A howl on Eden karrek
I heard a poem and ended up at Godrevy,
my friend and I were cold damp, put out and grumpy,
three days spent trudging in a wet grey mess,
we searched for any old rock where light held heat,
my socks, sodden and miserable, felt dreadful,
slightly disgruntled, I decided to bear it,
spreading my thin green groundsheet on stone.
A chip in my kettle reflected the moon,
which reflects the sun,
which hadn’t been very generous.
Heat radiated from the rock, our backsides are grateful,
the kettle boils, a brew is poured and we look up.
Food is produced, the bag that held it had fulfilled its purpose,
I’d never been fond of that bag, but now I was,
the stars twinkle above us.
My friend blows her nose then looks my way,
‘Did you know howl is Cornish for light..?’
I didn’t… ‘Karrek,’ I reply,
‘What?’ she asks, I clear my throat,
‘Karrek… I think it’s cornish for rock,’
‘Oh I see,’ she replies.
Well she started it.
***Jamie is a renegade halfwit, writer, poet and ish-artist. Who when allowed out of his cage to be exercised, hangs around the beautiful English town of Croydon, but currently resides in Falmouth. The rest of the time he’s sat in a cave, fiddling about with himself and sporadically spewing out creative nonsense which can be found on his facebook page and on Twitter. ***