Edited by Gill Burrell, Sunday, 26 Nov 2023, 09:30
Pylon in the mist
Forget these club-foot underpinnings. My mind is somewhere higher. Can you follow
me up to where I strip down to geometry? To where the proof of a theorem must be true
because elegant. Not a nut or bolt for show, but each pleat and dart of the stress field
traced on the mist in rust- painted steel, like an intellectual necessity. Essential
me, out in all weathers wearing nothing but my purpose - an ascetic, ideal
and myself as a bare tree in winter. Possessed by a certain charisma - can you hear it,
power, everywhere and nowhere, its dry crackling in the cloud around my head? ************** Reference; I Spy Pinhole Eye Poems by Philip Gross, Photography by Simon Denison.
Electricity- Poem ⚡
Pylon in the mist
Forget these club-foot underpinnings. My mind is somewhere higher. Can you follow
me up to where I strip down to geometry?
To where the proof of a theorem must be true
because elegant. Not a nut or bolt for show, but each pleat and dart of the stress field
traced on the mist in rust- painted steel, like an intellectual necessity. Essential
me, out in all weathers wearing nothing but my purpose - an ascetic, ideal
and myself as a bare tree in winter. Possessed by a certain charisma - can you hear it,
power, everywhere and nowhere, its dry crackling in the cloud around my head?
**************
Reference;
I Spy Pinhole Eye
Poems by Philip Gross, Photography by Simon Denison.