Some Cornish Poetry

Cornish Trawlers
by Mark Snell

Why do the Cornish beamers
Spend so much time at sea?
Hardly setting foot in port these days
To see their families.

I’ll ell ee for why my ansome
`Tis the ministry to blame
They tell em where to cast the nets
In wind and storm and rain.

What do men in suits know?
Of fishing storms at sea?
Why send boats out so far afield?
Sometimes to tragedy.

Could Have Loved John Betjeman
by Karen Eberhardt

The way his face appeared on the cover of a book led me to believe things about him I don’t know but from the look, a blending of tilt of head and jaw below raised eyebrows, shoulders set to go somewhere, I could easily have stepped with him through the door, hand beneath his arm and gone there too. Maybe we would have sat together in St. Enodoc talking about what we do and as the afternoon declined, had tea in Rock and as the sun began to set, strolled in Trebetherick. By the time the lights in Padstow began to glow I would have known him well enough to know if any of this were true. But if looks can be believed I’d find him a fascinating man and can easily imagine going home with him and drinking port and talking in the firelight until after three. By then I’d either be repelled or half in love, or maybe all. But he’d have another life to live; separate in his English cloak of fame, inaccessible to me. So I’d love him just in his books, his poetry and anyway, he’s dead, so this is all conjecture. but as I said, something in his look appealed to what appeals to me and if he’d reappear I’d prove I could have loved the whole John Betjeman.

I Must Return
by Florence Otterburn

I must return to wander by the sea,
To dance with white sprayed waves upon the shore,
Reliving golden sun-soaked summer days
With childhood thoughts of wonder and of awe.

The blue waters of that sunlit bay
Glistened and shimmered to the very sky
And turning sent bright ripples to the shore
To lap the warm rock where I loved to lie.

I will return and linger by the sea
Where on many shining days my footsteps sped
To feel the soft sand running through my toes
And imprint the wet sand with my naked tread.

The days when roaring wind and high noon tide
Whipped restless seas into a fury grey
I’d stand upon the green cliff high above
And watch the swirling cauldron of the bay.

I must return whatever be the mood,
Whether frenzied high noon tide or sun-kissed seas
To feel again the wild wind in my hair,
Or taste the tang of salt upon the breeze.

My Special Place
by Jill Biddle
There’s a little bit of Cornwall,
That fits me like a glove,
It is where I feel at home
And it’s somewhere that I love.
I wonder why this special place
Should mean so much to me,
Could it be the place, the people,
Or the nearness of the sea?

The place is just a little town,
Not too big and not too small,
It’s sheltered in the estuary
By its ancient harbour wall.
The houses cluster round its quays
For their builders surely knew,
The importance that the sea would play
In days gone by, and now.
Its people are a special breed,
Some find them hard to know,
But if you meet them half way there,
You’ll find it isn’t so.

They care about each other,
Know their lives, both great and small,
And if they need each other’s help
They will be there “One and All”.
The sea’s a vital part of life In this little Cornish town,
For many make their living
From its rugged fishing ground.
It can be a calm and gentle thing
With such shades of blue and green,
But when it’s wild and stormy
It’s a furious, frightening scene.

I know now why I love it so,
This little Cornish town,
For I’ve always found it welcoming
When ever I’ve been down,
It always makes my heart feel light,
Be it sunshine, be it rain,
For it seems the place and people say
“Nice to see you back again.”

The Standing Stone
by Mark Snell

Alone you stand beside the road
In a field or on a hill
Waiting for the end of time
Ever silent ever still.

A memory of an age long gone
Your purpose lost to modern men
Your maker’s gone but not forgotten
Through you we will remember them.

What memories are kept within?
What great secrets stowed away?
If we could only learn again
The knowledge lost to us today.

Welcome Spring
by Ruby Charlton

Gone now the rain of winter
That felt like needles on our skin.
Now, the gentle rain from heaven
Bringing promises of spring.

Sunlight growing ever stronger
Finding corners we have missed,
Making cobwebs shine like rainbows,
Daffodils, the colour kiss.

Nature once again produces
Young of every species known,
Insects, animals and flowers,
Birds and trees send forth their own.

Gone the gloomy days of winter,
Welcome now the gentle spring,
Fresh new life appears around us,
Singing birds, each morning bring.

Wind Farms
by Jill Biddle

Like giant daisies, against the sky,
They stand in groups, on hill tops high,
Their blades rotating in the breeze,
They dwarf surrounding hedge and trees.
Harvesting wind, to give us power,
To lighten winter’s darkest hour,
Beauty or not?
We can’t agree,
But we use their electricity!