Pylon Poems | Examples

Clerihew Macneice

Irish poet Louis MacNeice
went to Iceland toreercha paticular piece
He also worked for the BBC
& wrote his Pylon Poetry

Pylon Sky

Above quercitron sand.
A solemn sky of navy-gam
Wind's relieved sigh of a day gone by
Hum's hum of dusty dusk
Rust hair fades from view.
Metal mother dusky pink 
Safety
Eburneon
Carnelian
And finally
Gamboge

Low Tide Browns Bay

Old mooring pylon
 with shag aloft,
wings flapping.
 Fitness freaks with dogs
jog the shore -
 one woman in particular,
her thighs slapping.
 An old heron and I
are amused -
 we fly away,
both of us clapping.

       

Written: circa 1993

A Play On Words - Live

A PLAY ON WORDS – LIVE

The power failed on Thursday night.
I was left completely in the dark..
So I rang an ELECTRICIAN
To see WATT he could do
His response wasn’t very POSITIVE;
Because of the CURRENT crisis, he said
He’d decided he would go to EARTH
And stay OHM in INSULATION.
Though he still got LIGHT exercise daily
With a SHORT CIRCUIT round the park,
He said he couldn’t visit me;
The Covid rules wouldn’t allow it
He put up a strong RESISTANCE
Although I begged him to help,
He was following government GRIDLINES
And keeping his social distance.
I tried to PYLON the agony,
Pleading my old age in the MAIN,
But his answer was still in the NEGATIVE,
He said he would CONTACT me next year.
I’d have to do the job myself.
He was clearly in his ELEMENT
It wasn’t his VOLT, he insisted
He refused, so I RE-FUSED.

16th June 2021
Word Play Poems with Play on Words Raison D'etre poetry contest
Sponsor - John Lawless

Pylon Generator

They gather in their buzzard nests
clustered in dry grey frazzled wastes
steel sticks to walk upon their footsteps
humming with metallic stilts
supported grid on artificial legs
their crude utilitarian structure
hang in groves above the chainsaw stacks

Buzzing across the forests
as their cables saunter
their arms outstretched
quietly immobile lurking in the distance
frames crisscross their anti-nature
by rivet and construction artifact
through the mountains
over hills advancing stagnant 

Silently is in their interference
high tension of Guglielmo Marconi
affecting some strange unfathomable sickness
distortions through auras energy
is their invisible electrical disturbance
and living with them is notoriously dangerous

Hopscotch and crossword their generator
puzzle to whom
where from
where to
follows you all the motorway home
to the click of a switch
down the side streets and back out of sight
their invisible mile and kilometer
and their arid blight
the digital clicking cash collecting of J.P. Morgans meter 
connected by conductivity's twisted fiber
and living in the nightmares of Nikola Tesla

Brenda Chiri Oi

Last time we spoke you’d been in a car crash 
And the time before that you’d been in a car crash 
So it’s a fair bet the silence is from a car crash
Repetitive rhyming mate it’s like a car crash 
and you should know mate being the queen of car crash

Like an alarm harassing the ear drum til you arose
come back to life showing signs you're comatose, 
I’m coming over the pond to break you out of this mong, 
you been gone so long like my shlong, 
did you crash again moron,
stupid place to put a pylon
right in your path like that

this talk ain’t cheap it’s free 
we got fibres buzzing between you and me 
from text talk to poetry 
is it sexting you're fearing 
and that’s why you’re disappearing, 
how can I dis you when I don’t hear you, 
look I miss you come back I’ll cheer you
don't be a tongue tied Chiri try me on the fibre wireless 4g 5g 6g
the EE technology flying free over the sea from you to me so we see
Chiri reply to me you fake G

On the Rocks Prac R

nudity realm shift pylon mixed regeneration

pylon

helliu, wave conducts power voltage ginger

Pylon Python

Ten foot python log then? Well that is a mirror for the senses. First to arrive is a late morning whilst a skipping rope can traverse many waving beams. Travesty when using a pillow. Engrained in a pickle at ninety six degrees. Unfathomable by a curd whose pulsating juices ebb and flow. Like a forestry fauna in a spring printed napkin. Over and over rolls a very fat snail. For its the weather that is sent. In a sentence release. Pointing an iron rock in a clap. And giving a presentation to a sea of prawns. Pretty clam smiles in a soup. Ravishing layers of interlocking legs. In a legal flame. Fish. Fast. Fastened. First-class. *** moonbeams xxxx ding dong. ***

The Wretched Pylon

For over 300 years there I stood happy and all alone,
Reaching out in all directions for this was truly known,
Admired by many a generation and all their eyeing folk,
I am that single and magnificently handsome ageing oak,
But now the darkness truly has no shining stars for me,
and so now I thrash my arms and shed my leaves angrily,
Is that steel monstrosity to tower me, it surely cannot be,
For now I will continue to grow lying low beneath my foe,
But surely my adorning fans eyes will see my scary plight,
Please help me in my fight to see beyond my darkened light,
And restore my beautiful home from this dreadful plight.

Life On the Dock

Like silent sentries in a row
the pylon docks await my arrival.
It is low tide as I step 
onto the gangway.
Crusty barnacles cling tenaciously 
to the pylons, as salt water
laps the rocky shoreline.

A lanky blue heron 
carefully picks it's way
between the fingers 
of the dock slips.
A cool breeze picks up
and the boats respond
bobbing to and fro.

Halyard lines clang
against the masts of sailboats
as weather vanes turn 
toward the prevailing
northwest winds.

The pungent smell of sea salt air
and the cool mist against my face
evoke thoughts of escape
and high sea adventures.

How I long to sail away 
without a care
and maybe never to return. 

The glories of the ocean breeze
waft gently over my face
while prism rays draw me
toward the lapping shoreline
and I feel young and free.

This place is where I am truly me
where my spirit is released
and as I breathe in 
the salt sea air
I give myself over
to the sea.    





Written by Laura Leiser
4/19/2007

Safe At Home

When I closed my eyes and fell asleep in the premature hours of dawn
I never dreamed Your face would be
The next I’d look upon
My vehicle came to rest against the square concrete pylon
And those who found me declared to all
“It appears as though he’s gone”
They said I had the look of peace upon my face so fair
And in my lap my hands were laid
As if God placed them there
Just underneath those hands of mine my Gummy Bears were found
How is it that they rested there
And were not tossed around
You chose for me the greatest dad and mother one could have
And my sister; she’s so beautiful
Will you hold her for me Dad
For all of those that knew me knew how much I loved the game
But they also knew I loved you Lord
And someday you’d call my name
I’m grateful that I prayed the prayer to receive you in my heart
Now I know for sure that heaven is real
And we two shall never part
My final game was played that day as I heard you say “well done”
I ran into my dwelling place
Where I’m truly “safe at home”

Dedicated to RJ Ledesma jr who was called from this earth much to soon. May you rest in the Lord's care till we see you again. October 29, 1992 - September 24, 2011

Celestial Site

crisp flowing water
lies amidst pylon temple….
a celestial site

Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Third Place Winner ~ "Power in Observation” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Freeman
Aug. 17, 2011

The Psychostasia

The Psychostasia
(The Egyptian Funerary Rite)

For seventy days I’ve been prepared
With oils and unguents ever so rare
And with linen bandages to and fro
Wound and wrapped from head to toe

And on this journey I’m prepared to start
By enduring the “Weighing of the Heart”
With Toth’s oversight we’ll see whether
My heart weighs true against Truth’s feather

Should it fall short the beast will devour
My soul to oblivion in my final hour
Yet should it measure straight and true
The Pylon opened I’ll be ushered through

And then I shall fall unto my knees
And pray that Osirus hears my pleas
That he acknowledge and clear my tears
And accept my soul for a thousand years

And cleanse said soul of all its scars
And make me one with the canopy of stars
And bless my children and my wife
That they may join me in the afterlife

The King of All Possible Tomorrows

The disembodied fuses of the morning
Lie discarded like the aftermath of sex,
And splinter icy barbs against the windows,
As the wires split and fray and don’t connect.

There’s a bird that coughs monoxide on the pylon
And a dog that barks pneumonia on the grass,
In the distance drawls a baritone of thunder
Foretelling of the storms that come to pass.

Like the king who rules all possible tomorrows
I dice with love and sex and life and fate,
As she strips, her nylon sheaths become electric
And I sit and watch with wonder as I wait.

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