Picture, if you will,
a brief surge of engine steam
that glitters with pyrite dirt.
It churns the still night air –

They work the old coal pits,
shuffle down damp tunnels,
black dust kisses the skin.
The canary trips no concern.

And up above this blackdamp,
in the crisp clean air, there
in the pub a man at the bar
is spreading Christmas cheer.



©️ Misky 2019 Read about Blackdamp. For Sunday Whirl #434 this week’s twelve words: still kiss trip shuffle surge churn cheer dirt glittery bar brief steam

3 responses to “Blackdamp”

  1. Hard hitting. Excellent

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yes, those youngsters would crawl through narrow passages which the grown men couldn’t, hacking out every piece of coal they could and go home hungry and dirty as the mines probably had no ablution areas! Such is progress!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. An upsetting photograph, and powerful poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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