Tag Archives: #Looe

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.

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.

If only… (blast from the past)

Any illustrious illustrators out there able to draw the safety headwear that I have created below? There will be a free cream tea in it for you.

My task is to create a device for the safe eating of pasties in Seagull-occupied areas.

If only I was an inventor…

And not a writer.

A hood
Might be good
With an area covered
Safe from attack
From the front
And the back.

With a space for the pastie to be held;
Like those masks
Of those people that weld;
But, with a little more space
For the pasty to face
One’s face.

Perhaps with a shelf inside
To rest the pasty
Between bites;
And maybe a light
For eating pasties at night.

What about a plastic Eagle
Perched upon the crown?
Seeing one of those might
Cause the seagull to think twice
About swooping down.

A Golden Eagle
With flapping wings
That you could operate
With carefully positioned strings.
And mirrors like you get on a Mod’s Lambretta
To allow for approaching seabird vigilance.

Thinking along these lines
Makes me feel better
That the ‘gulls can be deterred;
They won’t beat my Super-Gull-Proof Helmet;
They’re not that clever a bird…
Are they?

Too far away

You are too far away from me

for me to take a decent picture of you;

and to get you to come any closer

will cost me – you are no charity –

a chip, at the least,

preferably a feast,

if I want to get some clarity.

.

But, I mustn’t feed the seagulls,

the signs do tell me that,

and I take notice of the signs;

so I focus on you, distantly,

and capture you all blurred;

I’ll just have to keep on trying

to picture you, sea bird.

The Day a Jackdaw Pinched my Pasty

I’ll always remember the day:

it was a Saturday,

the day

that a jackdaw

pinched my pasty.

“A jackdaw?” you ask,

“Was it up to the task?

It’s normally a gull

that, perceiving a lack,

will snaffle your snack!”

“‘Twas not a gull,

from Looe or from Hull,

that pinched my pasty,

it was a jackdaw,

of that I am sure.

Black and shiny,

sleek and smart,

was the fearless jackdaw

who practiced his art

to take possession of my lunch,

a wholesome pasty,

on which ‘it’ did munch.”

That day has now been circled

on the calendar of my strife,

as a day I’ll remember

for the rest of my life.

On the beach

Three little dogs,

twelve little feet,

one virginal beach,

as the tide moves out of reach.

Given no more 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.

Conversationstarter

I’m the seagull poster,

posting seagulls moster,

website seagull hoster

I’m a conversationstarter,

twisted conversationstarter

seagull conversationstarter!!

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.

The silent seagulls soaring skywards

“ ‘The silent seagulls soaring skywards—‘ “

“Ooh! sounds like a poem!”

“Could be.”

“What’s the next bit?”

“The next ‘bit’ is,

‘aloft, upon the breeze, breathless blown—‘ “

“No, it’s a bit too frilly for my liking. Can’t you make it into a Limerick? That would be better.”

“I could, but it would lose any noble quality that it has.”

“That’s as maybe, but it’ll be a lot funnier.”

“Oh, dear. ‘There was a young seagull from Looe,

Who got caught in a ‘How-do-you-do?’,

It welcomed all sorts,

to one of Cornwall’s fishing ports,

and only stopped when the season was through.’ “

“Needs work.”

“Thank you Mr. Poetry Critic.”

“You’re whelks!”

“I suppose I am.”

‘As I looked through a window’

I looked out upon the world,

and the world looked back at me;

I saw a seagull flying by

heading for the sea;

I called out ‘Gull, where be you to?”

he looked a while at me

and answered “I be off to Looe,

it’s time now for my tea.”

And I was happy at that.