Warm evening breezes,
Stir ripen'd corn.
Twisting, swirling,
like a passing gypsy dancer.
The dance intruded
by grinding hobnail boots.
Of charcoal faced colliers,
Swearing, spitting.
The scene soon still,
Their clatter absorbed,
By dusty hedgerows,
Near smoky homes.
Fading light silhouettes,
Wooden headstocks.
Like an outsized creature,
Frozen in time.
Come the dawn white faced colliers,
Will walk that path.
Studded with danger,
That has killed so many before.
When winding wheels cease,
And smoky homes have gone,
Cornfields once again,
shall do a merry dance.
by D.J. COLEMAN
ex-miner of Underwood, Notts
Thank you very much for your kind comments about my
poem, I have looked at your website and it's very interesting. I'm sending you
a few details of myself and a contact number. Most of my life has
been centred around the coal industry, but my mining career ended
in 1991 after a serious underground accident at Thoresby colliery. I am
a local poet who does recitals about coal mining and how the people of the
early 1900s went about their daily life, and of course, D.H.Lawrence gets a
mention or two. All is relayed to the audience in poetry form. Using my verse,
I take you on a 'journey', down the pit, explaining why 'this and that'
happens as we go. Then, after you have had a good scrub in a tin bath,
we go for a walk in Lawrence country. For two years I was a member of the
mines rescue service, but my main job at the pit was mine ventilation, so
there is plenty to get our teeth into.