The Ghost Ship of Porthcurno
Along the lines of antiquated communication
Within a stones throw of the
Ancient Logan Rock
Traditional place of initiations of
The ancient folk of fey
Pristine golden sand, glows in the sunlight
Illuminating the cove,
Softly sharing the space with
The sparkling crystalline granitic cliffs
Worn smooth by the insatiable tides and
Swelling waters of the alluring
Mesmerising Atlantic!
This soft contagious place!
Backdrop scenery of a million pictures
Of family holidays and
Romantic canoodling couples
Honeymooning together in the warm
Cornish sun!
The bay of white sand caressing the toes of
Pilgrims and travellers and seekers of history
And mystery of the old
Hermitage and secret spring
Issuing from the clifftops from the secret abode
Of sages, priests and shamans of a golden past?
But as sunset approaches
A different mystery unfolds!
On certain nights, when the white shining moon
Peeks through scudding black billowing clouds
Sailing across the menacing
Dismal starry sky with
The feeling of a thousand
Demons watching from above
This cove is transformed,
The stage is set for another tall tale
That will terrify and astonish one and all...
For darkness has fallen, and the grey bell is tolling
The bell of the Goblin is ringing at sea
The Goblin is coming, from the deepest dark ocean
As we observe from the shadowy tortuous
Covert corners of the
Moon-bathed village streets, with
Terrifying anticipation.
Ding, ding, ding
Tolls the bell,
Reverberating, advancing across the bay
The moon shining full lighting her way
Creaking and a groaning,
She sails closer for inspection
By the invisible deck-hands and the
Demonic admiralty!
The dismal smell of decay rises above the sand.
Then at once,
She mysteriously appears
A fine ancient ghost-ship,
Close to the beach
Billowing ghostly fog abounds
Swirling and dancing
With dark ragged flags fluttering
On the deathly night air
Torn sails flapping with the
Creak and groan of deaths inevitable grasp
The Dark Ship is with us
As she sails above the sand
Towards the village,
Crashing through unseen waters,
Seeking all who wish to hide
From this deliciously devilish scene!
Searching, hunting those souls
Whom she has left behind.
Zennor Quoit
