Best Bowels Of The Earth Poems
deep in the bowels of the earth
this treasure is found,
dug out by the men
who work underground,
they crawl and hack to fill the store
waiting for the call, mind your heads
as a blast is used to loosen more
this black diamond.
In the mining area in the valleys nearby
many a child had no father to give,
lost in the pit in an explosion, they cried,
many men lost so others can live.
the commodity they dig for
you will recognise am sure,
the black diamond I write about
is.... coal....shiny and pure.
penned august 3 2016
Into the bowels of the earth we descend
Down into the pit of hell
Crawling on hands and knees to mine
This precious fuel they call coal
Now Petey and I we are almost men
He is ten and I'm eleven
Been working here, down this mine
These last two years and month now
Mum is counting on us as men
Since Dad died from consumption
Coughed every night, spat out blood
Now gone to be with Jesus
The work is hard, it's hot down here
To work by flickering candlelight
The dust so thick, you always taste it
It makes you cough and splutter
We've almost reached the coal face
When I can hear some rumbling
I turned my head to speak to Petey
When the world collapsed around me
I don't know how long I lay there
When sense returned to me
By the flickering light I could see
The roof caved in behind me
Now I don't know if Petey was safe
Or if Petey was buried under
But what I knew and the news was bad
This was a miner's worst nightmare
Not a breeze came through, no fresh air
The tunnel tightly sealed
I think I knew deep in my heart
My bones would find rest here
Time passed, don't know how long
The candle burned away
The last light my eyes did see
Then blackness all around
I had seen night and I'd seen black
But never before black like this
The silence too was deafening
A tear squeezed from my eye
I cannot cry, I am a man
But the tears slid down my cheeks
I told myself for Mum I cried
What will become of her
The air so stale, tis hard to breathe
My eyelids heavy, drooping
Slowly I drift off to sleep
Tomorrow I'll awake in heaven
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
About this poem:
Sadly children as young as five were sent down into the mines and should there be a cave in it was more economical to leave them there and keep mining in a different direction. Thousands of children perished working in mines.
.
No words ...
no words strong enough
to capture this obscenity
as egrets and alligators,
shrimp and oysters
and human beings suffocate
on the stench, the filfth of the latest
greatest disaster.
On the radio
some myopic crackpots
are talking about the price of BP stock
and 'now would be a good time to buy.'
Buy while we die.
Sell while you kill
our Earth.
Of what use is this rage, these tears
with a fist raised to darkening skys?
Skys that fill with ether
up from the bowels of the earth.
Perhaps, all the sinkholes happening
around our planet originate
from stealing this black gold
out from its natural place.
Selfish, greedy thieves.
This is the legacy we leave.
Deep within the bowels of the earth
a pressure builds up in intensity
As lava and gases increase in growth
bubbling and seething with angry fury
The pressure continues to build up
directly under the earth's crust
Which finally weakens and blows its top
yielding to the pressure's upward thrust
The action produces a huge crater
through which ferocious flames exit
Painting the sky in a red orange colour
in an awesome fiery exhibit
It's a grand display of fireworks power
generated by Mother Nature
Which reaches out both near and far
in testimony of its grandeur
Clouds of ash and smoke rise up to the sky
spreading for miles and miles around
Obscuring vision both far and nigh
before most of the ash falls to the ground
A thick outpouring of red hot lava
scorches everything that lies in its path
Streaming down the sides of the crater
as it moves on with relentless wrath
Volcanic action has an awesome tale to tell
of what goes on under earth's placid shell
It's where red hot lava and gases dwell
which when released create a fiery hell
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in ’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and told, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at Buzzard’s Breath.
The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la Tart”.
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the mother lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, “Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! boys, git the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the earth, and the heat increased by day.
Buzzard’s Breath became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
London’s clock just struck three
A forewarning of events to follow
The gloomy afternoon, an old mans delight
The weather of no concern, working late into the night
The village was in a festive mood
Of good will towards all men
Mistletoe and family gatherings
A twinkle in the eyes of young lovers
As midnight approached, on this special night
There appeared a spirit of a thousand souls
He woke the old man, who shivered in fright
Who are you he demanded, feigning his bravery
I am the spirit of all that was, and all that will be
Was the cold reply
So dress yourself old man, for I am taking you
To where you have been and were you will be
I will show you how you loved
I will show you how ambition consumed your love
Now you sleep counting pennies not from heaven
This path shall render you a dried heartless corpse
Come with me and my chains
As I show you the destiny of the unloved
Where spirits toil in the bowels of the earth
Hells fires fill them with painful regrets
The want and ignorance of the poor
If your life has amounted to earthy possessions only
You shall wander the afterlife in wanting and suffering
As these wisdom's you ignored here on earth
The old man remembered the soft touch of a kiss
That fate stole his bliss
The spirit spun his words so wise
The old man came to understand
The spirit of a thousand years
Drifted away with the morning light
So the old man, wrote his final wishes
Of good will to all of mankind
Then in silence, rope in place
He pulled away his chair
All of life’s efforts seemed fruitless now
As he escaped his life’s despair
Notes: Dickens meets Poe
An island
Afloat in a sea of galaxies and stars
Orbiting its sun
Light and energy to warm and stir its life
Conceived by God....
With one explosive...singular...divine idea
14 billion years ago
Launching time and place and an expanding universe
Ruled by the laws of physics and chemistry
Giving birth at once to simple atoms and then the elements
Coalescing over eons to form the places...stars and galaxies...
God's universe...ever expanding to infinity
After nine billion years of cooling, expanding and the birthing of millions of galaxies
Earth is born...like no other planet in the universe
An island of majesty and beauty...sustainer of plants and animals
God's special planet...to house a special living species...Man
Evolved at last! Only two hundred and fifty thousand years ago
Infused as no other species or product evolved from the big bang
Infused with a soul and a free will
A soul, by which man may sense the existence of God
A free will, to chose what actions and directions he will take
I wonder if God conceived another planet, in a distant galaxy called heaven
And another, a black hole, called hell thousand of light years away
Connected to Earth by worm holes yet to be discovered
The hell hole for those who use their free will to destroy God's special planet Earth
In only 250,000 years man is set to destroy this beautiful island, conceived
In that single divine thought fourteen billion years ago
The ultimate mortal sin
By those few who control so much of the riches that spew from the bowels of the Earth
And refuse to see... the glaciers melt
The oceans rise
The poor starve
The species die...and
God cry.
Democracy devolved...the will of the many to live suppressed by the greed of the few
While proclaiming...God Bless Us all
As God cries!
The words of an unknown ancient..."Scientia Non Habet Inimicum Nisp Ignoraantem" ..."Science has no enemies but for the ignorant"
God cries for the ignorant...
And the tides rise!
Rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, gems of such great worth
Gems beyond price and beauty from the bowels of the earth
Sought for and dreamed of, fought over and even died for
When all said and done just pieces of mineral from mother earths core...
Placed in gold and platinum settings, price beyond compare
Stored in vaults to precious are some, but still bits of mineral to be fair
Reds and greens, blues for sure, these gems stone are beauteous things
Nothing says I love you more, than gemstones set in golden rings.
For me these beauteous bits of glass that bedeck the bodies of some
Bought for gifts and treasured always, these little baubles of fun…
The best gemstone of all is ‘adamas’ or unbreakable from the ancient Greek
But it’s the qualities of this superlative gem, that is what I seek...
Its superlative physical attributes mean, it’s hard beyond compare
Allotrope of carbon spewed by volcanoes, and it is still rather rare
This gemstone which is a diamond, and guys this is the best surprise
I don't want even the remnant of a diamond, just the glint like diamond of love in your eyes…
© ~GG~ 2/10/2012
Out of the deep recesses
Of human hearts
Comes a longing cry
For recognition
From where and from when
Did they come?
Out of the bowels of the earth
Gold is found and dug
And the silver vein discovered
Out of the depths of the sea
Formed in the womb of the oyster
The most precious Pearls are birthed
Out of the darkest sky in light years of space
Brilliant stars are birthed
Inside mountains of gaseous clouds
Out of midnight oil is the search
For wisdom and knowledge
The rarest of gems
Is birthed in the Heart that holds God
A most precious Pearl
Born from giving all that are
© Brenda V Northeast 27th April 2012
For Russell Silveys contest
"Midnight Pearl"
Brilliant light reaches down, a hand from above
Touching life, illuminating lies, searing my retinas
Like something holy that defies tangibility
Reflecting upon the water as a striving, sorrowful soul
A dream of death, the final moments of a friend
Pushing the darkness into the despairing depths of my heart
Hidden from the luminous brightness by walls of stygian gloom
The hallowed secret a friendship locked away forever
Night comes, a god of old billowing from the bowels of the earth
Snuffing the light from our minds like hope crushed under fingers of death
Something we once possessed, now transcendent in our memory
Elusive laughter and light dancing across the pages of our life
Tears mingle with the dew of dawn
A fleeting fog vanished by the sun
Emotion cloys our senses
A miasma of feelings echoing into eventide
The body a prison cell containing only a soul
A vessel for the works of a heavenly deity
A vicious fight for life, taking no prisoners
Touch and go
3/31/21
"Touch and Go"
for "This or That, Vol. 1" sponsored by Edward Ibeh
…to the dogs
He stared at the damp chilly night
and marveled in frustration
seeing nothing at all -
except the black night
So many years ruined dancing to the same tune
days and night overlapping into an endless timeless space
Indigence, parched throats, empty ragged pockets…
guns persist as unflawed blood flows into the filthy cesspools
maggie dogs, scavenger, urchins all blend into one
all in a split race for the a place in the bins
At first light
blurred images flash past his eyes
cheese and butter, wines, champagne, music and festivals
laughter and smiles
- the taste of a gone era
Flashy cars with tinted windows speed by
on the highway
towards the glass towers and
the affluence beyond the mind’s eyes
Numerous gaps along the road
shattered dreams, tattered bridges
dyed-in -the-wool banal lip services
Shame!
A curse from the bowels of the earth or
is it a monster
from our flesh and bones
or both?
the air that we breathe –
an intricate part of survival –
reluctantly exhaled
lost in the cauldron of communal breath
we yearn for a world
hidden from troubling delusions
where dreams are cut short
aeroplanes circle in the muggy morning air
while others
for no apparent reason
fall out of the sky
souls ascending
taking their final breaths with them
lost in mid thought
as silence swallows the answer …
...to their dreams of a world
lost in the bowels of the earth
its unique, virginal ecosystem
leaving one breathless
where thoughts are entwined with the mist -
oil on troubled waters
a balm for the soul
diverse as their yearning
for a lost innocence and
as transient as the air that we breathe—
mere illusions …
(Idea engendered from Lombok earthquake: Indonesia)
Nary a chink of illumination pierces thru
thick cavernous rock solid chamber home
to this crepuscular anchorite,
who spent untold countless chunks of time
holed up deep underground
initially to escape deadly blight,
that afflicted vast swaths of
twenty first century
long fostered civilization,
the post apocalyptic scattered remnants
forced into subterranean redoubts
reliant on stowed away tallow
uber wax to forge poorly guided
niggardly flickering burning candlelight
where quotidian ritual entails doth dight
this Jainist Joplin ascetic, who
already donned the mantle,
sans adjustment to darkened eyesight
imposing keen aural habituation
to discern, and distinguish any fright
full scurrying, skittering,
slithering, unseen presence
triggering thine nostril to sneeze,
which nasal (gesundheit) claxon
serves to scarify shadowy silhouetted height
giving infinitesimal pause,
thence worry free insight
since my judicious jumbled
juxtaposed metaphorical jacklight
philosophies, viz Jainism, Jesuit,
and Judeo-Christian allows
no cavil, indiscriminate killing,
nor *****sapien superiority
toward multitudinous life forms instilled
into former existence as good Samson Knight,
now effectivel embedded,
entombed, and interred
within bowels of the Earth
hum canticle refrains
softly enunciating such psalms
to eternal night.
i was listening to Levertov read
one of her poems
and as she spoke my mind drifted
her words were of those moments
when manunkind sinks its' teeth
into the bowels of the earth
rapes untold but well known
riches for itself
my mind wandered from the reading
a slow walk thru the cedar forest
of the Levant, now gone
sitting on the ocean's floor
in sunken ships, rotting
sad but it is a fate
commerce will never be denied
as the neolithic exploded
agriculture within that admixture
abundance must be moved
but the most horrifying aspect therein
it paid for a military
the wars began, humanity failed itself
the Garden's tale repeats itself
Denise proves the point
the poets' words are in themselves
moments when the rights and wrongs
suddenly appear in neural pathways
marching from the shadows
as Sherlock Holmes noted
hidden within until life demands a clue
why in Medieval times the adage
following the overthrow of a king
what should we do next, warriors sing
kill the poets comes the cry
which is why they live in no cages
they are free-range natured
to wander the land in freedom
where imagination and inspiration
lie in the most surprising places
neural pathways within
inebriated by atoms surrounding them
a liquor brewed from casks
where creativity floats in pearls
adorned in every jewel
gifts from the heavens above
where success is the sweetest
the moment it moves from the mortal
into the realms of the immortal
coming full circle
as Auden so well points out
time says nothing more than
i told you so
we were never a paradise lost
OKC 7/22
There's a time for loves to be won and lost… At least there was for us.
For 33 Chilean miners, lost below… life was simply stopped.
Alive and well, but buried deep… 2,200 feet below.
They had such a daunting, beautiful dream… to see the sky once more.
Being hot, little water, dark, only bites of food…17 days was asking a lot.
But life was true and held on strong, even when in the bowels of the earth you’re lost.
With each day the hopes began to fade, always bolstered by others to be strong.
Little did they know their prayers were there, were being answered in spades above.
Time went on as governments stopped, to send whomever they could to help.
The world looked on, every eye glued, as prayers they also imbued.
For once in their lives everyone together worked, for a common cause that’s true.
Building, digging, drilling, and planning… together as life below held on.
No one knew the miners were truly alive, as the earth held them in a deathly grip.
But faith held everyone together, for 17 days, on this fateful trip.
Breaking thru a small hole to them in time was a monumental task indeed.
To do it bigger again, was asking God to plow the way and give them back again.
Drill bits broke, and no one slept, as dreams of home, the miners spun.
Several drillings were stopped by fate, as a single one held on.
Many things could have stopped those lives such as slides and after shocks.
Remember the mine was unstable, or it wouldn’t have fallen at all.
Everyone below was tired, hot, worn out, and sick by the time they reached their goal.
One small, flimsy, missile tied from above would have to drag them to the top.
Would it snag? Would the earth crumble? Could it take the buffeting there and back?
The tunnel was finally reinforced. The first people went below, as we held our breath.
One by one, for 24 hours they were brought up from beneath the earth.
Never in the time of man, has a feat been held to so tightly for 69 days and finally won.
Thank the Chilean government, it’s people, the world's and American help, for bringing them back.
Then like the miners did… get on your knees and thank the God above.
Yes… it was one unified, miraculous leap of faith, with God holding every ones hand.
It brought back faith in many things including God and yes, even your fellow man.