. Poetry from The Great In-Between: Reflections of the old Coal Miner.

Monday, September 20, 2021

Reflections of the old Coal Miner.

  Press play. Salute.


(A lone voice whispers)

I leave this









My beloved painting by my old shaking hand

Now I'm ninety-three


For my children and grandchildren to see


For soon  

I'll be with my wife and their beloved mother


My precious Annabel Lee


My painting so they can always remember

That I've climbed into all sorts of dirty pits

Starting many years ago


When Ma gave me my first snap box and sent me to work in late December


When at fourteen  

I got one of my many work permits


And since that first day, I've scrubbed for hours

To clean my decent hard-working soul


To be healthy for my family before I went home


After spending all day and night

Just digging deep for black coal


I was born just before gas was crowned as king and all generations went into the pit


Like all baptised to do so before us  

If we were forced to admit it


Men and boys who we soon knew would forever be our kin


Going into the light or darkness to earn a few bob


Following all our own fathers and grandfathers

When our time too came  

  

When they asked casually over breakfast


Are you, ready son


And we all replied over hot coffee with a silent nod


Remember me

My name was Samus O'Mally


From Gods Country  

In County Donegal


Where we chased the mad black stuff like it was our lives bounty


Those courageous strong Irish men

Who like me when we heard the call


Willingly sacrificed our brief lives


Chasing fools black gold


So all our families could eat and be insulated from all weathers 


But particularly the cold


Until it, 

Black Coals ghost


Finally stalked us down wherever we lived and hid like a wild hyena


Rewarding us with a fatal kiss for year's of servitude and service


With a black medal in the lung called after something so tragic I now know as emphysema


To then stand watching us all silently but bravely 


Fight its deadly embrace as we all grew old


Coughing up blood like we were living in Hiroshima


Forever now just tainted like so many others from brave fathers and mothers


For foolishly chasing the glories and stories linked with mining black gold  











Copyright John Duffy


Image shared under fair usage policy.




No comments:

The Oracle in the Mists