Stone, the silent witness
soaking sun’s heat,
channeling earth’s fire
to meet tide’s roll.Tek yu hedrogh
Beautiful is fragile
A flash of minnow’s fin
and then a splash, a lightening dive
winged kingfisher blue,
burns cool fire
Alcedo, I see you still
Kingfisher, I see you still
The mystery unwinds on miller’s wall.
Concentric circles spin millenia,
in granite bitten grooves
to turn the labrynths of chance.
Kemer wyth na wreta gasa an forth coth rag an forth noweth
Take care you do not leave the old road for the new
Waters polish floor a mineral blue,
a smooth metallic tinged with pleats of silver,
skiddy, stripped bare
where pools of cyan
sink cool stare through schist of stone;
Time folded, faulted strand,
man-handled, drilled in beaded cave,
walls tipped steep.
The sea already rising,
spilling from its rim,
wave by wave
to fill pink-lipped pools
a cool aquamarine.
dark curves recoil the wavy edge,
the brink of blue.
Barnacles clinch rock.
Tight lock of limpets grip the ledge
as caves resound their final warning
Land’s rise and fall,
both cruel and kind,
hems a weathered edge
Whath arta lanwes mor a dhe, rag gorhel myghtern lowr
The flowing of the tide will come again, enough for a king’s ship
Robert Morton Nance(Mordon)
Na sconyeugh an Geltyon hag oll aga geryow!
Gwreugh cara ‘gas tavas en termen termennow
Ha gwedhen an Gernow gwra lisa hy delyow
Do not refuse the Celts and all their words!
Love your language for ever and ever,
and the tree of Cornwall will spread its leaves
W.C.D Watson. (Tyrvap)
A ship still sails,
her stories fill the wind:
I think I hear her singing
Morlanow nyns yu dal travyth
The morning tide is not worth nothing
Song’s sweet flow to earth
where rings of surf
shine rocks of turquoise, violet, jade
of every tint and shade.
Blue wave, dark line, ebb tide.
Middle Moor Cross. St. Breward (Semmenward)
There is a tradition that whenever this cross hears the bells of Semmenward it spins around and falls down.
Covyon Keltic Celtic memories
We flow the same way.
Onen hag oll
Boscastle bares her raw, sequestered soul
Pobel a bell a-bew castylly
People afar own castles
The Forrabury Cross. Boscastle
Oh, shy haven, safe harbour,
your castle in the air holds such lost dreams.
Ghost bells ring your seas off Forrabury.
St Piran was the Patron Saint of Cornish Tinners, and thus a Patron of Cornwall. St Piran’s Cross stands near Perranporth close to the remains of the historical church and oratory, circa 7th century. His flag was to become the Cornish banner.
The white cross on a black background not only signifies triumph over evil, but more specifically represents molten tin flowing from the black ore. This flag has been adopted as the National Emblem of Cornwall.