DOZMARY POOL

                                     

 DOZMARY POOL

No breath of wind disturbs the star filled night,

Joan the Wad and her mischievous piskies are nowhere in sight.

The dark, brooding pool is still as glass and silently cold,

Jan Tregeagle haunts here, his soul sold for the devils gold.

Sentenced for eternity to empty Dozmary pool,

With a cracked limpet shell, this tortured fool.

No owls ‘hoot’, no animals make a sound,

Not even a howl from the Bodmin hell hound.

Cornish wraiths glide over the lake in a miasmic glow,

The full moon floats heavy on the lonely stillness below.

A caress of death can be felt on the night air,

Shadowy granite monoliths, for millennia standing there.

They once watched Sir Bediveres dying outstretched arm,

Cast the protector of Britain ‘Escalibur’ far from harm.

The lady of the lake holds the sword to this day,

Waiting for Arthur to return from Avalon, eon’s away.

With his armoured Knights, lances piercing the fog,

Riding through boulder covered tor, swaying reeds and bog.

The mythical Dozmary pool on the cold, lonely moor,

Deathly quiet and mysterious, its secrets will be held for evermore.

Phil Hall              October 2012

These three poems hopefully illustrate the dark, brooding beauty of the wonderful county ( or country as the folk of Kernow like it known) of Cornwall. I've enjoyed lots of visits to the tip of England and it always inspires me.