Poetry in motion

On National Poetry Day I decided to blip this iconic image. It stands, almost abandoned, in the middle of the village. I have yet to see anyone using it. It still has a coin box and a dialling tone. But for how much longer?

This poem came to my attention chronicling the recent demise of a Wessex phone box.

Farewell old box of faded red
The wires are cut, the phone is dead
What history has taken place
Since first you occupied the space.
What conversations you have heard
What joys and sadness word by word
Have passed the lips and many a sigh
From villagers and passers by.
Your time is past, you’re obsolete
With mobile phones you can’t compete
And so today it’s very sad
All that is left is a concrete pad!

Mary Whitty