Tag Archives: Cornwall

Well, what a lovely day, today is

Well, what a lovely day, today is,

and it’s the only today that we’ve got,

it owns a bucket full of weather,

which is really rather a lot.


I’m out now in the rain,

and the wind, and the damp, and the cold,

it’s a bit of a joke, the weather,

one that’s never growing old.


There’s fog and mist and mizzle,

all for a soul to endure;

and, betwixt the frost and drizzle,

there’s another bucket more.

Kevnisen (spider)

Kevnisen the spider

(known to his mates as Kev)

left home to join the priesthood,

taking residence in the church,

where he grew best friends with the Rev

and on Sundays

upon the rostrum he did perch.

Why do they call me Jonathan?

Why do they call me Jonathan,

when my name is Syd;

is it because of that book they read

when they were but a kid?


Jonathan Livingston Seagull,

by Richard Bach it was;

and how do I, a gull, know this?

Well, you may ask,

and I should not tell,

but, suffice it to say,

I’ve read that book as well.

Bude vs. Padstow

Bude, when viewed from above,

is better by far

than Padstow viewed from below.

A quiet Sunday morning walk

A quiet Sunday morning walk,

with just the sound of flittering birds,

as the dogs and I traverse the country lanes.

Further on, the cry of new-born lambs

from a field, a distance away,

that is dotted with many off-white clouds of fleece.

Other fields have grazing cows,

quieter in their ruminations,

while yet others are carpeted with growing crops of an unknown type.

Two horses freely digest their findings,

conversing sparingly with their neighbours, another herd of grazing cows.

I tip my hat to the morning,

and offer thanks

The Cornish Chough

The Cornish chuff flew from Slough to Peterborough; he landed on a bough, and said, ‘Enough is enough, for now.’ Through the rough night the Chough did cough; but feeling better come the morning, to Loughborough he flew, to see a roof he knew. Later that afternoon, he did go from Loughborough, back to Slough, to Crewe, then to Looe.

The Cheesewring (Cornish ‘Keuswask’)

The Cheesewring,

on Stowe’s Hill,

can’t sing,

isn’t made of cheese,

and has no visible knees.

Yet, it exists,

upon a hill,

still – very still.

Gulls: Jacks or Jills?

You can tell by the gills

of the gulls

whether they are Jacks

or Jills.

Unless gulls don’t have gills.

I have checked:

a gull has no gills,

they are not fish,

and, probably, never were.

The plumage is the thing

to catch the gender of the… gull.

But, even then, only an expert,

or a very experienced non-expert

can truly tell.

Well, who knew? Not I,

not you.

They used to be called Mews,

and went around in ones or twos –

that was long, long, long ago,

and they are now called that

by nobody

that I know.

But, if you hear a poet

saying that his muse has left him (or her)

it might (but shouldn’t) occur

to you

that he is talking about

his gull.

That scenario

I have to doubt.

“Where’s Cornwally?”

I’m not going out on a limb,

but I think I can see him;

he’s the county in the Red and white stripey jumper,

and the red and white stripey bobble hat,

on the far left, to the south west,

also out on a limb –

as it looks a little bit like a leg.

Holly the Cornish Witch

Holly the Cornish Witch lived a long, long life.

Living in Cornwall, as she did, in the sixteenth century, as she did, meant that witches usually went out in a roar of flames. But, being Cornwall, which it was, the superstitious Cornish thought that it was mightily unlucky to burn Holly, which it wasn’t.

Therefore, they were very reluctant to burn Holly the witch, which she was, and so they didn’t.

Holly the Witch, c.1517 – 24th March 1603.

She died of natural causes, which they were, upon the very day that Good Queen Bess, which she wasn’t, died.