Long Miners Poems
Long Miners Poems. Below are the most popular long Miners by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Miners poems by poem length and keyword.
A bullet song,
Hands up,
We sing in memory of the deceased,
We sing in memory of the miners,
Peaceful protesters demanding their rights,
Peaceful protesters seeking justice,
Living conditions parallel to their labour,
They asked for a review of their monthly salary,
They requested a change in their livelihood quotas,
This brought nightfall into the town,
This brought the midnight train into the town,
We stand in memory of the lost and the scarred,
Marikana today remembers you,
North West mourns you,
God in the green blanket hallows this day.
August 16, 2022.
In Memory of the Marikana Massacre.
Our River
When I was little,
we lived near the big Colorado.
There is no river like her...
in the world.
We would fish,
and swim...
and later,
we would boat,
and float,
and ski.
In my mind's eye,
there was no end to her beauty.
Her rhythm a mystery...
traveling with purpose,
across the desert floor.
The Indians,
the cowboys,
the settlers,
the miners...
felt her presence in their lives.
The farmers, however,
knew her like a lover,
knows his wife.
Together they bloomed the barren valleys.
Together they made a garden grow.
Towns came,
then cities of rock and stone.
The need to place grass
on the concrete a challenge...
to defeat nature.
People taking long showers,
watering their drives...
worker bees in their hives.
Building Atlantis,
in the empty,
where it would take,
more,
and more...
then the lovely river could give.
Now the citizens,
the Politicians... they fight...
and blame the game against each other
for trading money for drink.
Soon even they,
will learn to think,
and know...
there is no other place to go.
We are all part of the show,
and nothing will change,
to the last drop.
The U.S. was fighting against Spain over their colonial policies with Cuba,
And Asist. Secretary of the Navy, Theodore Roosevelt resigned his position just to join the volunteer cavalry. One of three regiment raised in 1898 for the Spanish-American War was the 1st U.S. Volunteer Cavalry fondly known as
The Rough Riders. Roosevelt recruited a diverse group of cowboys, miners, law enforcement officials and Native American Indians.
Roosevelt and Colonel Leonard Wood trained and supplied the men in San Antonio, Texas so well that The Rough Riders were allowed into action unlike many other volunteer companies and they sailed for Santiago de Cuba from Tampa on June 13,1898. There they joined The Fifth Corps, another highly trained, well supplied and enthusiastic group of excellent soldiers from the regular army.
The Rough Riders saw combat at Las Guassmas on the way to Santiago .
In his after action report JULY 4,1898 Roosevelt wrote that of the 490 men he led into battle at San Juan Hill 80 were killed and wounded and another half dozen were MIA.
I’ve heard lots of feminists say
we’d be better off without men,
they claim that they are just joking,
but say it again and again.
That we’re all of the world’s problems,
that we start all of the world’s wars,
the species would be much better
if we didn’t need men anymore.
The trend is for the feminine
to be exalted endlessly,
the masculine gets demonized,
Orwell-speak shields the misandry;
but I think all these flippant jibes
cover a fact few will admit,
if these feminists got their wish
the whole world would fast go to sh-t.
Now I know the obvious fact,
with men, no procreation,
which means that the whole species dies
within just one generation.
But lets get to the here and now,
to the world and how it must work,
without men out there doing there thing
society would go berzerk.
Most folk who chose to be pilots
do carry the y-chromosone,
so if they’re gone then kiss goodbye
the chance to travel far from home.
And most people building with steel,
or wood are of the manly type,
so don’t expect much to be built
if men are sent off into night.
Most people out in the hot sun
building roads are decidedly male,
so if you are the type who drives
without men you are bound to fail.
Who can forget all the farmers,
once again, most of them are guys,
if they're not there growing those crops
then millions of people will die.
Surgery and anesthesia
are dominated by the dudes,
so if they’re gone you better hope
nothing ever happens to you.
The police who chase criminals,
and use force to put them away...
mostly men, and without all them
scumbags would also rule the day.
The miners and the lumberjacks,
the truckers, and the soldiers strong,
the plumbers and electricians,
the list of it goes on and on…
Now some may say that without men
women would just do all of that,
but equal rights say otherwise,
and simply looking at the stats
shows women do not take these jobs,
despite all the hype about STEM,
when both sexes are free to chose
it still always fall to the men.
I think it’s time we all admit
that there’s evolution at play,
there’s things men are better geared for,
and it will always be that way.
If all the crazies got their wish,
and the ‘toxic’ males disappeared,
you all would be dead within months,
both sexes have roles to play here.
The mining towns are shadows now
just memory's of lost miners dreams.
The empty shops and for sale signs
reflect the closing of the mine.
The corporate spreadsheet spoke
and people's lives it wrecked.
To make the share holders rich
and to break the unions grip.
From cupboards full to food bank queue's
the change is hard to take .
As they stand in job centres
looking at minimum wage jobs
flipping burgers or answering calls
100 feet below their feet
lay black diamonds in the ground
comp entry 09082016
Diamonds and coal are both, at their base, different forms of the element carbon (C on the periodic table). And yes, pressure is a key part of what turns decaying carbon-based life forms such as plants into coal, as well as what turns carbon into diamonds.
There is no sense
In being victim of another's
Feelings
And ugly ego
And hypocrysy
Of them
File systems
And extensions
Of this system
I'd rather loose the image of your S.T.E.M.
Philosophy and math are being image
In systems Knowledge they're developing for you
Your progress is percentage execution
Remaining sane and free in system this are few
Expectancy, life length
Of this the Quantum Zoo
Experiences you might never to encounter
Production of the image to the word
The Operating System psych your under
Implanted by the usage by the bot
So much development of them
So much Robotics
Miners, ant servers, rigs, platforms and these
You really need to have some special competence
For field of this the area to be the expertise
I mean what for reforming were we the C the Language
Complexity the greater to achieve in aftermath
Active activity of the Missile Defense
Vampires drenching
Computability of the ideal path
The loss of programmes familiar and used to
Mind reconsiderations and assessments re again
Uncertain modest to in fact is rather value
Brief moment
And excert the intercept
Gain for the gains since in this there is no gain
In sweet Ia?i, the trees have faded, like dreams in the palms of the wind,
Under a leaden sky, angels dance a waltz that's an old covenant.
On waxen wings, we ascend to the sky through leaves that burn in silence,
Old souls rise through the night, like shadows gaining strength.
Ships of fire are lost on the horizon, the Vikings within us awaken,
Within us, the south settles as the shadows grow.
But I fade, seeing how you fade, like leaves lost in the wind,
And to autumn, I name solitude, an echo of darkened longings.
Statues on horseback rust, in iron ages that have passed,
On streets, works of time and silence, in empty trees the sky has fallen.
How are you? You're here, aren't you? Separation is a game of illusions,
The trees have shed their leaves in the city, and leaves burn in perfumes of confusion.
The night lights up like an old lantern, its timpani beat the cold hour,
Our wings no longer know to stay, pair by pair.
How am I? Silence climbs my temples, like salt miners,
The leaf fell, and my soul trembles in an old search.
We approach the shortest day, the long night will embrace us,
Love hides us, distance is a game that won't be sold.
How are you? You're here, aren't you? What whispers of me have you heard?
With autumn in sweet Ia?i I've come, and within me, love has stirred.
Darkness descends and most folk
Are slowly wending to their bed
But, across there in Knotty Ash
Some Locals are stirring instead.
The residents of Diddyland,
Where the sun always shines,
Are pulling on their working gear
For night shifts down the mines.
The Diddymen of Knotty Ash,
That dedicated working band
Who supply Jam Butties to
Buttie shops across the land.
Ecologically efficient,
Cosmetically sound,
Jam Buttie mines are carefully
Landscaped to the ground.
With a bus service to Bootle,
One as well to Liverpool,
Not far from the motorway,
So the Nation’s favourite fuel
Butties of class and style
Can be shipped off to feed
The band of gastronauts
With discerning dietary need.
There’s an outlet store in Liverpool
Where one can sample the stock
Conveniently situated in
The shopping park on Albert Dock.
And all those happy residents
Looking for amusing things to do
Can ride the National Network,
Called Cycle Route number 62.
There’s contentment in Diddyland
And the area is rich in cash
Thanks to those Buttie miners
From their suburb of Knotty Ash.
In remembrance of that comic genius, the Late Ken Dodd who created and peopled Diddyland and its Jam Buttie Mines.
in the year 2098 on the planet Julephia in the Huilinium Galaxy an element called Pubbius was found, generating interest from all points of the galaxy. While mining pubier,(an alloy used to make rods in spaceships) the miners noticed the greenish blue element, and desided to extract it from it's orginal form, while doing so they realized it to be extrodinary, with the fact that it could be soothed and shaped by hand, without smelting and purifying the metallic element. The two used the soft form of the element and shaped it into a stone, it hardened after the miners hands were removed from the element forming a stone, one mining just thinking he was fashioning a copper wire to use to carry the stone found the discovery of a lifetime, the stone bega to glow, and heated the entire cave, and something else, it caused the radio transponder to act like a communication devise," we could her the voices of people, or creatures worlds away, on morning we heard a familiar voice the voice of the merchant ship's captain that had strained them their years before, also these people could hear them, this frightened some members of this abandoned mining planet, as they hadn't seen friendly faces for nearly two years, and they thought that some of these strange voices could be members of the dreded and feared, Mossingal a speicies of creatures who suppressed their desires to allow there bodies to to return to their prehistoric form, savage creatures who are known as maneaters." when we contacted the ship we told them in a code only someone who has had training in Galaxy mining could understand. We contacted the merchant ship DrapetoMagnus
and hoped that our recue would be made. Days later a ship hovered over the Mining home world, we thought we were saved, it was a ship, a Fe@d$rationship, with the outlaw,*ling*ns aboard. we were doomed!
Captain Koncous of the Doomed mission recovery, on the Mining Planet Julipeia."When the treat of Bifers madness set's in paranoid people will do anything to get what they want, they will consort with the likes of Muginba to achieve what they see as acheivments!" quoted the Captain, of this Doomed Mining planet!
We will write
For every thousand ton of ore
There is a nugget,
And so we will write like miners,
Breathing the dust of our darkness,
Filling our veins and lungs
With the choke of our lives.
As words are milk to suckled piglets,
We write with starvation and hunger,
Hoping to balance inequities,
Satiate an endless thirst for peace.
Past lives will crash and updrafts of multitudes
Will be born and born again.
Christians in a hurricane of rain aimed at
the ruin of Roe v. Wade,
And we will write.
Our Lantern is Hope, Our Plea a Silent Sea
Of Restoration.
Through the mist of shallow ears, into
The Droning Deafness of Controversy
We will write.
Words that speak the language of Mind.
An Internal Braille that rolls over tongues
With the coarseness and taste of strife
Luring all gentler souls to a softer life
We write in story, prose and poem
It does not matter if our words are never heard
Or read
From the moment we give them birth,
They are dead.
We also know that death is not an end
The line continues beneath the water
The lure is at the tip
It baits a new beginning
Something will end - something will begin
And we will write