Most people's idea of Cornwall is rugged coast, golden sand and lots of lardy food. I thought my Phoctober project should try and reflect a different aspect to the county so I will just take pics within a mile or two from my house and stay away from the beautiful beach.
Totally distraught at the withdrawal of red phone boxes (read that as ripped from my heart), replaced by the ghastly, free from urine smell (hah) new black impersonal, characterless ones, I am pleased that, so far, the Royal Mail has kept their lovely post boxes.
Post boxes come in a few styles, the mad cylinder with the flat cap, and the hole in the wall being my favourite. Anyway, here is a wall type box, just up the road. I like this one, it sort of looks a bit surprised.
I thought this poem would go with it nicely.
Ivy inches up the wall
sure intent upon its goal
the single pistil shoots it straight -
inside the barren wall, there waits
a single fissure, sure and still
whose orifice, awaiting fill
allows adventitious roots a hold
oblivious that this creeper bold
will steal away its mind and heart
leaving wounds, a mortal scar
of petioled leaves and rampant vine.
The wall, of course, cannot decline
and pulls invasion closer in
uniting in the calyx twine and
lets the greenery do its worst
burrowing deep, quenching thirst.
Spring brings poisonous glucoside
offering gentle suicide
that may be the only way
to rid the wall of this affray
that spreads like canker, invading plight
denies the wall the freedom fight
But ivy will not let it go
mutual need drives it so
whilst holding brick in gentle grip
the ivy plants an emerald kiss