I Am A Silo Grain Dump – In Defense Of A Silo
At times people use the image of “silo” or “silos” to describe people working independently and for their own ends. It has never sat well with me as an image. For reasons shown by the poem in this post.
This could be because I spent many years of childhood in the sheep and wheat belt. Later I would return there again (twice) to live and work.
Perhaps the disparaging image of “silos” comes from the Christian parable of Luke 12:13-23, where a greedy land owner was seeking more and more profits for himself. The image is not a good one for many of us and can increase a misunderstanding between city and country, rural and urban lives. In times of drought and bush fire we are best not to fuel any city-country enmities.
So, before bringing the “silo” image from our metaphorical storehouse, we might spare a thought and dig deeper into our imagination.
Picture: Ardlink Grain Dump just West of Ardlethan NSW a few years ago.
I Am A Silo Grain Dump – In Defense Of A Silo
I am a silo grain dump,
And live on the edge of village and of town,
I often have a fuel pump,
And dot the plains or down.
Sometimes graffiti coats me,
Or I’m adorned with mural art,
But in harvest time they come to me,
And trucks and trains then dart.
They come to me in many trucks,
From farms big and farms small,
And now with massive agribusiness,
I struggle to fit them all!
So scattered near my concrete side,
On specially prepared ground,
Tarpaulin covered grains dumps,
Keep grain stored safe and sound.
I’ve witnessed many tragic times,
And lots of moments of young love,
Of busy and of fruitful times,
Or when no rain falls from above.
School leavers find some work with me,
And uni students do the same,
I’ve taken on some newcomers,
Or those of long time known family name.
Yes, some approach me greedily,
Thinking of number one,
Others come skidding speedily,
To get that fast job done.
I hear some make an image of me,
To talk of people and of teams,
Who keep things cut off separately,
And store isolated dreams.
Before they talk of silos roughly,
They need to come and visit me,
Then they’ll get the message toughly,
That does not describe me.
I don’t hide away people or ideas,
I network the city and country,
And stage people’s tears and fears,
The locals catch up by me.
They may see someone not seen for weeks,
They may see for frequent visits then,
And as harvest season peaks,
They may not be seen again.
Before you use me as an image,
Of some isolated or greedy lot,
Come pay me a visit,
And then you’ll get the plot.
Simon C.J. Falk 17 December 2019
Picture from the Australian Silo Art Trail. More here. Accessed 17 December 2019
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Simon's still stanza 