Tag Archives: Cornwall

I sing to the cows

I sing to the cows

(Please do try singing to your local cows, horses, goats, pigs, llamas, etceteras, etc.)

I sing to the cows,

they don’t mock me, and say,

“Have you ever tried rhyming,

or miming away’;

then they thank me for singing,

‘Please have a nice day,ay,ay.’

And I say,

‘How now, brown cow,

how are you today?

You munch on the grass,

time does pass,

and then you’ll move away.

How now, black and white cow,

how are things with you?

Is it a day

for sitting down,

there on the morning dew?

I sing to the cows,

they don’t mock me, and say,

“Have you ever tried rhyming,

or miming away’;

then they thank me for singing,

‘Please have a nice day,ay,ay.’

Advertisements

#CornwallTilTheEnd

#CornwallTilTheEnd

Intro Am F C G

Am F

Now listen here my friend

C G

to these words I have to say;

Am. F

and let us not pretend

C. G

that the truth will go away.

Dm

I am here,

Am

and here I’ll stay;

C G

in Cornwall, ‘til the end.

Am. F

I don’t know why the family went away;

C

but, now I’m back,

G

I am here

Am

in Cornwall,

F C G

for forever, and a day.

Am F

I don’t know why the family went away;

C

but, now I’m back, I am here,

G

and I am here to stay…

Am

in Cornwall, in Cornwall…

F C G

for forever, and a day.

Dm

I am here,

Am

and here I’ll stay;

C G

in Cornwall, ‘til the end.

A Photograph and a Poem

A Photograph and a Poem

See the Photograph and Poem here!

I took a photo

to write a poem

I left a blue space

in the top right corner;

but, sadly, my poem

has made the picture worse,

not the picture better,

so please excuse my verse.

©️graemesandford.com

Spiralling Out Of Control

Spiralling Out Of Control

I am in a spiral,

my latest poem is going viral,

it has reached three,

maybe four,

people,

in the two hours since I posted it –

people must love poems about gulls

and, now, I must be off to write some more

poems of gulls upon a Cornish shore.

The Bells of Menheniot

The Bells of Menheniot

I can hear the bells of Menheniot

ringing out for prayer;

across the fields I hear the knells,

and, soon, I won’t be there.

I can hear the bells of Menheni

a-ringing in my ears;

they call the flock from off the land

to seek comfort for their fears.

I can hear the bells of Menhen

appealing all to come;

the faithful and the sinning soul,

the sentient, and numb.

I can hear the bells of Men

though softer than before,

until at last,

the peals have passed,

and I hear the bells no more.

Just a-walking in the rain.

Just a-walking in the rain.

What are we doing in the rain,

getting wet, once again?

When we should all be dry indoors,

and dreaming of those Cornish shores.

The Day They Invented The Pasty

The Day They Invented The Pasty

It was a day, a sunny day,

(back in who knows when)

a day just like this one,

but with some sun;

when Bill and Bob, upon a job,

did think upon a problem.

“What shall we have…” said Bill,

“… to take our fill?”

“Our fill of what?” said Bob.

“Our fill of lunch,

we need to munch,

it’s been a busy mornin’”,

said Bill.

“Ah!” said Bob, “I’ve thrupence and a bob

(the coin that is my namesake),

what can we buy

for one and three,

have you a sovereign to add to our kitty?”

“A ‘sovereign!’ “ Bill laughed,

“If I but had; but, no, I’ve not, just a tanner got,

perhaps we could buy an ‘ansum pie,

for the riches we haves between us.”

Bob thought for a moment.

“I have an idea.” said he.

“Let’s dig us some swede…

potatoes we’ll need…

and a pound weight of yon lady’s skirt.”

‘Are you right in the head?’

was what, Bill, should have said;

but he didn’t, he thought the idea was a winner;

“And if we are quick,

we’ll be done in a tick,

and have a—!

… thingy for our dinner.”

Neither knew what to call

this new-fangled dish.

and names they tried, one and twenty;

“Let us not be hasty

to name this food oh so tasty;

perhaps we can call it a… ‘BillBob!’ “

said Bill.

“Or a ‘BobBill!’ said Bob.

Anyway, the pasty had been invented,

though it hadn’t a name,

until forty years later

a Mr. C. A. Pasty had an idea

for eternal fame.

(As if anybody remembers him).