Nyns eus goon heb lagas, na ke heb scovarn

There is no down without an eye, nor hedge without an ear


The Roundup is honoured to be able to publish the top two entries for the annual RELUBBUS POETRY COMPETITION, which are:

Meeting in Cot Valley

I leave St Just – a busy place – a full of purpose town,
And set off for Cot Valley - on the path that takes me down.
My soul knows these steps more surely than seemingly my feet -
It draws me down along the way –it knows whom I shall meet.
For parts of me came down here– long ago – this selfsame way
English had no meaning then - Kernewek chat all day.

Now I meet no one here, but I sense her company.

So, peel away the mists of time and let me see her face -
Her eyes - the fire of my desire - her posture full of grace.
Her laughter - music of my soul, her smile – peace of my heart
Her presence - anchor of my being –O - do not let us part!

I feel sea spray upon my face – it wakens me to now.
I sense that she is gone again - and am left to wonder how
A person who was made for me – who was my partner true
Can leave me in this curl of time – my Sweet, I long for you.

I turn then back along the path and move with heavy tread
My body knows the way to go, but, sadly, not my head.
The thoughts of you are just as real as when you were just here
But I cannot kiss you now, my love, O, how I wish you near!

Pascoe Trembath (21)

Git Plumb Boy

Sixteen years old – short trousers still – daft cap upon ‘is ‘ead,
That silly bugger Archibald never knew the cat was dead.
‘Ee loved ‘un still, despite the smell, which was almighty strong,
But daftee never noticed that anything was wrong.

'Ee took ‘un to the vet and said “My mouser idden eating!”
The vet was shocked at such a sight and soon ‘ee started bleating!
“You git plum boy – daft as a brush – wha’s wrong with yer bleddy ‘ead?
That cat is done with ‘eatin’ - the thing is bleddy dead!”

Archibald was sad now – was quiet as the grave
‘Ee’d ‘ad that cat since just a boy and truly was its slave.

The git plumb boy was plumb no more – ‘is growing time was done
‘Is cap was gone, ‘is trousers long and childhood’s battle won.

Madron Barlewenna (18)

As usual, the winning entry was chosen by a panel selected from the Silver Thread Society of the Penlowarth Centre for the Extremely Aged in Penzance.

Gracie Angwin (104) stated, on behalf of the panel, 75% of whom were still alive, that Madron's poem was " 'ead an shoulders above the rest". They have accordingly given him the prize, which is a bottle of "Head and Shoulders".