Genius Loci
Genius Loci was born following the release of Sacred Landscapes by Sue Aston back in 1999.
Since then we have evolved into a successful design and media company supporting Cornish businesses whilst still being a unique guide for visitors to Cornwall.
Genius Loci
We are also the official outlet for Sue Aston CDs and DVDs
And is it like this in the homeland Mother?
Is the grass so green and the sky so big?
And is the sea so blue in the homeland Mother,
The land where our fathers rest,
Resting in the grave ‘neath the granite cross
Looking forever to the far horizon.
And is the earth like this in the homeland Mother?
So brown and so rich, where the earth fed us all before we were born.
And is it like this in the homeland Mother?
Do they still weep for those who are no more?
Shall I weep for them now Mother,
Shall I weep for you as you rest in the sweet brown earth?
But no Mother, I shall weep no more.
For where you rest shall the homeland be,
A piece of Cornwall forever!
In the time when you were young Mother,
Before you left for this land,
Did our boats lie down on the golden sand?
Do the Gulls scream here Mother like they do in the other land?
Is the sky so big
Is the grass so green?
And did father love us like you did before you were gone.
And is he with you now to hold your hand,
To lead you into love in that golden land?
I hope so Mother, back to the Homeland.
I shall not weep for you Mother, you do not need my tears.
You are going to that other land you sang of,
And brought the stories from
That land of mist, myth and magic
And crashing swell,
Rolling moor
And you.
You are going home my Mother,
To the homeland of love!
Cornwall is a lovely place
To live here is just divine
The cliffs are high and mighty
The sea just rages on
It’s also so mysterious
As many people know
It guards so many secrets
Or so I have been told
Don’t ever trust the sea they say!
Treat it with great respect
Many people lose their lives
Because of their neglect
To be a Cornish person
To live in it’s fair place
You’ll never move from Cornwall
Never with any great haste
Ghosts at Gunwalloe by Ronnie Goodyer
Here, the spectre of a rolling thunder-cloud fights a south-westerly crosswind
right on the grassed crest of Gunwalloe.
The coarse rush waves in the sand
alive with footprints of a million ancestors,
carrying the catch, hauling the boats,
life telling in the burden of their eyes.
I meet the cry of the tossed buzzard
arcing to a speck by the tiny church,
a watercolour microcosm of Kernow.
Sun traces rays behind the black sky
which wrap my thoughts in sparkling ribbons,
healing and refreshing, waiting to be lifted
by the wings of each gust from the downs.
The rock formations are shadows of soldiers
streaked with the sweat of sacrifice,
returning here to their secret dreams,
praying for rebirth in the storm’s wind.
Rooks return to the Goonhilly heath
as the rain sways in bending light,
refreshing the sea, clearing the air.
I can hear the voices of thanksgiving
echo between the breakers and the shore,
as, in the lea, orange lights the glow of home.
I keep the promise to all who walked here,
all who gave me this life and this hope,
as I witness the last sigh of spring
and open my heart to the birth of summer.
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