We need Looe Paper,
we need it now
as we all must have
rolls to play;
cast us, somehow;
roll out the barrel,
(without Colin Farrell –
he’d just act up –
as actors do tend to do)
And the headline for today –
which is garish – does say,
‘We need Looe Paper!
Yes, we do!
Because we all need something
to read on the Looe!’
edhen
yn
an wedhen.
In a thousand years from now
will things be just the same,
when they’ve changed so much in a hundred?
And, would we be able to claim
knowledge of a place
where we thundered in youth
and withered in age,
when the world spins ever quicker,
just to reach a final stage?
We walk these streets
as those before,
and look out to sea
from that same shore;
but, tomorrow is another day,
what happens then…
well, who can say?
“Nadelik Lowen!”
I called to all the people.
“Kynnyav yw!” they cried.
delyow omhweles
my a yll aga gweles
onen hag oll.
leaves fall down
I can see them
one and all.
My poetry has gone
down the Looe,
my life…
down the Looe,
when it’s do-able,
we do like to go
beside the seaside
to a town called Looe.
Upon the Banjo,
with a banjo on my knee,
though it’s cunningly disguised as a
yew-ka-lay-lee,
playing my tunes,
with a nod to U2
it’s Madness, I say,
I’m playing ‘It must be Looe’
and it sounds like ‘it’s a Beautiful Bay’.
“Hy lodrow o gwynn
a-ugh hy diwlin.” he said,
“Did ‘she’ dress to please?”
PS ‘Hy lodrow a gwynn / a-ugh hy diwlin’ translates as: ‘Her stockings were white / above the knees.’
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
just
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.
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.
I fill my Cornish Panties
with carrots and with swede:
I pop in cooked green lentils,
as Vegan is my creed;
add potatoes and some seasoning;
to give the zest I need,
I love these Cornish Panties,
I am a fool indeed.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Cornish, #CornishPanties, #food, #poetry. #poem, #silly, Kernow
 | cagedunn on “To be… “ |
 | Words from a Lentil… on “To be… “ |
| cagedunn on “To be… “ |
| Words from a Lentil… on “To be… “ |
| cagedunn on “To be… “ |
