Deep gold digging ants, Are they actually ants?, No, ants are miners.
Digging through the sweetest of a fine soft solid substance,
Looking for the velvety amber caramels and chocolates,
But such indulgence all too often renders them as delicates.
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.
Homeward bound in the evenings, weary miners cross the ridge
Returning from the deep mines black as the coal they uncover
Not far from the grandeur of the New River National Gorge Bridge
Homeward bound in the evenings, weary miners cross the ridge
Generations of these men have considered it a privilege
To dig deep into the latest rich seams of coal they discover
Homeward bound in the evenings, weary miners cross the ridge
Returning from the deep mines black as the coal they uncover.
written May 20, 2021
MINER’S RESOLUTION
salt and sugar tweaks
and stretches health the poor way —
the heart’s rich with it
miner’s light in search of the
impurities running wild
1/10/2020
The mining villages of Wales
are steeped in history and tales
of sons and fathers, duty-bound
who earned a pittance underground.
For generations miners toiled
with picks and shovels, faces soiled.
Their throats parched dry and fingers raw,
black gold the aim, etched scars the score.
And mountains whisper tales of men
who failed to re-emerge again.
Or nevermore could breathe with ease;
Sad victims of black lung disease.
In valleys shaped by pride and grit
within the black and hostile pit,
black powder prowled and took its prey
but brotherhood did not give way.
11/11/18
'Black powder poetry contest' : Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Your Choice (3), sponsored by Brian Strand
The watcher on her porch, alone,
Where Fortune lived in days bygone,
She knows the stories; knows the names
Of all the miners and their claims.
She came out here a slip of four
Calling it home for ninety more.
Shotgun in hands, she rocks her chair,
Guarding the miners and their claims.
She waits for packrats, dawn to dusk,
Who’d cart her town off brick and board,
Taking the markers of her life
With all the miners and their claims.
She loved too well the life that flamed
To say goodbye and limp away
Down dusty streets where whirlwinds play
‘Round all the miners and their claims.
The secrets of the sage-clad hills
Are safely stored inside her head;
Beyond the reach of stranger’s probes
Of all the miners and their claims.
Behind her vague blue eyes, she dreams
Her dreams of better days to come,
When smiling Fortune comes back home
To all the miners and their claims.
day in the life of a coal miner
in the darkness you hear them
their boots clumping along the cobbled stones
not dawn yet ...yet still they are on their way to work
young lads of 15 plus.
these are miners sons
following the traditions
each generation go down the pit
twelve long hours
twelve hours in the dark and dust
twelve hours shovelling the coal
hewn by their elders.
horses are used to pull the trams along
eight hours they work....
young lads work longer.
their little food tins....tiny tins..
a chunk of bread if lucky a dripping sandwich
a bottle of water completed the feast.
they stumble on that cobbled road to home
tired and weary, hopefully a hot bath awaits them
in front of the fire.
nearly too tired to eat the meagre food set out
falling asleep dreaming of sunshine and fun
reality such a different story.
penned 18 May 2016
Audio Below
THE MINER’s TEAR
With a blackened finger he points and fears
This terrible day of four hundred tear’s
Young mothers, wives and brides to be
Their loved ones smile once more to see.
Who will they bring from this hell?
Deeper than the drinking well.
Young David? Just a boy you know!
Or old man Bryn with son in tow?
A massive blast a wind that burns
With all their heart they run and turn.
The smell of gas came much too late
That spark of light that sealed their fate.
The men and boys of the colliery
No more nights of life to see
Now laying cold in a saddened grave
For our comfort their lives they gave
We will not forget you Brave men of coal
Risking your life in that deepest hole
You will always be here in our dreams ,
Risking it all on Welsh coal seams.
The union-management talks reach stalemates in their sessions.
Our representatives are attempting to gain concessions.
If we do not obtain better working conditions and a pay hike,
we see no other alternative but to go on strike.
On the slopes of Olympus Mons, we descend underground.
Inside this mine, deposits of titanium can be found.
If we go further, we can find gold and platinum.
In abundance are other metals like silver and palladium.
There are large untapped veins we can easily see.
Industries on Earth have been grateful for their discovery.
As a result, market prices for commodities have gone down.
Our location has been a booming Martian mining town.
The way the management has treated us has been pitiful.
It seems as if they are discourteous and ungrateful.
Despite dim light in the day, and subzero temperatures at night,
I have every belief in what we are doing is right.
Each man with his lunch box looks straight ahead
into the lens. It’s dawning, above ground.
Why think about a sweetheart still a-bed?
Each man with his lunch box looks straight ahead.
They’re going down. Lost daylight like the dead
who never rise. Their pay is pick and pound.
Each man with his lunch box looks straight ahead
into the lens. It’s dawning – above ground.
We watched the first trapped miner rise to light,
and marveled at the cable and the wheel,
how mountain might release essential night
to rebirth, on TV – as good as real.
We marveled at the cable and the wheel
a world of nations rigged to save a man
to rebirth, on TV as good as real,
and 32 besides. The footage ran –
a world of nations rigged to save a man.
But eyes grow weary, we gave up the watch,
and 32 besides. The footage ran
without us, engineering notch by notch.
Our eyes grew weary. We gave up the watch
and went to bed with prayers for 32
without us. Engineering, notch by notch;
a wife’s brave smile; the sleepless rescue crew –
who’d go to bed, with prayers for 32,
while mountains might let loose essential night?
A wife’s brave smile, the sleepless rescue crew
watching the last trapped miner rise to light.
Hope is the greatest gift that I could give,
And I pray that I can give you some hope.
Nurture the thought that all of you will live,
Giving yourselves thoughts that will help you cope.
I can imagine what you will all face,
Not knowing the day when you will get out.
Try to keep your focus in the right place,
Holding on to hope without any doubts.
Encourage each other to remain strong,
Recognizing how close you will become.
Eventually, you will sing your songs,
Making a joyful noise for your freedom.
Each day I will keep you in my prayers.
Nothing will keep my thoughts from being there!
The miners
Digging in the hole
Choking on stale air
Shoveling the rocks for fuel
Burning the midnight lamp
We’re all miners in the mine
Losing our minds
Searching for gold, coal and jewels
We end up with rocks….
We’re the dreamers
Lost in the dream
We’re the spectators
Lost in the sport
We’re the users
Looking to steal
The hopes and dreams,
We’re going underground
Surrounding ourselves with sleep
Succumbing to defeat
Waiting to push delete
We try but never make it back-
To our feet
Stumbling and lost
And hungry on the street
Into the mud that-
Turns to concrete…….
Jnaf 1-26-04
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