. Poetry from The Great In-Between: An old Coal Miner speaks

Saturday, January 22, 2022

An old Coal Miner speaks

  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 mother



My beloved Annabel Lee



A painting so they can always remember



That I've climbed into all sorts of dirty pits

Starting so 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 forever would 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  


So their families could stay warm and conquer the cold



I'm just one of the lucky ones who through the Lords blessings

Managed to grow old

Copyright John Duffy 



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