Kernow

[Fitheach]

KERNOW

Magic Land of Giants, Pixies, Witches, Druids
Buccaneers and pirates roam the rocky coasts
Where tin miners work deep within the earth
And every inn and public house is full of ghosts

Kernow, of stone circles and of cromlechs
Merry Maidens dancing to a piper’s tune
Those in need crawl through a holy stone
The rite of Men a Tol, a healing boon.

Saint Michael’s Mount, an emerald gem,
A holy island in the crescent of Mount’s Bay
Lleu, the Sun God blesses pilgrims, where
A cobbled underwater path leads the way

Pilgrims visit Holy wells, portals to the underworld
Guarded by Goddesses transformed to clootie trees
We tie our ribbon petitions to their limbs
And their blessings, in return, bring us ease

A land of ruined castles and broken abbeys
Their high roofless walls, now a flower bed
We wander through the tumbled stones
And pay our tribute to the mighty dead.

Stately manors, expansive gardens
Picnicking on Bonython’s grounds
Where once stood an ancient abbey
Some can still hear the monkish sounds

Merlin’s magic raised the Dragon’s Breath
To transform King Uther at Tintagel
The magic can still be felt in Merlin’s Cave
Every shining stone contains his Druid spell

Some say Arthur takes the shape of a chough
And others say he is hidden beneath the land
Does his spirit fly swift and free across Cornwall
Or does he sleep under hill with his war band?

Hidden in a church, high in Zennor
Sits a chair dedicated to a Mermaid
Legendary tale about two lovers, from
Different worlds, yet they were unafraid

A cozy home along the lanes of Bude
An obscure artist who was not regaled
Pamela Colman Smith, retired from the world
And now her Tarot imagery is being hailed.

Darker places, hidden in the moors
Outlaws, dreaded wreckers of infamy
Du Maurier’s eerie epic, Jamaica Inn
We peer into maritime calamity

Sacred pools deep within the forest glade
Stone built Chapels in the Greenwood
Where still is worshipped St. Modron, and
Her older version, Morgan, once stood

Cornwall lies along Saint Michael’s line
St. Elen of the Roads led the Pilgrim’s Way
Where Mary and Michael weave entwined
And at every step upon the path, we pray

The food itself is magic in Cornwall
Every bite is rich and tasty
From their elegant Cornish Tea
To a roadside Cornish pasty

So many treasures in Cornish shops
I haunted every street and bazaar
I found two Cornish tin figurines -
The God and Goddess at the Healing Star

Returning home at last, the emblematic Chough
Red legs dancing in the wind as they fly
To protected homes along the rocky cliffs
Their red beaks emitting a joyous Corvid cry

Along the way, I met many sages
Who offered their visions of the land
Mara, Ley Hunters, Cheryl Straffon
Who taught from forest to sea strand

My final tribute to Cornwall’s Mage
Hamish Miller was his name
Artist, blacksmith, writer, dowser
May his brilliant legacy remain

My Cornish journey finally neared its end
Last night in Penzance, where to go?
So, I drank a pint in every pub, from
Turk’s Head to Admiral Benbow

[DaRC]

Thanks for this and I know those pubs very well!

[Fitheach]

Your welcome!