The Slag Heap

He’d never forgotten the heap of slag

That sat beside the mine,

It blocked the sun from his morning walk

With its shadow, so sublime,

It grew to hover above his home

From the time that he was three,

Its overpowering vastness grew

Not slow, but steadily.

And every time that the wind would blow

Its dust would fill the air,

Would saturate every cranny, even

Darken his mother’s hair,

The coal dust strangled their garden bed

So not a thing would grow,

And filled up his father’s lungs with dust

Each time that he went below.

The more that they mined the deeper coal

The higher it grew, the heap,

It spread away from the poppethead

Was covering up the street,

They tried to manage the monster but

It grew out of control,

With every truckload of slag they dumped

From where they mined the coal.

At night it loomed like a giant bat

With its shadow on the ground,

Gleaming black in the moon’s pale beam

It terrorised the town,

‘I don’t like walking at night out there,’

You’d hear the women say,

‘That heap is covering Satan’s lair

We need to get away.’

But nobody ever got away,

At least, not with their soul,

They’d sold their souls to the devil, and

Were tied to the monster, coal,

The men came home with their faces black

And their hands all scarred and torn,

For coal mining is the sort of job

You are cursed with, when you’re born.

And he was taken to work the mine

When he’d barely turned just six,

His father said, ‘Well, I think it’s time,

You can leave behind your tricks,’

They showed him how he could work the fan

To fill the mine with air,

And there he worked twelve hours a day

While he learned the word ‘Despair’.

His father died when a prop collapsed

And they had to leave him there,

Under a hundred tons of coal

But the owners didn’t care,

They simply began another drive

To make up the owner’s loss,

Whether the miners lived or died

Their lives were seen as dross.

So Andrew, that was the orphan’s name

Went down between the shifts,

He took some fuel and matches down

He’d long been planning this,

He managed to start a coal seam fire

That roared by the morning sun,

And smoke poured out of that poppethead,

While they raged, ‘What has he done?’

But Andrew never emerged again

To pay for the thing he’d done,

He’d told his sister to write a note,

‘I did it for everyone!’

His bones lie charred where his father fell,

Under a hundred ton,

They couldn’t put out the coal seam fire,

The father lies with the son.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Avinash]

It was heartrending to see both father and son meeting the same eventuality. But few things are destined to happen and people do not have much say in the way events unfold. Not even a seasoned writer like your self can change the story which follows the path of destiny.

[TPK Stories]

A sad, tragic tale David.

[Celie Rose]

I really liked your poem. Truly a sad story. I thought of my great grandfather who worked in the coal mines in West Virginia. He died of black lung. That is what they called it in his day and other families that lost loved ones in coal mining accidents. "They simply began another drive To make up the owner’s loss,Whether the miners lived or died Their lives were seen as dross." Well written.

[MomzillaNC]

Just… WOW.

This one took my breath away, Dave. I don’t know if it was your intent, but so much of it seems a biting commentary on our struggles with global climate change and the deniers.

[IamRealTusoul]

I love this,,,,its sad piece,,,and it really what is happening in the world today, people are more concerned with the money the make and not the life of the people involved. Awesome work!

[ANTO]

"and their love become a funeral pyre..." just as Jim Morrison sang.
I really had no clue where this one was going - like a man down the mines without a lamp - total darkness and Im glad too for it was an epic surprise.
Top write DLP.

[No one]

I felt that the last part of your poem gave the most of power to the whole writing. The description was amazing in meaning and in expression, this is just one of the wonderful poems deeply cherished.
Thank you for sharing it with us.

[Solar]

A very powerful poem - perfectly presented in its content and structure. From the coal emerged a diamond borne of despair.

[R Smith]

truly the grim reality of the miner's lot reminds me of the loss of mining industry in the UK not a happy job but one they were sorry to lose, great writing David, that must be your middle name, I'm looking to take a break from the Cafe' so hope to keep up with you on F/B and Wepaw, see you there my friend :)

[richieb]

Loved the poem David, hits home as my family is of Eastern European stock coming to the U.S. to be "Cursed" to work in the coalmines of Pennsylvania. You hit it right with the "owners didn't care". I can relate to the heaps of slag as I used to take truck loads of steel slag outside our mill and watch it grow into a mountain. Your poem brought all these images to life as I read your work. Thank you. Richie B.