Power Station Poems | Examples

Power Station

To all of my loves, 
I'm nothing but a greying power station.
They're not interested in me
or my well being
I'm not sure if they ever were.
They come at me with endless barbed babble
have little need for dialogue or advice
I'm just a chew toy for their mental mice...
when their confusion evolves into a vice
They have their smart phones
and other instruments of distraction 
they already know everything.

My loves are leaving now -only half charged up
They're onto their next power station
to get topped off.
I'm completely drained 
but completely happy that they're gone.

Chain Wire Fence

A tall, chain wire fence
surrounds the perimeter 
of the power station, casting
its evening shadow over a wide
bank of grass leading down
to the river. Sometimes I sit there
just to listen to the sound 
of the wind make music through
the wires. 

It is a soft, melancholy music
that carries a certain sorrow.
Uncoupled from a name,
it seems a composite 
of the sadness accrued 
in the wordless wells of the soul
that finds voice here.
It has a strange attraction,
an addictive beauty

which keeps me coming back
though each note strums
a nerve giving a little hurt.
At times I can almost hear
human voices weaved
into the music, a tone 
echoing out of places 
made restless with longing.

It is the music that lovers make
and gently plays at the center
of all good art, sad prisoners 
of time, composed by the heart 
to mourn when what is loved 
and what is beautiful in this life
passes from us, 
and let go.

Bottlebrush and Greyhound

There are times
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself
as when, this morning, alongside 
the power station fence,
I passed under a red cloud 
of bottlebrush flowers
dripping nectar in a frenzy
of birds feeding on the sticky
clusters overhead,
too high for me to reach 
and plunge my hand
deep into the pure joy 
of that crimson feast.

And when a greyhound,
let loose from its leash, 
ran past me with such speed 
and grace, I longed to be 
its stride, the power propelling 
it across the grass 
and into the distance, turning
in the wide arc 
of its own happiness.
I would have given anything
to dissolve into its bounding
freedom, undone from my leash
of old age and the slow shuffle
of aching feet. 
There are times 
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself,
if only for a moment.

Terra

1.Pockets of air.
2.Roaring gusts in critique.
3.Swirling leaves.
I'll build a concession stand here immediately.
I knew one day you'd get proactive.
I just thought it'd be, you know- maybe liquefaction, 
flooded power station, mudslide.......

Four Love Affairs

FOUR   LOVE AFFAIRS

The French health food shop
Near Vasilyastrovskaya metro,
With a tiny patio garden bench   -
Fell in love there with the language of the French.
Closed now for property development.
 
Ironbridge Folk Club,
In the shadow of enormous cooling towers
Of the power station majestic   -
Fell in love there with  folk music.
Demolished now for road widening.

Under-a-Fiver   second-hand   bookshop
In Henry Street,  Dublin,
Found many bargains, many gems of writing   -
Fell in love there with literature so exciting.
Redeveloped  now as a mall.
 
The Chippy  take-out, Bensham  Road, Gateshead,
Fragrant in smells of vinegar,   and delightful
On cold nights with its steamy swirl   -
Fell in love there with my first girl.
Slum clearance has now razed it.

Escape

Tuesday 17th 1998.

Escape…
I felt an atomic bomb erupt from within me, as I the being I am raged an unending battle against the person that is I.  My internal thoughts betraying my external actions, I was left in a state of absolute irrepressible rage. I tumbled and tossed, tried heavily to regain control, but I had already been left one soul with no body. 
A chilling silence flew through the air, living me numb as I accessed my present vicissitude. I had collapsed in myself living me as a dead but yet leaving being.
I heard voices talking to me, distant voices, and almost silent ones sending a trigger through my spinal cord.
I looked at my pale and blood-deprived self in the mirror… I saw the devil within me, struggling, yes! Struggling to gain control of the power station that is I. A quick hit by reality sent me into a shock-absorbed state of mind, I loved the fact that I hated the person I had become. 
I, a mere shadow of what I used to be, sat floating away in the illusion I had created within me.
My thoughts melting in my actions, my behavioral qualities being lost in my emotional obscenities.
 All I could feel was a schizophrenic voice that said, “escape”.

A Climate of Change

We didn't go abroad this year, we had our summer holiday
Here in the UK where it had rained all summer long.
We scuba dived in the sea but it was dead, devoid of all
Life; we walked the coastal path to where the bungalow
Fell in the sea last year, near to the wreck of the oil tanker
That ran aground in a winter storm.

On the only dry day we had we went for a picnic sitting
In a meadow beneath an oak tree but there were no wild
Flowers, and no bees either; even the Holly Blue's didn't show.
Only the soft noise of fracking in a nearby field. Cows that once
Graced that field now stand farting and eating their lives away
In a shed that's part of a factory farm.

On our last day we sat in the cafe eating cod and
Chips, cod caught in the Irish Sea loaded with
Caesium 137 and strontium 90 that had been seeping
Out of Sellafield nuclear power station over the years.
We could have had the Pacific tuna irradiated from the
Fukushima fall-out but preferred the cod.

Out My Window

Graffiti on an old rusty train 
I see this through my kitchen window 
And globs of dripping dropping rain  
A field house light shines at night like a little flame 
There is a golf course beyond that mobile and decorated chain
Where established men play an old Scottish game

Electric wires above the tracks 
Held up by wooden pillars 
Bringing power from a building with soot covered smoke stacks
This vantage is strange to me
Who builds power station next to caddie shacks 
But this is the sight that I see


T.C Minisce 
9/12/2015

We Break the Past To Build the Future

the chimney stacks
of the old power station
claws at the belly of the clouds
and with its sulfurous billowing
it bellows its stench
tinting the clouds, yellowing nicotine stains
as its cadaverous fingers clench
and releases, as it pleases
the painted nails 
sport red flashing lights
as the bellowing smoke
for airspace fights

the dawn is cracked open
under the grey steam-pot lid
like a rotten egg
and the horizon is broken
into blocks
between the pedestal legs
of the spindly chimney stacks
progress clangs and clacks
on blood-rusted
unused train-tracks

the scars of progress on an old landscape
-	weals healed over in ageless veldts
whilst weeds pimple between the stays
a last gasp of green displays
the gangrene death
of nature
oozing from the suture
as we break the past
to build the future

The Demise of Didcot A

Throughout the Oxford countryside,
Ubiquitous.  You cannot miss
That chimney or those cooling towers,
Dubbed “cloud machines” by local kids.

Fuelled by coal, this power station,
Condemned to death by Brussels Greens.
“Marmite” to a generation –
A love or hate industrial scene.

Iconic as the “dreaming spires”,
That is, if you ignore the wires
That droop from those gigantic towers,
Delivering to the nation, Power –

Two thousand megawatts, in fact.
The power to light two million homes
For two score years. The final act :
Disconnection.  Demolition.

They’ll soon be gone – blown up, knocked down,
We’ll never see its like again;
Just memories now in Didcot town,
But do not mourn : less acid rain.

Loves Warm Cosy Blanket

Where ever I go
Where ever I stray
in the cold of the night
or the heat of the day
I carry her around everywhere 
in my joyful heart.

It feels like I'm walking around
wearing the softest cosy blanket
made of gold silken thread
that gives me a warm glow
from my toes up to my head.

I feel invincible so happy
to be alive
with a power station of love
that builds in inside
With my mind in another place
and a huge smile upon my face
My life has meaning and direction
and all because of my sweet Lady
my strength my wonder
and perfection.



Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Dec.

Crystal Ball

Crystal Ball

Crystal ball's, a concentration point, 
for the one who see's afar,
 like old Nostradamus,
 looking darkly quaintrains are...
(for those that see images in the mirror)


crystal ball stores a charge within,
 like radio crystals when they buzz, 
let out few volts, you feel the fuzz,
sometimes a jolt lies, chargin.
....science hey...:)

Radio crystals when they vibrate 
At a certain frequency, make a voltage too,
They are cut to size to generate this frequency,
Keeps old radios on a station, do,

I used to assemble Ultrasonic blind cleaners,
A current is applied to the banks of crystal,
 and they vibrate fiercely, do
To shift the dirt off blinds or jewelry,
Crystals can be of help to you,

If we have a natural vibration place,
Cut a big crystal the work to do,
It would be a voltage generator,
Power station so true blue!   
A Tuaoi stone for you!

With all the earthquake energy on colliding plates you may have a vibration source,
as was the case in Atlantis.

Don Johnson

Crazy People

Crazy People

The signal they need to be on the same 
channel as you, is being interrupted, by voices or
wave signals connected to a different power station. 
So why not listen to the message?
Instead you medicate. So now when they laugh 
they cannot tell you what is funny....so
therefore, you stifle the message, and kill humor.
Instead of finding out what flight they were prepared for, 
you medicate without understanding. 
His drummer sent him a message,
that's the drum he dances to.
You kill the message, sedate the messenger; 
And now you will never know. 
Who's crazy them or you.?
Since some sit upon the right hand, 
and some sit upon the left; 
It’s only the Yen and Yang of God......
The crazy person wakes up laughing Hysterically; 
You cannot even laugh at all...
So who's crazy, Them or you? 
Both created by the same God, 
or MAYBE Not!

Night

Darkness stalks the evening sun shadows flee 
The streets, the moon and the stars illuminate 
The night from their power station in the sky 
But neon signs and florescent brights fornicate
their presence  

Bittersweet sorry delight this is the majesty 
Of the night 
And in this realm of darkness come men with 
Barren conscience cold there stories yet untold

Of visions quest and serenade and dreams they 
Hope the night unfold 
Some will speak with tangled tongues and fill 
Te air with daunting sounds 

But when the magic of a darkened sky spills
The fragrance of the night 
Some will hear this tender call and from a 
Heart where truelove dwells answer to the 
Moon that swells 

Bathed in the bouquet of a swollen moon 
This heart now full of freed emotion plays a 
Melody of unchained devotion
Love brings me to this place of hope

That man fear not the darkened sky
This prelude to the morn 
But light the shadows in their soul 
And so embrace the wisdom of the day 
That we might see a dawn 



Earl S. Jackson 


Copyright © 2010 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved

The Last of Summer

Blasted through the arteries of great wide open spaces
like fuel-injected bullets from some laser-sighted gun,
over-priced and deathtrap built, nothing cars to nowhere places,
trailing prisms of bleeding sump oil underneath the cooling sun.

From the money-grubbing fingers of a travel agent slaughter trip,
thrown a pitch in shadows of a power station pleasure park,
where sheep are glowing green at night with radiation flavoured dip,
the very soul of Mother Earth succumbs unto the leeching dark.

Rabble rousing bodies spill their flesh upon the mosaic floors,
a crunch of black sand sticky feet through hotel foyer abattoirs,
these patrons clutch at local maps, get lost inside revolving doors,
then dance around the nuclear core in plastic palm-tree disco bars.

A haemorrhage of bleeding skies damped down with streaks of sulphur grey
is fused onto the dark horizon by a deeper shade of red,
yellow bikini beachwear melts leukaemic on the judgement day,
the swallow cardiac arrests, the last of summer drops down dead.

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