Bernard Shaw

Apr 05, 2010 ⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)

Coal Miner.

Coal Miner.His back was bent from toil,The miner from the coal pit face.He worked well below the soil,For coal to warm the human race.His skin is marked with blue scars,Lungs filled with dust that kills.Sometimes he drank in local bars,To forget the need to pay his bills.When the seam of coal is bright,And the pick and shovel swing.He works both by day and night,Good money home to bring.As the seam of coal comes slowly to an end,His worries increase as on his belly he works.His clothes in despair he does not rend,For that is one of life’s quirks.Methane gas can explode or the roof fall in,Water can flood drowning many a stout heart.But coal must fill the households bin,There are widows from the start.So when you next burn coal,Think of the lives that were lost,For mines take their toll,At a fearsome dreadful cost.

— Bernard Shaw, Apr 05, 2010

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Critiques

Bernard Shaw

16 years 2 months ago

Annie,

Annie this I wrote as a tribute to all those brave men that worked in the pits. As a boy in Wales I saw these men day after day coming and going to the collieries. Dirty, back breaking work. Most of the men were scarred where they had been injured by falling rocks or coal. Blue scars was really the badge of these men and boys. I witnessed the women, wives and mothers running to the pit when the collieries sirene went off; this always meant an accident. The hours of waiting and the sighs of relief when the men were brought up from underground. The relief when and or the sadness when one knew that ones own son, husband was not among the woulded or dead. The sadness that hung over the valley for weeks until the next accident. I can never forget the coal mines of wales and other mines in the United Kingdom. Bern

weirdelf

16 years 2 months ago

dear bern

I have long thought that the option "Please do not critique mechanics. The inconsistencies in style are intentional, or correcting them is not important to me." should be deleted. Poetry is a craft and an unbalanced wheel just won't work. So I will comment on mechanics. Simply this. This well written and compassionate poem would work better if not in bold text and aligned left, with respect, Jess, “The political arena leaves one no alternative, one must either be a dunce or a rogue.” Emma Goldman

Arrow

16 years 2 months ago

I agree with Jess about mechanics.

I've read a few of your poems and they are frank and simple in the best sense but sometimes you twist the grammar for the rhyme which makes certain lines sound awkward and not in keeping with your voice. For example lines 3 and 6 in this section sound forced: And the pick and shovel swing He works both by day and night, Good money home to bring. As the seam of coal comes slowly to an end, His worries increase as on his belly he works. His clothes in despair he does not rend, For that is one of life’s quirks. I don't think every line must keep the rhyme in a rhyming poem or that every line must keep end rhyme. All in all, I liked this picture of the working man and so many lines ring true. I esp. liked "His skin is marked with blue scars, Lungs filled with dust that kills. Sometimes he drank in local bars, To forget the need to pay his bills" which reminded me of my grandfather who spent some time coal mining in Wales (and ultimately ended up with COPD).

Bernard Shaw

16 years 2 months ago

Arrow

Thanks Jess, Thanks Arrow. I know some of my rhymes are a little strained to say the least, It is only to keep the poem running. I must say I write and then do not look at the poem or poems again for a long time. Perhaps I should and then such lines would be corrected to flow better. Bern

weirdelf

16 years 2 months ago

that is what Neopoet is for

I once did the changes for you but won't do it again. Be responsible. I know you have physical disabilities, as do I, yet if you don't respond and revise to critique you agree with you will stop receiving critique. That is not a threat, it is a community. Cheers, Jess, Reprehensibly irrepressible

Bernard Shaw

16 years 2 months ago

Jess.

Jess I am under a time factor here. You kindly make suggestions but I cannot place another poem or even correct it until the twentyfour hours are over and I am able to either place the corrected or a newer poem.Bern

weirdelf

16 years 2 months ago

sorry if I sounded harsh

actually although you can only post one poem a day, you can revise any of your poems at any time, just click Edit Cheers, Jess, Reprehensibly irrepressible

Tam the Chanter

16 years 2 months ago

Coal Mines

My father was a miner, as was his and I was a mine surveyor. I do not recognise the picture you are trying to paint. Ian

Bernard Shaw

16 years 2 months ago

Tam the Chanter.

The picture as you call it was a small part of my life in South Wales as an evacuee during the war. I might not be a good poet but I know what I saw and lived through. The collieries siren blowing the rush of families to the pits the scarred bodies of the men that bathed in the small tin baths in the kitchens(No Bathrooms then.) The falls of rock or even the pit props breaking burying men. The water flooding the pits and the methane gas. You say you do not recognise my picture. What happened in China. Brave men rescued over a hundred miners. I leave it at that. Bern

Tam the Chanter

16 years 2 months ago

Coal Mining

Bern, If you must write about that of which you know little, try to spend some time on research. The mining community is worldwide and is an unrecognised brotherhood. We do not appreciate ill- informed efforts to milk a desperate situation, such as in China. For your information; In low seams, miners picked coal on their sides, not on their belly. Coal Mine explosions were triggered by a small amount of methane gas, which led to the chain reaction of the coal dust in the foul air then also exploding throughout the pit. Pit props hardly ever broke - they sagged and split , giving both audible and visual warnings. But enough - stick to your fairies Ian

Candlewitch

16 years 2 months ago

Hello

Nice to meet you. I liked your poem, but I must agree with Jess on every point he has made. I have been lucky not to have had any friends or family members who were coal miners. Always, Cat