem entirely in his head, beginning it upon leaving Tintern and not jotting down so much as a line until he reached Bristol, by which time it had just reached mental completion.

Well, considering the poem is 160 lines (give or take) that’s pretty good going and I do wonder if anyone challenged him on this. Not to mention the fact that his rather talented sister, Dorothy, was walking with him.

I’ve just given myself 5 minutes to have a Reflect on times past. I don’t think that reflections such as these need to melancholic, indeed as Wordsworth says ‘sensations sweet’ can be the order of the day.

So, in my 5 minutes of time present there were memories of a phone call I didn’t make, the sheer joy of vomiting after a hard training run over sand dunes in Great Yarmouth, a railway journey along the west coast of Wales to Pwllheli, getting rid of my mortgage, a poetry event, friends.

I had to drag myself away from all that looking back to think about a poem to go with the thoughts. I think this will do the job and it sort of covers the same concerns as Tintern.

Maritime Museum, St Helier

I didn’t know that fathom
came from faedm,
a measure of outstretched arms
no longer than the arrow
which had stopped me
on a hot March day
as I wandered on my own
following signs
in a museum sort of way.
An arrow,
a wordvane dipped
in terms of the sea
and its turning turned
my day around
as back to the start
and a boy again
I mixed up sand and water
and launched my boat on the pond,
pushed on buttons I shouldn’t
and ran round corners to hide,
let fingers brush the rich black tar
in timbers
that shivered my soul,
made up yarns for pictures
that soon became a scene
where a father
taught his son the knots
and splices of his skills,
around the tree and down the hole
the rabbit had tried and tried
but here,
I can’t believe it,
the bowline came first time
and for a time
I felt a smile but with
Force 2, precipitation,
that brought me back
to the forenoon watch
and ready to run ashore
not sure
I’d play the boy again
the hours for that have passed
but glad of a place
where the sea’s embrace
can be measured
in outstretched arms.

First published in Iota, March 2003.

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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