Tag Archives: Kernow

The Games We Play (#Looe)

The Games We Play (#Looe)

Can you


in East Looe?

Can Dennis

play table-tennis, too?

I guess

you can play chess

if you are board;

but, who says that all games

must be ignored?

Pass them by

if you must

turn a corner,

or a king –

and you are bust!


‘Twas the meeting before Christmas! #LWG

‘Twas the meeting before Christmas!

LWG for 04/12/2018

Prompt: Christmas

‘‘twas the meeting before Christmas,

in old Stuart House,

and all the brave writers

were unaware of a mouse,

who was chewing on paper

whose fine words were at risk,

for they, the bold writers of Lisk,

had been careless as to where they stored their stories, kept their tales of seas and sails.

The mouse was oblivious

as to the worth of the words;

the adjectives sublime;

some similes quite fine,

and one compelling metaphor,

never heard before.

“Nibble, nibble!” nibbled the mouse. his stomach filling with verbs, as he happily chewed.

“When I grow up I want to be a writer!” He exclaimed. On and on he chewed.

“I’ve devoured many epics, some longer than need be;

short stories and poems-

the writers don’t heed me-

and I quite liked the comedy writings of some;

although they cause a funny

feeling when they got to my tum.

Nibble, nibble!” nibbled the mouse.

“And now for our homework!” was announced to the room. “Our prompt was ‘Christmas’. to brighten the gloom

of a dark December’s day;

who shall go first, start off reading today?”

They ‘ummmmed’ and they ‘ahhhhed’ and then one did speak:

“I’ve written a story about a Christmassy Week.”

The story told, the response quite pleasing, a circular route to read was now teasing. But, clockwise or widdershins? Which way would it go? It always varied, so no one did know.

“I’ll go next!” from the clockwise direction. The rest now relaxed by this natural selection.

“My story is about the state of the National Elf at Christmas!” We did laugh. And this was followed by many a fine sentence and adroit paragraph. Until the story had been told with sufficient aplomb. “That was most uplifting!” a voice spake from the room.

SO, clockwise we travelled, the stories well told; one about Christmas Trees, and one of The Old, Old Christmases before rationing ended; when an orange was thrilling, and a broken stick mended.

Then it came to my turn.

What should I say?

What had I written Upon Christmas, for today?

I took a deep breath…

prepared all my words…

and began:

‘‘‘twas the meeting before Christmas

in Old Stuart House…”

“Nibble, nibble, nibble!” nibbled on the mouse.

From the walk today.

From the walk today.

A horse in the hedgerow

A robin in the field

Or, maybe that should be the other way round:

plǝᴉɟ ǝɥʇ uᴉ uᴉqoɹ ∀ ʍoɹǝƃpǝɥ ǝɥʇ uᴉ ǝsɹoɥ ∀

That seems about right.


If I Should Die…

If I Should Die…

If I should die

and not be in Cornwall

carry me back

and bury me there.

Under a Pasty Tree

on the West Bank of the Tamar

or further west than that.

And wearing my wellies

the ones with the hole

in the left toe.

Perched upon my head

my flat cap;

and clenched in my fist

a piece of paper

with the words to Trelawny

written there upon.

Sing me a verse

of that fine anthem

then a chorus or two

and bid me begone.

Here, Today, in Cornwall.

Here, Today, in Cornwall.

Inside it is calm

if a little cold;

Outside, Diana is banging on the doors, checking the windows for airtight seals, and throwing empty plant pots around the streets in a gay abandon.

The trouble is, if Diana gets a little more unruly, what damage will she deal out upon us.

Roll on Edith, Freya, Gloria, Hannah, Iris, Jane, Kathleen, Lita, Milldread, Norma, Ophelia, Petunia, Ruth… Spring!

Ibble the Gull

Ibble the Gull

Ibble was a gull,

a Herring gull,

who flew to Looe

from the fair port of Hull.

He flew South West

to get the best

food that he could,

as any gull would.

The finest fish,

from the freshest catch

the choicest morsel

no other could match.

He stood on a post

watched the people walk past;

followed the boats

or he perched on a mast,

watching the fishermen

as they prepared all the fish;

grabbing a morsel,

or as much as he’d wish.

Ibble flew with the locals

and was accepted by most;

slept on Looe Island,

kept to the coast,

and sang his gull song,

too often, too long,

as he was proud of his vocals,

and soon did belong.

Ibble was a gull

who flew to Looe

from the fine port of Hull,

as a gull should do.

Lands End

Lands End

Lands End,

and seas begin.

If you are careful

you won’t fall in.

If you are foolish

or simply unlucky

you may have to be rescued

By the RNLI,

plucky souls

that risk their lives

to return safely

wayward water-people

to their husbands and wives.