Tag Archives: Cornwall

‘Return to Looe’

“We haven’t been to Looe

for an absolute age,

we just keep looking wistfully

at the Looe and South East Cornwall page;

the pretty pictures of boats and gulls,

with their hungry looks and freshly-painted hulls;

the Banjo Pier, Looe Island dear –

we look out the window,

can Looe be ‘so’ near?”

There are Clouds

There are clouds hanging over

yon Caradon Hill;

like the clouds hanging over my head;

but the breeze will blow

and those clouds will go,

mine shall be with me ‘til I’m dead.

Dartmoor be in Devon

Dartmoor be in Devon,

Bodmin Moor in Cornwall,

Exmoor be in two places at one time,

Somerset ‘and’ Devon;

there are other moors,

further away from me,

but, apart from wiley, windy Ilkley Moor,

I don’t know where they be.

“Why Can’t I Be The Bard?”

I’m too young to be the Bard;

I’m too old to be the Bard;

have been barred from being the Bard –

‘I cannot be barred

from being the Bard!’ –

why is the achieving of Barddom so hard?

Would ‘me’



I’d make a great Bard;

and all of my Bardly words

would be Bardly Written,

and wouldn’t be too hard

to read;

with me you’d all be smitten,

I’d make a wonderful Bard,

a dutiful Bard,

really quite a beautiful Bard? – No, indeed.

I’d be a Bard the world could hear

and rejoice at all my spoutings;

I’d up the ante and top the crop,

outdoing other Bard’s pale outings;

I’d go down in history

as the No. 1 Bard,

with the mystery of my wizardry

at Barding…

it can’t be hard.

Can it?

Lock Down – a history.

LWG prompt for 05-05-2020

‘Lock Down – a history’

Lock Down is the expanse of land to the north just beyond the Cornish town of Lostwithiel. Ancient Lostwithiel with its things, and it’s other things, pride of that part of Cornwall where it was proud to be the largest town within miles of itself.

Lock Down, as it is now known, was once, and only once, known as Loch Doen by the Scottish couple who visited there once in the 1820s. But, as they were Scottish, and only visited the once, it is not true to say that Lock Down was called that by any substantial number of people, at any time.

To be truthful, Lock Down was probably named after it being a down, and the Lock family being the owners from about 1535 to 1732 – late afternoon to round about tea-time, you could say.

One of the most amazing features of Lock Down is it’s Prehistoric and, almost certainly, Stone Age Triangular Henge, that is situated directly to the North West of Restormel Castle by about three furlongs – which is nearly half a mile. Who’s to say that this isn’t the only example of a 180 degree temple this side of Tripoli – I know I can’t.

Apart from its Henge, Lock Down also has a number of standing, leaning, or fallen over stones dating back to pre-knowledge-of-exactly-when-times. These menhir-type stones are mainly to be found loitering around in groups of twos or threes – the police are currently keeping an eye on them – sometimes two.

No discernible farming has taken place upon the Lock Down landscape, although a Portrait view does show that there may have been strip farming at certain times, until that naughty, naughty custom was put a stop to by a particular astute warden of the Maze – as he was called. His name has gone down in local history along with the phrases ‘spoilsport’ and ‘jobsworth’.

Lock Down, even to this very blustery day, has a mystery and a history that any other imaginary place would be jolly proud of.

The End

In Cornwall…

In Cornwall…

At half-past-two

the sky is blue

there’s not a cloud to see;

by half-past three

it rains on me,

and it also rains on you.

Which is the sort

of thing we get…

in Cornwall.

We go for a drive

down narrow lanes,

in our shiny motor car,

but the lane is only


wider than we are;

and then we have to factor

in the meeting of a tractor,

and reversing is all we seem to do,

Which is just the sort

of thing we get…

in Cornwall.

But, we love living here…

in Cornwall.

In Cornwall

we spend our nights and days,

for Cornwall

has its own special ways,

forever want to stay…

in Cornwall.

A Roof With A View

I’m still not one hundred percent sure

that when you’re sat upon our roof

that you will be able to see

the Cheesewring –

I seek proof,

and, yet, I have to face the truth,

that I will only know

when upon my roof I go.

I am certain, though,

that I


see the Cheesewring,

as I have seen my roof from the road,

and turned around,

and found

the Cheesewring in my sight –

I shall be proven right…

… but, I will still have to visit the roof

to get that absolute proof.

‘As I was going to Pensilva’

As I was going to Pensilva…

I thought I would give poetry a miss for the day;

for what could I find to rhyme with Pensilva?

Liskeard is easy, so they say;

but, being a poet –

and, don’t I know it –

you have to search for the rhyme –

or hope nobody notices

of the few who will read this today.

As I was going to Liskeard

As I was going to Liskeard

I met a man with half a yard,

eighteen inches, or so I’m told,

In measurement Imperial

(which is very old),

and every inch had quarters four,

or was divided into pieces eight –

so how many bars are there

upon a five-bar gate?

As I was going to St. Ive (rhymes with ‘leave’)

As I was going to St. Ive,

I met a man who had to leave,

he said his time was up, and so,

he had nothing left to do, but go.

I asked him ‘where’ he was going to;

he said, ‘What’s it go to do with you?’

I thought a while, and then replied,

‘I’ll meet you on the other side.’

‘The other side of ‘what’? he asked,

And there we stood,

ten feet apart,

and strangely masked;

thinking about what might have passed.