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

Sue Aston : Between Worlds

Cornwall Writers  - Poetry inspired by the Cornish landscape

Borne Beneath This Sun by Ronnie Goodyer

When the wind doesn’t blow the Coverack coastline and the tide that soaks the shingle doesn’t rise;

then we’ll hide in the hills beneath the harbour,

where I’ll lie beneath the laughter in your eyes.

When the rain drives the sun from sands at Kennack

and the ships that sail the Helford slip away;

then we’ll hide in the skyline of the evening,

where we’ll lie until the breaking of the day.

Porthallow feels the seasons through its breezes

and Porthoustock feels the seasons through its stones;

Godrevy feels the winds that brush the reed-beds,

where the isolation echoes through your bones.

You cannot tell the buzzards to stop wheeling

and you cannot tell the primrose not to flower;

you cannot tell the water to flow gently,

where its waves rise up and crash down with their power.

When the Gillan cliffs grow crazy with gulls’ calling

and the gabbro rock reveals just where we’ve gone;

then we’ll walk the ancient tracks to timeless borders, 

where we’re grateful to be borne beneath this sun.

Penwith by Rachel McCluskey
The grass is greener
in our wishing place
where the South West wind tussles ancient land,
and moorland mists hug Zennor Tor
high above bubbling stream of lace.

Where dragonfly wings glisten organza blue,
a dusty path to the enchanted cove
old tales of siren song
and carved mermaid pew.

The grass is greener
winding narrow hedgerow tracks
to settlement built in rolling fields,
as lime lichen glows
from dark fogou cracks.

The most beautiful time I remember
is of you and me
down the cold damp steps of the holy well,
emerging to midday sunlight through trees.
A black dog ran past, no master to be seen
and I left my brass pixie
in mossy rocks
a strong patchouli scent
of sweet clouds floating
beneath canopy of green.

The grass is greener
where the wind-bent tree leans,
embracing lush ferns
in our enchanted glimpse
of the land of our dreams.