Tag Archives: #Bodmin

Bodmin

Bodmin

I’m in

Bodmin,

Bodmin-by-the-Sea;

all of me

is in a part of Bodmin;

but, soon I’ll be

out of Bodmin,

then I’ll be Bodmin free.

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The Ballad of Bodmin Moor… or Less.

The Ballad of Bodmin Moor… or Less.

The most important thing about a poem…

is it’s title.

The title is absolutely vital.

Without that…

it could be seen

as any old tat.

The content is not so important;

as in this poem

where the title

and ‘the stuff that dreams are made on’

are as connected

as Earth and the Moon are

by a cable car.

“There’s always mizzle on the moor!”

“There’s always mizzle on the moor!”

“More?”

“Yes.”

“On the moor?”

“Always on the moor

knocking on the door

wanting to come in;

and there’s this little church

the mizzle seems to search it out

and when it finds it

it hides it

within.”

“It’s a sin!”

“That it is.”

“There’s more mizzle on the moor!”

“There’s more mizzle on the moor!”

“There’s more mizzle on the moor!”

‘Again?’ we question –

as if it was unusual.

Since the Tin miners departed,

all we have left is Irony.

They went around the globe –

not the pub –

and, now, there can be found

at the bottom of every hole in the ground

a Cornishman digging his way home.

“Going Bodmin!”

“I’m Actually Going (to) Bodmin!”

“Am I ‘Going Bodmin’?

Am I going crazy?

Am I as weird as a Theramin?

Am I twice as lazy?

Am I about

to holler out:

‘I’m Going Bodmin!’?

Am I as Lupin as a Daisy?”

Where is the Cheesewring?

Where is the Cheesewring?

Just because I can’t see the Cheesewring,

doesn’t mean it’s not there.

I stand and stare,

as somebody there

might be staring back

and not seeing me –

and I exist

to that I’ll agree.

So, I’ll take it for granted,

ignore the doubts that I’ve planted,

and believe it is well.

I’ll pop back later,

to update my data,

and with clarity tell

that ‘the Cheesewring is there!’

Proclaim the fact,

toll the bell,

and sleep easy for another night

knowing that all is well,

all is alright.