Tag Archives: #Looe

Looe Paper

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!’

Moon Over Looe (with four-let’r word)

Moon Over Looe.

That Moon,

over Looe,

blue, slim

with edge thin;

lost, bold, cold;

what else?

Cool dude,

nude, rude,

spin away?

Ne’er! Stay!

That Moon,

over Looe,


Looe 3007

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?

‘Cue, the pictures of Looe’

The sky is bright,

The Moon is blue;

cue, the pictures of Looe.

The weather’s warm,

there’s been a storm;

cue, the pictures of Looe.

The tide is high,

a boat sails by;

cue, the pictures of Looe.

The Banjo fair,

is always there,

cue, the pictures of Looe.

We like to see,

the beach and sea;

cue, the pictures of Looe.

Cornwall’s pride?

I’ll let you decide;

cue, the pictures of Polperro,

St. Ives, Mousehole, and Bude;

Perranporth, Sennen,

and all the others

that are viewed

as a favourite place;

but, when ‘I’m’ in Looe

there’s a smile on ‘my’ face;

cue, the pictures of me, smiling,

when I’m visiting Looe.

The Part-Time Person.

“I’m fading in,

I’m fading out –

like the radio on the way to Looe;

now you see me,

now you doubt you do.”

Down the Looe!

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


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’.

‘Return to Looe’

“We haven’t been to Looe

for an absolute age,

we just keep looking wistfully

at the Looe and South East Cornwall page;

the pretty pictures of boats and gulls,

with their hungry looks and freshly-painted hulls;

the Banjo Pier, Looe Island dear –

we look out the window,

can Looe be ‘so’ near?”

‘Shakespeare in Looe.’

‘Shakespeare in Looe.’

The Bard did advance from Liskeard

in a sort of 9-days dance – a la Will Kemp – stopping off upon occasion to compare things to other things.

Nowadays, he would have caught the train; but, then, he preferred to walk upon his ‘legges two’

‘Shall I compare thee to a five-bar gate?

Which is a useful item, at any rate.’

and the like.

With him was his trusty sidekick, Ben – a comedy duo they claimed to be, that went under the name of ‘Will & Ben: Renaissance Men.

I say, I say, I say’, quothed Will, ‘Is this a dagger that I see before me?’

‘No.’ answered Ben, ‘ ‘tis The Globe.’

‘ ‘The’ Globe?’ queriéd Will, ‘My wooden O?’

‘No.’ answered Ben, again, ‘ ‘tis just a public house going by the name of…‘ (SFX dramatic chords)

‘… The Globe.’

Ah, well, all’s ale that ends, well, you know what I mean, dear Ben.’

‘More than most; but, all in that only a little, my liege, my fool.’

‘Don’t knock what thou doesn’t understand, Ben.’

‘Knock? Knock? Spake thus Ben, bemusédly.

‘Who’s there?’ responded Will.

‘Ben, my Lord-loon, like as well you know it.

‘Ben, my Lord-loon who?’ asked Will.

‘Jonson! How many times must I remind you?

‘Thrice a hundred, more if there is a Tuesday in the week.’

And thus, with much ado, they arrived in Looe

C. Gull

A seaside sentinel,

with sand-filled vistas,

water-based horizons,

and snack-laden tourists,

has noticed a change:

fewer people,

so, less of a chance for a highwayman

to relieve a punter of their valuables;

and the people look worried,

harried and hurried,

seeking isolation from each other –

what is the bother?

And, now, more and more hungry gulls

are chasing less and less;

I confess that humans confuse me;

there is also less mess

upon the floor,

we could do with a return to the normal,

random, behaviour,

things are too formal,

it all seems rather strange –

why did things change?

A seagull perched…

A seagull perched

on a lofty crag

eyed the chips

in a paper bag;

should he make

the attempt and swoop

upon a soul

carry off a coup

with such aplomb

to dare to dive

and strafe, dive bomb,

the unsuspecting one.


even if the mission failed,

the expedition would be fun.