Poetry of Mine.

[Ragger]

I can't believe I beat The Bard of Yorkshire to the post.

;D

Have Tools will Travel.

He’s been around our Daz B,
With a bag of tools for company,
Not sated by his Yorkshire pits,
To far off places he takes his bits.

I think he quite liked India most,
I heard the tale; he’s not one to boast,
The sacred cow made us all laugh,
And travelling shaft while having a bath.

Rickshaws to take him for a drink,
A few jars for him and a mate to sink,
Not quite the same as Yorkshire brews,
Wonder if he spoilt his nice new shoes.

Then back to work down foreign mine,
Displaying skills that matured like wine.
How fast can this machine cut coal,
Just turn the handle and watch it roll.

He had it working as best he could,
I hope he enjoyed that Indian food,
It’s not too wise to have a curry,
He left the face in such a hurry.

But all in all I think he’s glad,
Just to be a Yorkshire lad.

[dazb]

Tales of India
Now there’s a thing
Garum chai
And scorpion sting.
Flooded mines
And Hindu Shrines.
Delhi Belly
And no telly.
Love the food
But couldn’t eat it
Better things to do
Than sit and ..wait!!
Malaria in proportions epidemic
Glad I wasn’t academic
Hadn’t the brain to take it in
Sallied forth with just a grin.
Loved it all,
Their first Longwall!

[Ragger]

Poems of Mine is not meant to mean me.
But a coal mine.
Just thought I'd clear that up. (s)



Head stocks.


Year after year you stood side by side,
As if like a groom standing next to his bride.
Time took its toll as you aged a small bit,
Withstanding the weather and pressures of pit.

Many men came, then left after a while,
You both remained solid, erect, and with style.
You carried the burden each working day,
Doing your duty when others did stray.

What did you receive after all that devotion?
No thanks, no medal, not too much commotion.
They dismantled you both; you’re no longer needed,
The voices of sanity were ignored, never heeded.

Politicians revenge is the price of all this,
They had no conscience, only a death wish.
Now I’m looking across this empty land,
No sign of the place where once you did stand.

Grass and weeds where you used to stand tall,
Only memories now of how you took that fall.
You both stood guard over those shafts,
Upcast and downcast, nights, days and afts.

Never again will I watch those wheels rotating,
No more will good men be watching, and waiting,
For many the futures bleak, they’re out of a job,
Their work has been sold for a derisory few bob.

But don’t blame the men; they were forced to quit,
They wanted jobs, but the Tories closed the pit.

[dazb]

Worr Ragger.

Elusive as Arthur Lucan’s mother
Now I know my mining brother.
For a while I struggled to seek
His identity to show in poetic LEEK.
Now I know Ragger’s true identity
My world returns to its old serenity.
It scared me at first, a little bit
How did he know me from the pit?
But like the Clanny I was a little bit dim
I remember now the Tales I told to him.

[Ragger]

Got Me.


They seek him here; they seek him there,
Where he is, please don’t say where,
I gave you far too many clues,
Hope it didn’t give you the blues,
It’s nice to see you’re still producing,
Poems of quality; never reducing,
It interferes with other work,
But like they say, it’s nice to talk.
Sorry to say I have to go,
There’s other lines I have to toe.

[Ragger]

Lonesome Deputy.


A deputy walks for miles some shifts,
Roadways are easy, not so the drifts.
The tunnels are mostly pitch black,
No other men, no harmless crack.

With only a cap lamp to give some light,
Darkness can play tricks with your sight.
Was that something in the shadows?
Looks like a man hanging from gallows.

When you’re all alone the mind can recall,
Ghost stories you heard of men killed in a fall.
The hair stands up on the back of your neck,
Such thoughts evolve when you’re on a long trek.

Old Tom was killed twenty or more years ago,
But men say they still see him going to and fro.
Doing the jobs he did before he was killed,
He refuses to leave he is so strong willed.

A light shines thirty yards in front; it’s nowt,
It’s my imagination, there’s no one else about.
Keep walking and watching, and looking in front,
I’m getting scared now; I’m on a ghost hunt.

I reach the spot where I saw the light; nothing there,
Then my lamp reflects on an old oil tin; I just stare.
So that’s what made me a nervous wreck,
An old oil tin, but I still double check.

Silly to be so concerned, I should know better,
I’ve worked here for years; then my brow gets wetter.
There’s no mistake this time, I have found the proof,
Tom walks past, looks into my eyes; now I know the truth.

Never will I laugh and joke about such things again,
Nor will I tell others; they’ll think I’m insane.
Tom can keep this place for himself for all I care,
I’ll not be returning again, no fear, I don’t dare.

[Ragger]

Roof Fall.


In 1968 there was a bad roof fall,
It was 10 ft. high and buried young Paul,
His mates worked hard to free the lad,
When they got him out they knew it was bad.

His breathing wasn’t too good at all,
If he survived it would be a close call,
He was placed on a stretcher, with care,
Then carried down gate as fast as they dare.

The paddy was waiting in the next airway,
When all were on board, they started to pray,
In no time at all they were at the shaft-side,
When travelling up shaft, Paul nearly died.

The nurse was waiting up on top,
She revived young Paul and did not stop,
While in the ambulance, she continued her job,
Keeping Paul going, there was no time to sob.

The hospital staff were primed and aware,
Straight to theatre preparing Paul for repair,
The battle continued throughout the night,
Saving Paul’s life using all of their might.

Eventually they had done all that they could,
Probably more than many others would,
Now it was up to Paul and his maker,
Would he survive or would God be his taker?

For weeks Paul’s life hung by a thread,
The nurses checked him; at times he looked dead,
He had tubes and monitors all over the place,
Survival for him was a delicate race.

In the end Paul’s strength pulled him through,
He also had Gods help without doubt, that’s true,
He never again went to work down the mine,
But the happiest part is that Paul is now fine.