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Book Review//Till Death Do Us Part by John Dickson Carr
Dick Markham is in love with Lesley Grant. She is a newcomer to the village of Six Ashes and no one knows very much about her. Dick Markham thinks he knows more than enough. He thinks she is wonderful and he loves her dearly. But then, tragedy strikes. ‘I have been wondering how to break it to you,’ said Sir Harvery, showing for the first time a gleam of humanity. He looked up. ‘Do you know who this so-called “Lesley Grant” really is?’ ‘Who she really is?’ ‘I suppose,’ said Sir Harvery, ‘I had better tell you.’ Drawing a deep breath, he got up from his chair behind the table.…
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A Poem for a Thursday #168
Louise Bogan was an American writer of poetry, fiction, and criticism. She was appointed the poet laureate to the Library of Congress and was the first woman to hold this position. She also reviewed poetry for The New Yorker for thirty-eight years. Her poetry is described as “unique in its strict adherence to lyrical forms, while maintaining a high emotional pitch: she was preoccupied with exploring the perpetual disparity of heart and mind.” Now that I have your face by heart, I look Less at its features than its darkening frame Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame, Lie with quilled dahlias and the shpherd's crook. Beyond, a garden.…
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Book Review//Which Way? by Theodora Benson
There was a fire in the room; very comforting and gay. It threw a lovely liquid sheet of orange on the big armchairs each side of it. It sent a flickering glow on to the gallery table where lay weekly and daily papers, magazines, a few books thrown down. In front of the fire was a low stool, behind that a deep, soft sofa. Against one wall were shelves of books; opposite, a writing table framed by the dull, peach-coloured curtains of the windows, Branches and trails of flowers stood in great jars, drained of their colour in the shadows but not of their faint sweetness. The cushions were fluffed…
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A Poem for a Thursday #167
Charles Causley was a Cornish poet, schoolmaster, and writer. He lived from 1917 until 2003. His poetry is described as having a “fundamental commitment to certain old-fashioned virtues of English poetry–simplicity, clarity, grace, and compassion.” He drew on folk songs, hymns, and ballads for inspiration and his poetry is frequently linked to the folklore of his native Cornwall. You can listen to Causley reading his own poem here. They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock: My father, twenty-five, in the same suit Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack Still two years old and trembling at his feet. My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress Drawn at the…
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Little Things Mean a Lot
Over the last week or so, we have spent a lot of time talking to our homesick, teenage daughter about maintaining a positive attitude. The reality of a long-distance move has sunk in and she is going through all the normal adjustments of settling into a new area. We have been telling her to look for the little bright spots in her life instead of always concentrating on what she misses from back home. You know what that means, don’t you? I have to be positive too. I can’t say that February in the middle of a pandemic exactly lends itself to natural positivity but I must practice what I…














