We’re off to the beach,
the three Doggoes and one me;
seaweed for breakfast?
By the Book (sic)
By the Book (sic)
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Tag Archives: #Looe
Off to the beach
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Beach, #Hannafore, #Looe, #nonsense, #poetry. #poem, #silly, Cornwall, Haiku, Kernow
Mini to Looe
Mini
Mine
Line
Lone
Looe
Stone tower
I built a stone tower
up to the sky,
it must’ve been all
of three inches high.
Eating seaweed by the sea
Eating seaweed by the sea,
just Vega, Haiku, Dad, and me;
though Dad won’t eat the lovely stuff,
so, for us three, there’s just enough.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Hannafore, #Looe, #Minnie, #poetry. #poem, #sea, #Seaweed, Cornwall
Clouds over Looe
I’ll never get over you.
.
Even when there were clouds,
and rain fell,
and tides rose,
and floods came
and went
and came again.
I’ll always have you
in my mind,
to find
when days are overcast,
and Looe will then come flooding back
(in a good way);
and, in that moment,
I’ll think of the future,
and the past.
“Spare a chip for a hungry gull?”
He, or she,
asked me,
ever so humbly,
for a chip.
I obliged,
as I am won’t to do.
Within seconds
there was a hullabaloo!
Gulls came flying down
from above –
the call had gone around the town,
“Chips!”
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Chips, #Gulls, #Looe, #LooeGulls, #poetry. #poem, #Seagulls, Cornwall
The tinsel untangler of old Looe town
Tinsel in a tangle?
Decorations run amok?
.
Stay jolly,
leave the holly upon the bush;
imagine your Christmas tree,
without actually having one.
Imagine it perfectly lit,
with tinsel and ornaments
perfectly positioned,
and sturdy enough
to allow all the cats in the neighbourhood
to swing from the branches
without harm to either party.
.
And no needles to pick up,
no tree to pack away,
no chocolates hanging
low enough for the dogs to eat,
no worry, and no vet’s bill,
no cost involved
at all.
.
Tinsel tangled?
Decorations in a mess?
.
There’s a cure for that.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Looe, #Mess, #Ornaments, #poetry. #poem, #Tangle, #Tinsel, #Tree, Christmas
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.
Graeme Sandford 