Black Gold
The Dad was dour, his face was sour
When he came home from the pit,
He looked like a furnace stoker but
That wasn't the half of it…
His fists were like a couple of hams
And he used the blighters, too,
The Mam would hear his foot on the step
And hurry to serve his stew.
She wore his bruises over her face,
Her arms and her legs and more,
I'd seen her body all over then
For I was coming-up four,
I'd watched the blood run down her leg
As she cleaned herself with a rag,
Whenever he'd come home roaring drunk,
Use Mam as a punching bag!
My sister Else was barely ten
When he made her work at the pit,
She struggled to push a cart of coal
Until she was almost sick.
The manager was a brutal man
With a knotted, leather strap,
If Else was slow or got vertigo
He'd lay it across her back!
I never heard Mam complain to him,
I guess that she didn't dare,
She'd rub some cream into Else's wounds
And run a brush through her hair.
‘It's hard, but you'll toughen up, my girl,
He said, as a sort of scold,
‘You'd better respect what we're mining here,
Just think of it as Black Gold! '
‘Think of it as Black Gold, ' he'd said…
(The sort that gets into your pores,
The dust that gives you a crippled lung
And your skin gets covered in sores.
The cough that's keeping the house awake
When everyone needs to sleep,
The sulphur smell round the chimney-piece
As you watch your mother weep!)
He dragged me out, and he took me in
When I was only eight,
He said, ‘Now look here, fella-me-lad,
It's time that you pulled your weight! '
They started me at tuppence a day
And sat me down in the shaft,
I had to open and close a trap
To help to create the draught.
The hours were long, the days were long
We worked a twelve hour shift,
It took me an hour to get to the face,
Clambering over the drift,
I didn't get time to go to school,
Still sign my name with an ‘x',
But I'm learning now at the Institute
Just to try for a little respect!
When I was ten, they sent me down
With a pick to the old coal face,
Where miners hammered and banged like hell
And they tried to make me race,
Poor Else, still pushing the trucks of coal,
Her back had formed in a hump,
The boys would whistle and jeer at her
For her legs were like two stumps.
New-fangled ships were coming in,
The ones of steel and steam,
‘It's only good for the working man, '
The Dad said: ‘Good for the team! '
But some of the stopes were caving in
The mine was in full retreat,
We'd pull what pillars of coal were left
And send them up to the street.
The Dad was working the furthest pitch
While Else sat crippled and old,
She'd ripped a tendon and looked quite lost
As she sat by a pillar of coal,
She waved me away to the further stope
And attacked the coal with a pick,
The pillar came suddenly crashing down
And the roof - it followed it!
I never saw Mam cry for The Dad,
She cried for our Else instead,
‘She never had much of a life at all,
I'm glad the old bugger's dead! '
Now the years have passed, and I understand
That The Dad was true to his kind,
He never had much of a chance at all
And he's buried, still in the mine!
18 June 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
On The Road
My aunt lives over there
you said
and Jimmy looked
over the back
of the coal truck
to where you were pointing
and said
we must be far
from home then
if that’s where she lives
and you looked over
at the apartments
wondering if your aunt
was home or not
and the coal guy said
best keep your heads down boys
don’t want people wondering
what the heck you’re doing
in the back of a coal truck
and so you and Jimmy
got underneath
the tarpaulin
and the driver pulled away
to deliver more coal
and Jimmy said
if my old girl
knew I was here
she’d hit the roof
or worse
and you said
well it’s been an adventure
it got us out
of the block
and on the road
for a while
and when we get
back home
we best sneak
out of here
and hope to God
we ain’t covered
in that coal dust
all over out jeans
and tee-shirts and such
or we’ll be in for it
and outside
you could hear
the pitter patter of rain
on the tarpaulin
and imagined
you could hear
Jimmy’s mother’s
sharp angry voice
through the darkness calling.
poem by Terry Collett
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Beat It On Down The Line
Well this job Ive got is just a little too hard,
Running out of money, lord, I need more pay.
Gonna wake up in the morning lord, gonna pack my bags,
Im gonna beat it on down the line.
Im goin down the line, goin down the line,
Goin down the line, goin down the line,
Goin down the line, goin down the line,
Beat it on down the line.
Yes Ill be waiting at the station lord, when that train pulls on by,
Im going back where I belong.
Im going back to that same old used-to-be,
Down in joe browns coal mine.
Coal mine, coal mine, coal mine, coal mine.
Coal mine, coal mine, coal mine, coal mine.
Coal mine, coal mine, coal mine, coal mine.
Down in joe browns coal mine.
Yeah, Im goin back to that shack way across that railroad track,
Uh huh, thats where I think I belong.
And thats where Im gonna make my happy home.
Happy home, happy home, happy home, happy home.
Happy home, happy home, happy home, happy home.
Happy home, happy home, happy home, happy home.
Thats where Im gonna make my happy home.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coal-Truck
I am a coal-truck
Carrying gold dust.
Someone threw some
Coal-dust upon
My gold-dust.
I am a coal-truck
In a gold mine.
Someone struck a coal vein
And piled me full in vain.
I am a coal-truck
Covered in subterranean dust.
Someone shovelled my soil
And found an ancient bone
All coiled.
I am a coal-truck
Waiting for the rain.
The sun is my rail
The night my shed.
I am a coal-truck
Rumbling all the way.
Wash me in the rain-storm
And fill me full of coke
Until I choke.
(©: T. Wignesan,1957 - Pub. in 'Forum Academicum', Heidelberg University,1957; from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Identity of Images (Identité des images)
I am fighting furiously with animals and bottles
In a short time perhaps ten hours have passed one
after another
The beautiful swimmer who was afraid of coral wakes
this morning
Coral crowned with holly knocks on her door
Ah! coal again always coal
I conjure you coal tutelary genius of dreams and my
solitude let me let me speak again of the beautiful
swimmer who was afraid of coral
No longer tyrannize this seductive subject of my
dreams
The beautiful swimmer was reposing in a bed of lace
and birds
The clothes on a chair at the foot of the bed were
illuminated by gleams the last gleams of coal
The one that had come from the depths of the sky and
earth and sea was proud of its coral beak and great
wings of crape
All night long it had followed divergent funerals toward
suburban cemeteries
It had been to embassy balls marked white satin gowns with
its imprint a fern leaf
It had risen terribly before ships and the ships had not
returned
Now crouched in the chimney it was watching for the
waking of foam and singing of kettles
Its resounding step had disturbed the silence of nights
in streets with sonorous pavements
Sonorous coal coal master of dreams coal
Ah tell me where is that beautiful swimmer the swimmer
who was afraid of coral?
But the swimmer herself has gone back to sleep
And I remain face to face with the fire and shall remain
through the night interrogating the coal with wings of
darkness that persists in projecting on my monotonous
road the shadow of its smoke and the terrible
reflections of its embers
Sonorous coal coal pitiless coal
poem by Robert Desnos
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Cremation - Ashes To Ashes
Well the coal-black sea waits for me-me-me
The coal-black sea waits forever
The waves hit the shore, crying more-more-more
But the coal-black sea waits forever
The tornados come up the coast they run
Hurricanes rip the sky forever
Through the weathers change, the sea remains the same
The coal-black sea waits forever
There are ashes split through collective guilt
People rest at sea forever
Since they burnt you up, collect you in a cup
For you the coal-black sea has no terror
Will your ashes float like some foreign boat
Or will they sink absorbed forever
Will the atlantic coast, have its final boast
Nothing else contained you ever
Now the coal-black sea waits for me-me-me
The coal-black sea waits forever
When I leave this joint at some further point
The same coal-black sea will it be waiting
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cremation
Well the coal black sea waits for me me me
The coal black sea waits forever
The waves hit the shore
Crying more more more
But the coal black sea waits forever
The tornados come up the coast they run
Hurricanes rip the sky forever
Through the weathers change
the sea remains the same
The coal black sea waits forever
There are ashes split through collective guilt
People rest at sea forever
Since they burnt you up
Collect you in a cup
For you the coal black sea has no terror
Will your ashes float like some foreign boat
or will they sink absorbed forever
Will the Atlantic Coast
have its final boast
Nothing else contained you ever
Now the coal black sea waits for me me me
The coal black sea waits forever
When I leave this joint
at some further point
The same coal black sea will it be waiting
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Diamond Or A Coal?
A diamond or a coal?
A diamond, if you please:
Who cares about a clumsy coal
Beneath the summer trees?
A diamond or a coal?
A coal, sir, if you please:
One comes to care about the coal
What time the waters freeze.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sweet Guinevere
Sweet guinevere youre off to the coal town tonight
And your young brother ernies up in pittsburgh pa
You know mother loves you, and dads in the mine
So dont go to the coal town, guinevere, if youre kind
She loves a young man and he lives in the town
He leaves the house early for he works underground
He makes a good wage for a coal miners son
And shes a bit pretty, just turned twenty-one
Sweet guinevere youre off to the coal town tonight
And your young brother ernies up in pittsburgh pa
You know mother loves you, and dads in the mine
So dont go to the coal town, guinevere, shut the blind
She knows her good mothers not feelin no pain
She remembers an explosion and the black falling rain
She paints her thin lips in her dewy-eyed way
Then she says to the daughter, dear daughter I pray
Sweet guinevere youre off to the coal town tonight
And your young brother ernies up in pittsburgh pa
You know mother loves you, and dads in the mine
So dont go to the coal town, guinevere, if youre kind
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scavenging For Coal
At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces
that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home
Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees
these fingers
and finds out
what I've been doing
he'll spank me
for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said
you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you
the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings
what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this
all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal
she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it
to feel the weight
that's enough
you said
too much
and I won't be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around
at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned
the area around you
let's go
you said
and so you both
walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house
where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived
and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door
and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay
where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed
your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours
her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away
and another adventure
and another day.
poem by Terry Collett
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Springhill Mining Disaster
Bono: like to...Id like to try a song that I think weve only played once before, so. this is a city that a...a lot of irish people came to this city, right? so this time...this irish...t
Irish people came as rock and roll band, okay? so...but this is a folk song. its like...the irish kinda hold america in a very special place because, for over a hundred years or more, irish have come over here to find work and find a future. and they brouught with them songs, old irish folk songs that became old american folk songs. and, I hope maybe wed leave behind some songs one day. this is a song written by peggy seeger. its a song...i wished Id heard this song on the raidio during the miners strike in england a few years ago. this is called springhill mining disaster.
In the town of springhill nova scotia
Down in the dark of the cumberland mine
Theres blood on the coal, and the miners lie
In roads that never saw sun or sky
Roads--
Bono: shut up for a second, will you? stop whistling cause Im not in the beatles, okay? its u2 here.
In the town of springhill
They dont sleep easy
Often the earth will tremble and roll
When the earth is restless
Miners die
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Listen to the shouts of the black faced miner
Listen to the call of the rescue team
We have no water, light or bread
So were living on songs and hope instead
Living on songs and hope instead
In the town of springhill nova scotia
Down in the dark of the cumberland mine
Theres blood on the coal, and the miners lie
In roads that never saw sun or sky
Roads that never saw sun nor sky
In the town of springhill
Dont sleep easy
Often the earth will tremble and roll
When the earth is restless
Miners die
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bono: thanks for your patience. thank you.
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guardian of the Pit
He'd worked at the pit since he was ten,
Was quite at home in the dark,
Worked by the light of a miner's lamp
Avoided the slightest spark,
He chipped away at the face of coal,
He chewed tobacco, and spat,
His face was black as he wandered home
With pride in his miner's hat.
But the mine had closed as it petered out
And the miners went on the dole,
While Jack Coltrane had fretted at home
For his work was his very soul,
The entrance tunnels were sealed up tight
And the Colliery wheel was stopped,
It sat like an aging dinosaur
Set high on its wooden props.
The miners drifted away for work
The walls of the houses cracked,
The doors and windows were boarded up
The only one left was Jack,
He wandered lonely about the streets
Of the place he had always known,
The empty terraces, vacant shops
In the town that he'd called his home.
I'd gone to squat in an empty house
I was down on my luck back then,
And Jack had knocked on my nailed up door,
I told him my name was Ben,
He'd pop around for a morning tea
And he'd tell me tales of the mine,
His eyes would gleam with excitement when
He talked of the dust and grime.
‘I'll take you there, and show you the pit.'
He knew I'd never been down,
‘What else is to do in a place like this, '
He said, and I must have frowned.
‘There's nothing to worry about, old son,
Just wrap up well for the cold,
It used to be hot in the workings then,
But we'll be looking for gold.'
He said he knew where the traces were,
He'd seen it a thousand times,
‘The owners only wanted the coal
So we left the rest behind,
There's not a lot, but enough for us,
We'll chip out a tidy sum.'
That's all I needed to know, I went
And put some old denims on.
The mine was scary for one like me
Who'd never been down a pit,
So dark and damp, and the air was still,
I hated the smell of it,
We need to go down 300 feet
He said, not batting an eye,
I trudged along in his wake, and thinking:
‘Why did I come - Oh why? '
We saw the first few traces of gold
At the thirty fathom mark,
But Jack said, ‘Still there's a way to go, '
And he trudged along in the dark,
We walked around the falls from the roof
Where the props had given way,
It was far too late to be turning back
Though I felt a mute dismay.
Suddenly there was a gleam ahead
Lit up by our feeble lamps,
And Jack had hurried ahead to check
What gleamed in the rising damp,
Behind a fall I could see a sight
That will haunt me ‘til I'm old,
A skeleton lay in the passageway,
A skeleton covered in gold.
‘He must have been here a hundred years, '
Said Jack, ‘and there is the proof,
The fall has only revealed him now
The gold has leached from the roof,
It's covered this poor old-timer's bones
He's worth more now that he's dead, '
But then the end of the tunnel glowed
And a voice boomed in my head.
‘Who desecrates my dominions,
Who approaches me in their pride?
You come to my underground kingdom
Where another before you died! '
The voice came up through a hole in the ground
That glowed like a fire was lit,
‘Retreat, or I'll tear you asunder,
I'm the Guardian of the Pit! '
I don't know how we got out that day
We stumbled and ran to hide,
We thought the demon was at our heels
As we caught at our breath, and cried,
We fell out into the open air
And breathed again at the last,
I said, ‘I'll never go down again! '
Jack said, ‘It must have been gas! '
‘It must have been just a pocket of gas
That we breathed, that knocked us out,
It was just a hallucination
That's for sure, ' said Jack, ‘No doubt! '
But he never went down the mine again,
He said he was 'over it',
But truth to tell, he was scared as hell
Of the Guardian of the Pit!
21 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Banking Coal
Whoever it was who brought the first wood and coal
To start the Fire, did his part well;
Not all wood takes to fire from a match,
Nor coal from wood before it’s burned to charcoal.
The wood and coal in question caught a flame
And flared up beautifully, touching the air
That takes a flame from anything.
Somehow the fire was furnaced,
And then the time was ripe for some to say,
“Right banking of the furnace saves the coal.”
I’ve seen them set to work, each in his way,
Though all with shovels and with ashes,
Never resting till the fire seemed most dead;
Whereupon they’d crawl in hooded night-caps
Contentedly to bed. Sometimes the fire left alone
Would die, but like as not spiced tongues
Remaining by the hardest on till day would flicker up,
Never strong, to anyone who cared to rake for them.
But roaring fires never have been made that way.
I’d like to tell those folks that one grand flare
Transferred to memory tissues of the air
Is worth a like, or, for dull minds that turn in gold,
All money ever saved by banking coal.
poem by Jean Toomer
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King Death
King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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First Foot
Two small brown pennies were thrust in his hand,
Some bread, and a lump of coal,
Our Mam had added a sprinkle of salt
‘For luck, ’ she said, and his soul.
‘The Devil is waiting for you out there, ’
She laughed, and shivered for real,
‘You have to be gone when the clock strikes twelve! ’
She let out a little squeal!
It was ninety-nine; it was New Year’s Eve,
Victoria sat on the throne,
Our house a terrace on Coal-Pit Street,
It was cold and damp, but home.
Our Da had gone as the miners go
Under a fall of coal,
His body was left where it fell that day
They closed off the tunnel wall.
He left a couple of likely lads
That’s Joe, and me, right here,
But Joe was the eldest, quite thirteen,
And he with the blackest hair,
The bevy of girls just giggled that night
First foot was always a man,
(It was in the Wales that we knew back then
When the nightmare first began!)
We pushed him out when the clock began
To strike the midnight hour,
The last of the eighteen hundreds, and
We slammed the wooden door,
A lightning bolt gave a mighty flash,
The rain turned into hail,
While the clock, it chimed the first of six
Behind the mantle rail.
The thunder rumbled overhead
It brought us to our knees,
The girls cried out to their mother then,
But she cried out to me,
The door exploded in splinter-shards
A lightning hit, outside,
I rushed through the shattered opening…
Thinking that Joe had died!
The kerb was black and burnt, and all
The street lamps, they were out,
Pieces of tile and chimney pot
Were scattered, round and about,
But Joe, there was no sign of him,
No coins, no bread, no coal,
It was almost as if the Devil came
And swallowed my brother whole!
The police came round the following day
And said: ‘It’s very strange!
Maybe you scared your brother,
Maybe he upped and ran away? ’
For weeks we searched the neighbourhood
Our Mam, she went quite mad,
Hanging on coats of strangers;
She was locked away, it’s sad! ’
That was the last First Foot for me
I’d never answer the door,
If anyone knocked at midnight
I would yell: ‘What you knockin’ for? ’
My kids were told, ‘don’t answer it,
The Devil’s in the wind! ’
And I’d wonder about poor Joseph,
Was he sinner, or was he sinned?
In the old year,1949
A New Year came again,
Full fifty years since my brother Joe
Went missing in the rain,
My kids were grown, were rowdy
And sat up, most playing games,
When a knock at the door at midnight
Came in the midst of ‘Auld Lang Syne.’
My lad, Evan, had answered it
Before he thought, he said,
A lad was on the kerb, with coins and coal,
Some mouldy bread!
‘He had some madness look in his eye,
Stood underneath the light,
I would have let him come in, first foot,
Except that his hair was white! ’
David Lewis Paget
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mining For Coal
(Matraca Berg/Ronnie Samoset)
I've searched the world over all of my life
Just looking for something
To make my love shine
Like a candle that burns in the night
But I came up with nothing
Till I looked in your eyes
Deeper and deeper inside
And all of the treasures
I found in your soul
Was like finding a diamond
When you're mining for coal
I've been a fool for glitter and gold
And women that sparkle shiny and cold
Like a statue carved out of ice
They shimmer like tinsel
On a blue Christmas night
But they never were quite so bright
As all of the treasures
That loving you holds
It's like finding a diamond
When you're mining for coal
I was a miner
And you were a rock in the dust
But you became flawless
When you were you polished by love
And when I found you
I lost all control
I found me a diamond
Just mining for coal
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Cooks Brain
Slow walk
Its land mine
Its coal mine
Its a bad thought
On the way to God dont know
My brains the burger and my hearts the coal
Im trying to get my head clear
I push things out through my mouth I get refilled through my ears
Im on my way to God dont know or even care
My brains the weak heart, and my hearts the long stairs
Inland from vancouver shore
The ravens and the seagulls push each other inward and outward
Inward and outward
In this place that I call home
My brains the cliff, and my hearts the bitter buffalo
My hearts the bitter buffalo
We tore one down, and erected another there
The match of the century: absence versus thin air
On the way to God dont know
My brains the burger and my hearts the coal
On this life that we call home
The years go fast and the days go so slow
song performed by by Modest Mouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coal Train Robberies (demo)
Yesterday's coal train came to rest in the bitter cutting
And as the signals took an age to change it was easy pickings
So you go to the movies where they smash it up
You want to feel your heart pumping it makes you feel good
All through the karaoke girls were squealing the hits
As another mercedes-benz gets blown to bits
While all the time in the camptown theatres of piccadilly
They're going to throw a black-face minstrel show for the barefoot children
That they're always selling
They'll say "it's quaint" as the guilty ones faint and claim they ain't underneath this paint
We interrupt these liberal saints with their whips and watermelon
Reports are coming in of a coal-train robbery
It's like another world, or it had better be
So we return to whitewashed pout of his committed lips
Since he was declared the long lost fountain
Of youth that drips and drips and drips
They'll be sending him round from door to door,
To sell you back what's already yours
"so many good deeds, so little time"
Say the advertising agency swine
When man has destroyed what he thinks he owns
I hope no living thing cries over his bones
If you don't believe that i'm going for good
You can count the days i'm gone and chop up
The chairs for firewood
Reports are coming in of a coal-train robbery
It's like another world, or it had better be
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nine Pound Hammer
This nine pound hammer
Is a little too heavy
Buddy for my size
Buddy for my size
So Im going on the mountain
Just to see my baby
And I aint coming back
No I aint coming back
Chorus:
Roll on buddy
Dont you roll so slow
Well, tell me how can I roll
When the wheels wont go
Roll on buddy
Pull you load of coal
Tell me how can I pull
When the wheels wont roll
Its a long way to harlan
Its a long way to hazard
Just to get a little brew
Just to get a little brew
And when Im long gone
You can make my tombstone
Out of number nine coal
Out of number nine coal
Repeat chorus:
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ethel Winterbottom
Ethel was an ugly girl
But this was not her fault;
It stemmed from drinking beer with men
While standing in the 'vault.'
A Winterbottom through and through,
At fighting she was good;
And thick brown stout ran through her veins
Instead of pure red blood.
Yes Ethel was a bruiser,
Just like her dear old dad;
Some people reckoned she
And all her family were mad.
Her tongue was like a bayonet
And she'd cut you to the quick
For any little trifle,
Such as calling Ethel thick.
The town that Ethel came from
Was born of jet-black coal;
A mining town in Lancashire,
A miner every soul.
Where life was hard and cruel
And you needed to be tough;
Where money was hard worked for
Amongst the jet-black stuff.
Men were very lucky
To reach old age round there;
To leave the pit come pension time,
With all your limbs, was rare.
Now Ethel had three sisters,
A father and a brother;
But living hard, and thick brown stout
Had taken Ethel's mother.
She'd had to grow up quickly
And learn to stand her ground;
No funny business was allowed
When Ethel was around.
She gave her brothers blow for blow
And curse for curse as well;
No man would better Ethel
Yes, she gave the miners hell.
But now the lass was getting on
And weary of life's fights,
The daily grind among the coal,
The long and drunken nights.
No one had ever told her
This didn't have to be;
Now Ethel's in the graveyard,
But beautiful and free.
Written Jan 1996
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coal Train Robberies
Yesterdays coal train came to rest in the bitter cutting
And as the signals took an age to change it was easy pickings
So you go to the movies where they smash it up
You want to feel your heart pumping it makes you feel good
All through the karaoke girls were squealing the hits
As another mercedes-benz gets blown to bits
While all the time in the camptown theatres of piccadilly
Theyre going to throw a black-face minstrel show for the barefoot children
That theyre always selling
Theyll say its quaint as the guilty ones faint and claim they aint underneath this paint
We interrupt these liberal saints with their whips and watermelon
Reports are coming in of a coal-train robbery
Its like another world, or it had better be
So we return to whitewashed pout of his committed lips
Since he was declared the long lost fountain
Of youth that drips and drips and drips
Theyll be sending him round from door to door,
To sell you back whats already yours
So many good deeds, so little time
Say the advertising agency swine
When man has destroyed what he thinks he owns
I hope no living thing cries over his bones
If you dont believe that Im going for good
You can count the days Im gone and chop up
The chairs for firewood
Reports are coming in of a coal-train robbery
Its like another world, or it had better be
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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