Close the coalhouse door, lad
There's bones inside
(Alex Glasgow)
Fruits of the Narrow Seam
frozen tears
on a mossy stone
beneath a sundial
which has swept out
one hundred and thirty seven
years' worth of days
since they were
carved
at Christmastide
When time stopped
and a mother wept
while in ignorance and velvet comfort
the coal-owners opened gifts
bought with her young men’s blood
and the shadow moved again
Yes -- it was prompted by a tiny little gravestone I spotted in the local churchyard, two brothers killed within weeks of each other just before Christmas -- well overgrown, and neglected.
Thanks for the kind comment -- my first!
really like this poem about the hardships of the miners and their familys and the injustice of those times being a wiganer growing up in a town where pits were the livelihood of the ordinary man and women,not forgetting the pit brow lasses well written ...Chris :-) x
If you wish to post a comment you must login.
This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Cynthia Buell Thomas
Sat 21st May 2011 22:12
John, this is really good, a deep and passionate portrayal with a few inspired words. The title is superb. I look forward to more of your work.