BLUE PLAQUE FOR PITMEN

So, where is the pit shaft, that tall
Column of darkness driven
Hard into the ground to support
The earth, having been riven
Open, its integrity prised
Roughly apart and compromised?


An absolute blackness beneath,
Hewn from the coal and left deep,
Deep down, packed in long galleries
Allowed to settle, to keep
It just in mind, but out of sight,
Where it cannot pollute the light.


Bare hands belonging bare bodies,
Draped only in sweat and dust,
Long since committed to the ground,
Their tunnels sealed, the earth’s crust
Healing, covering up lives spent,
Earning remission for the rent.


And yet, pressed in solid darkness
Must be feint indentures, fragments
Of stories, fine fossils of tales
Untongued for years. Time relents
When memories of old pitmen
And their ways are unearthed again.


Not that many folk care to dig
Too deeply, the past’s deceased,
Better build the new estate. But,
There should be a plaque at least,
A blue one, like a lump of coal
Caught under skin, a miner’s mole.


Dave Alton