An anthology of Coal Mining Poems in two parts
Well done Tim Fellows, a great selection here.
Thank you for including my work Tim, and congratulations you’ve done a fabulous job of curating this collection.
Stray Thoughts of Childhood Ghosts
I remember those red-brick coke ovens,
And the gray entrance to that old, flooded shaft.
Purple blackberries stuck to the dry, cloven
Firebrick, where chunky copperheads would lift
Their poison filled snake heads over prickly weeds,
Where red-rusted chipmunks scurried for seeds
And the dry winds rustled through pale hacksaw reeds.
I'd drag my feet through the sharp thistle stalks,
And below the broken ovens trample old canes.
I'd wipe thick blood from my fly bitten neck,
Then walk back to the abandoned mine,
Where I imagined I could hear the talk
Of black-dusted miners who once walked
This way, and died digging the coal-black rock.
(Fayette County-- Redstone Mining District, 1950s)
Great to see my own poem here in such fabulous and thought-provoking company. Thank you.
Well done Tim Fellows, a great selection here.
Thank you for including my work Tim, and congratulations you’ve done a fabulous job of curating this collection.
Stray Thoughts of Childhood Ghosts
I remember those red-brick coke ovens,
And the gray entrance to that old, flooded shaft.
Purple blackberries stuck to the dry, cloven
Firebrick, where chunky copperheads would lift
Their poison filled snake heads over prickly weeds,
Where red-rusted chipmunks scurried for seeds
And the dry winds rustled through pale hacksaw reeds.
I'd drag my feet through the sharp thistle stalks,
And below the broken ovens trample old canes.
I'd wipe thick blood from my fly bitten neck,
Then walk back to the abandoned mine,
Where I imagined I could hear the talk
Of black-dusted miners who once walked
This way, and died digging the coal-black rock.
(Fayette County-- Redstone Mining District, 1950s)
Great to see my own poem here in such fabulous and thought-provoking company. Thank you.