Deep within the earth we lie
Untouched by winds of human sighs,
Cocooned in our charcoal chambers,
Safe from what killed and maimed us;
Not for us, the sunlit glade,
The musk rose scent, the dappled shade,
Instead, the stooping, hellish crawl
The caged descent; the monstrous haul;
No rubies, gold or diamonds there,
But foul and fiery, fumed filled air
And then, a blast: get out, get out!
Yellow mist; muffled shouts;
Life’s blind fury was released
To slowly make our breathing cease;
Our flesh and eyes have cracked and peeled,
Our bones now crumble, crack and yield;
We have retained our still bright souls,
Mid sulphur, slate and God of coal;
We, Britannia’s warrior slaves
Through furnace, steam and ocean, gave
Linen, cotton, things to buy
For carpets, secrets, oils and cries,
We screamed and groaned in holes unseen
To build a burnished empire’s dream.
Now three miles under earth our bones
Are Wakefield, Wigan, Sheffield, Colne.
Remember us: we built your world
With blackened lives, with teeth of pearl.
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Boadicea's Chariot 
Another scary, dark entry! I like it.
Very dark, Claire and powerful stuff.
Thanks Ara and Jaime. Another dark and ‘orrible one from me!
Extremely dark, even!
I don’t know why I always end up doing orrible stuff!
I was reading de Vigny’s Ballad of the hanged men the other night. I think it must have crept inside my brain…
http://medieval.ucdavis.edu/20C/Villon2.html
Works for me. I like dark. What does THAT say about my childhood?
Ah Jaime; God only knows what my poems/choice of poetry says about me!
Maybe you could teach me to do ‘light’ as well as ‘dark’.
‘Like gold to airy thinness beat..’ 🙂
“Now three miles under earth our bones
Are Wakefield, Wigan, Sheffield, Colne.
Remember us: we built your world
With blackened lives, with teeth of pearl.”
Love the poem, Claire, and the place naming was rather spine-tingling.
I like the place names too. The transformative thing rather like “Full fathom five” in a grisly turn-about way.
Thanks Bilby.
I grew up in Wigan; never really gave a monkeys about the mining legacy until I read Orwell and visited the National Mining museum in Wakefield.
They’ve re opened the same pits, a bit like the Canterbury museum of Chaucer, with lifesize models of pregnant women and ragged children dragging carts of coal on all fours.
Not sure when that practice was banned but I think it was just men by the twentieth century. Wigan as a town is still as hard as nails; when I read the Road to Wigan Pier I began to understand why.
I was dying to put in some reference to Full Fathom Five, but I suppose that would be nickin stuff from the great man!
It’s a close enough reference as is, it resonates with “Full Fathom Five”, as they say.
Oh, okay then!
It’s nice to get some creative writing discussions going on here. I fear MyT is becoming a bit of a lost cause…
I’ve given up on them for the moment. I can’t seem to get my old name back. I’ll check them out in a month or two. Maybe they’ll have it sorted by then.
Well, I can’t be too explicit here, but maybe you should just check in over there for the latest. If you can find your way to it, that is!
It’s hard to imagine such a life, Claire. Given my slant on life, I have always agonised about pit ponies. I can say that here, surely? No, probably not!
Night night. 🙂
I echo the other comments Claire, I like this very much.
Thanks, Val and Bilby.
I think I indulge in ‘orrible pomes in the same way as the kids I teach with their post punk rock or whatever it’s called…!
Claire, I think this is absolutely bloody brilliant. You do the miners proud I’m sure. I love the lines; right up my street, the soot and blackness is in my nostrils.
Aw thanks PapaG!
Only had the idea last minute. But what horrible lives they must have had…