Pylons - For Barbara Smith Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

In the countryside lush and green
with fields and cottages down to the sea,
heads bathed in clouds they stand
like Titans crucified. With
lightning in their fingertips
they deride the heavens, magicians
blaspheming their omnipotence.

Hillsides are levelled by their stride.
They cannot be stopped.
They conjure up cities
with humming incantations.

They are the new prophets of light
marching over the horizons,
giant new gods without thunder or wisdom or sight.