Tag Archives: #Looe

‘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.

Anyway,

even if the mission failed,

the expedition would be fun.

As I was going to St. Ives…

“As I was going to St. Ives…

I realised,

that I,

was heading

in the wrong direction.

I turned around,

retraced the ground

that I had so recently

traversed,

reversed my route,

you might say,

and carried happily

upon my way.

Where was I going to?

Obvs. I was off to Looe –

toodle-loo!”

“We get a bad press, we do.”

We are not as bad

as you might have read,

but some people seem

to want us dead;

others feel we are a threat

to their seaside snack

before it’s eat;

but we are not the foe;

no, not at all,

we just seek food

for it’s food we lack,

and we’ve become accustomed

to what you let fall;

and once we’ve snatched it…

do you really want it back?

Incoming Tide

Incoming Tide

I just found out

that my welly boot leaks

now I’ve got a wet foot;

well, fancy that!

The Bardalooe of a Portalooe

The Bardalooe of a Portalooe

“I’ve done it!

I have!

They have bestowed upon me

the title of The Bardalooe…

of a Portalooe.

See?

I have a golden chain

of official authorority;

⁃ you have to have that

If you want to be

the Bardalooe

of a Portalooe –

and I have a Bard-like love of words;

and a spare roll of papier de toilét.

“¡Olé!”

In Hannafore

In Hannafore

I’m in Hannafore.

“What for?” you ask.

To practice my semaphore,

whilst wearing my new pinafore,

that I’ve never worn before,

at least, not before dawn before.

Then I’m off to Looe.

“What there to do?” you ask.

To do what a man just has to do;

he has to see a sea-going gull, or two,

or maybe a couple of thousand –

there are countless, to be sure;

and I’m sure I counted seventeen,

and there were many, many more.

Later, I went back to Hannafore,

to practice my semaphore,

whilst still wearing my new pinafore,

as I had so recently done before.

How can I be the Bard a’Looe?

How can I be the Bard a’Looe?

How can I be

the Bard a’Looe,

when I am

unknown to you?

My poems writ,

and posted here,

never seem to

reappear;

they sink like bricks

in Cornish mud,

I think they shine,

perhaps they’re dud;

maybe my words

are trite and weak,

and it is sad

that I try to seek

the position

that I do…

I only want to be

the Bard a’Looe.