Pylon Poetry

[TheFifthElement]

I love pylons, and was challenged to write a poem about them so here it is. It was going to be a kitch, tongue in cheek, communist propaganda 'Workers of the world unite' type affair, but instead turned into this. Feel free to critique, if you see fit.




Standing in your presence
I have memories of
a childhood spent
searching for the fifth
reservoir;
of long motorway
journeys;
of barbed wire fences,
and nicked fingers.

Standing at your feet
I taste the
rawness of temptation
and resistance,
the desperate urge
to climb,
to sit up in your arms
and converse with birds.

Standing in your shadow
I realise
you were always there
on our adventures
watching over us,
our silent companion,
like the boy who
watched from the window
but never joined the game.


But surely it can't just be me who has a fondness for pylons? If you're a fellow lover, feel free to add your own pylon poem here.

[firefangled]

I love pylons, and was challenged to write a poem about them so here it is. It was going to be a kitch, tongue in cheek, communist propaganda 'Workers of the world unite' type affair, but instead turned into this. Feel free to critique, if you see fit.




Standing in your presence
I have memories of
a childhood spent
searching for the fifth
reservoir;
of long motorway
journeys;
of barbed wire fences,
and nicked fingers.

Standing at your feet
I taste the
rawness of temptation
and resistance,
the desperate urge
to climb,
to sit up in your arms
and converse with birds.

Standing in your shadow
I realise
you were always there
on our adventures
watching over us,
our silent companion,
like the boy who
watched from the window
but never joined the game.


But surely it can't just be me who has a fondness for pylons? If you're a fellow lover, feel free to add your own pylon poem here.

I have only written one poem that I remember with a pylon in it. But I do like the osprey and the eagles nests in the one's on the way to Orlando.

And I especially like this poem. The way you tell it, it seems is at once an unusual and commonplace occurance to live in the presence of pylon.

I remember climbing a water tower and a ranger lookout in some forest I can't remember. Sort of pylonish, but then certainly not the real thing to a pylon aficionado.

[Lote-Tree]

My sweet lord you have done it! :D



Standing at your feet
I taste the
rawness of temptation
and resistance,
the desperate urge
to climb,
to sit up in your arms
and converse with birds.


I like this bit - As a child I was a tree climber and I can understand this urge and temptation :-)



But surely it can't just be me who has a fondness for pylons? If you're a fellow lover, feel free to add your own pylon poem here.

Never loved pylons. Perhaps I never grew up near them. Trees yes. And loved climbing them which gave my grandma lots of angina!

[TheFifthElement]

And I especially like this poem. The way you tell it, it seems is at once an unusual and commonplace occurance to live in the presence of pylon.



Thank you so much for this firefangled. I always think that pylons embody the things we rely on, but do not appreciate. One of many things, sadly. The pylon in question lived across the road from the house where I grew up, on the school property, and to a small child it was fascinating (though of course I wasn't allowed to go near it). As I grew older it seemed immutable, I changed but it never did, never moved, never altered. If I went to my old home now it would still be there, exactly the same as before.


My sweet lord you have done it! :D
I like this bit - As a child I was a tree climber and I can understand this urge and temptation :-)


Yes I have done it!

I was a tree climber too. :) ( out of eyeshot of the parents!)

[Lote-Tree]

I was a tree climber too. :) ( out of eyeshot of the parents!)

But you are gal. Surely this is boy's stuff :D
Just kiddin :-) glad to meet a fellow tree climber :D

[TheFifthElement]

But you are gal. Surely this is boy's stuff :D
Just kiddin :-) glad to meet a fellow tree climber :D

Yes, and don't the boys have all the fun ;) even now, in my old age, I still look at trees and think, can I, can I?.....

[Lote-Tree]

Yes, and don't the boys have all the fun ;)


we do it to impress gals :D



even now, in my old age, I still look at trees and think, can I, can I?.....

Hehe...a true climber indeed :D

[ampoule]

in my old age,

Old age? I bet! ;)
Loved the poem FifthElement. I am looking at pylons in a whole new way.

[TheFifthElement]

Old age? I bet! ;)
Loved the poem FifthElement. I am looking at pylons in a whole new way.

Too old to be climbing trees, that's for sure.

Thanks for reading ampoule, and enjoy the pylons, they don't seem to do much but we'd be lost without them ;)

[Pendragon]

That is one impressive poem. Pylon refer to the shape, the visual poetry? That makes it even more awesome to stay within the shape and still write such a great poem! Yeah, tree climber, here. It's how I dislocated a shoulder, falling out from say 40 feet and grabbing onto a branch as I passed it thinking "Tarzan". Tarzan never gets his arm pulled out of socket, and has to let go and still hit the ground. The pain as they put it back was a good reminder, for about a week. Hee.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/ThumbsUp.gif

[TheFifthElement]

Thank you Pen, I'm glad to hear you're a fellow tree-climber. There are more of us out there than it seems :) . I guess Tarzan has a lot to answer for, a dislocated shoulder sounds painful.

Thank you for your comments. I hadn't attempted to make the poem pylon shaped, but now you've mentioned it there's definitely a pylon impression there. Thanks for pointing it out.

[Lote-Tree]

Thank you Pen, I'm glad to hear you're a fellow tree-climber. There are more of us out there than it seems :) . I guess Tarzan has a lot to answer for, a dislocated shoulder sounds painful.

Thank you for your comments. I hadn't attempted to make the poem pylon shaped, but now you've mentioned it there's definitely a pylon impression there. Thanks for pointing it out.

Closet Tree Climbers out you come ?:D

[TheFifthElement]

Closet Tree Climbers out you come ?:D

and I was hoping to find fellow pylon lovers, but never mind. Tree climbing is as good, if not better :D

[Lote-Tree]

Tree climbing is as good, if not better :D

Bueno! And it does not feel cold to touch :D

[TheFifthElement]

Bueno! And it does not feel cold to touch :D

Wow! You actually touched a pylon?! I was always too scared, 'cos my Mum told me I'd be electrocuted if I ever touched one, so I could only ever watch from afar, hence the 'temptation and resistence' **sigh**.

[Lote-Tree]

Wow! You actually touched a pylon?! I was always too scared, 'cos my Mum told me I'd be electrocuted if I ever touched one, so I could only ever watch from afar, hence the 'temptation and resistence' **sigh**.

lol :-)

I think you missed something out of your poem...the "Meditative hum" of the pylons when electricity is cursing through the wires...

[ampoule]

Wow! You actually touched a pylon?! I was always too scared, 'cos my Mum told me I'd be electrocuted if I ever touched one, so I could only ever watch from afar, hence the 'temptation and resistence' **sigh**.

And so, you will understand how I think of this from my porch swing.

The Volt

Walking out her front door,
Standing straight and tall and taut,
Dipping her hands in chalk,
her arm shoots up at the sound of her name,
and she turns, slightly left, slightly right,
Waving to the crowd of dogwoods,
Acknowledging the tulip tree and hard maple judges.
She readies herself with a sure breath,
as the robins and butterflies hold theirs
her eyes fixed on the target, and she's off,
Bounding down the wide porch steps,
Running fast down the sidewalk to the grassy berm
springboard, which lifts her into the sky
Grasping firmly the wires with both hands
for her routine, but not before a quick turn
of her head, and an exhilirating,
"Hello squirrel, hello little birds!"

[TheFifthElement]

And so, you will understand how I think of this from my porch swing.

The Volt

Walking out her front door,
Standing straight and tall and taut,
Dipping her hands in chalk,
her arm shoots up at the sound of her name,
and she turns, slightly left, slightly right,
Waving to the crowd of dogwoods,
Acknowledging the tulip tree and hard maple judges.
She readies herself with a sure breath,
as the robins and butterflies hold theirs
her eyes fixed on the target, and she's off,
Bounding down the wide porch steps,
Running fast down the sidewalk to the grassy berm
springboard, which lifts her into the sky
Grasping firmly the wires with both hands
for her routine, but not before a quick turn
of her head, and an exhilirating,
"Hello squirrel, hello little birds!"

Ampoule, this is so lovely, vibrant and fun - just like the little girl who wrote it, I bet ;). Thank you for sharing this. I love the way the poem picks up speed as she starts to run, and the words to the animals at the end.

[ampoule]

:) Thank you! I really do think of this everytime I see the birds sitting on or the squirrels scampering across the high lines.

[Pendragon]

Wow! You actually touched a pylon?! I was always too scared, 'cos my Mum told me I'd be electrocuted if I ever touched one, so I could only ever watch from afar, hence the 'temptation and resistence' **sigh**.I used to be a regular hunter, the difference between me and others being that I shot nothing for sport. If I took an animal's life, it was the way of the Cherokee to eat what you killed, not waste it, and my dad-in-law, an old mountain man had the same rules. I walked and hunted, rather than sat and waited on the aninals to come to me. There were pylons in the fields and I would always go around them. Then one day, I thought what the heck, it would be easier just to walk through. They hum like a thousand bees, and you can get the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck to stand up, but no harm. No if my gun barrel had touched...who knows?

Pen

[TheFifthElement]

I used to be a regular hunter, the difference between me and others being that I shot nothing for sport. If I took an animal's life, it was the way of the Cherokee to eat what you killed, not waste it, and my dad-in-law, an old mountain man had the same rules. I walked and hunted, rather than sat and waited on the aninals to come to me. There were pylons in the fields and I would always go around them. Then one day, I thought what the heck, it would be easier just to walk through. They hum like a thousand bees, and you can get the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck to stand up, but no harm. No if my gun barrel had touched...who knows?

Pen

What a lovely story Pen, I can almost feel it, the 'hum of a thousand bees'.

When I was on my way home on the train last night, I noticed for the first time a place where, at any given moment, there are at least 18 pylons in eyeshot. If I'd had a camera, and I was any good at photography (particularly on a fast moving train) I'd have taken a picture.