Tag Archives: Cornwall

On the beach

Three little dogs,

twelve little feet,

one virginal beach,

as the tide moves out of reach.

Given no note than a few minutes

of running to and fro,

there is no part of the revealed sand

that doesn’t have a paw-print show.

Holes have been dug,

ragged rocks run ‘round,

and all can be discovered

from the tracks on the ground.

Three tired dogs,

twelve tired legs,

“We deserve a biscuit treat!”

the spokesdog says.

Bre Garn

On top of Bre Garn,

with the winds whirling round,

I stand with my feet

on the stoniest of ground.


With moors laying by,

and a world to my eye,

I am one degree closer

to the Laird in His sky.

Holiday Haiku


and covered in sea salt sand,

from St. Ives, Cornwall.

When the Romans visited Cornwall

When the Romans came to Cornwall,

in the middle of the night,

they gave us guidance

to see the light;

to make the grade

and give no fight;

to worship Rome,

instead of Paig,

and construct straight roads—

in Cornwall? Vague!

When the Romans came to Cornwall,

in the first century AD,

they taught us to speak Latin

and how to be so cool;

but we were ‘proper’ Cornish,

and would be nobody’s fool.

When the Romans came to Cornwall,

they didn’t understand,

that we were Cornish full-time,

each and every man.

When the Romans came to Cornwall,

they didn’t stay that long,

they sailed away,

one fine day,

singing a mighty Cornish song.

In the little Village of St. Well – Revisited.

St. Well’s Well was, well, it just was – what more could be said about it?

This. It had always been there. Well, that is for just about as long as anybody knew of the village of St. Well, there had been a St. Well’s Well – it’s almost as if the village had been named after the well itself; although some did say that there had been an ‘actual’ St. Well, who had lived in the village a long, long, long time ago – he was rumoured to be a saint, and, some do say, a man of the church.

Not that any sane person would consider taking a drink from the St. Well’s Well, it was barely of a standard to be used for washing clean the narrow lanes of Cornwall after the silage tractor had passed by.

But, as ancient monuments go, St. Well’s Well ticked all the boxes; barely accessible, situated well away from any parking, and a bit of a disappointment when you did eventually find somewhere to park, climb down to the hidden wellhead, and take the obligatory ‘selfie’.

At least St. Well had an ancient monument; some Cornish villages have to make do with a George VI postbox.

“Oh, no, it’s the Exercise Men!” Revisited (if you can call changing two words ‘revisiting’!)

One day, at about three of the clock in the morning, as the smugglers were offloading their latest cargo of tax-avoidance items at a small inlet upon the island of Looe (aka St. George’s Island, Looe Island, or, way back in time, St. Michael’s Island), there was a voice heard from the lookout, old George Penwithit, his voice still loud and doughty even after seventy-three winters and almost as many summers. ‘Boat approaching!’

‘Oh, no, it’s the Exercise Men!’ exclaimed William Telmother, the youngest of the gang.

Twenty minutes later they were all doing press-ups, star jumps, and crunches, before they were set to run two laps of the island.


I’m the seagull poster,

posting seagulls moster,

website seagull hoster

I’m a conversationstarter,

twisted conversationstarter

seagull conversationstarter!!

The Mevagissiat

Perched on top of an unruly head of hair, and an even unrulier head, the Mevagissiat had a better view than most.

‘If only I had eyes!’ thought the Mevagissiat; and lo and behold the Mevagissiat had eyes.

‘I can see!’ said the Mevvagissiat, and saw all the things around: the seagulls,the boats, the people, the people on the boats, the seagulls looking down upon the people on the boats.

The Mevagissiat looked and looked and thought, ‘if only I had a mouth, I could sing about all the things I’ve seen!’ And lo and behold the Mevagissiat had a mouth.

And now the Mevagissiat could sing, and did – but not that well, the Mevvagossiat was ‘not’ a good singer.

As any that happened to cross it’s path would testify.

Off to the Beach

I’m off to the beach

to teach the young dudes

how a planet occludes.

No, not really;

I’m taking the dogs

for a walk,

and to teach them to talk.

No, not really;

actually, not the talking part,

just the walking bit.

Looking over a 5-bar gate

I’m looking over

a 5-bar gate

that I’ve looked over before.

And, although the scenery

has changed but a little,

I am an older man

than I used to be;

yet, not as old as I shall,

one day at a time,be.

By the way,

I see sheep

chewing the grass,

clouds scudding by,

and birds

quartering the sky.

And many other things,

which is why

I am looking over

this 5-bar gate.