Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

My father was a coal miner, sent down the pit at fourteen, until he escaped in the war to the navy. He said that he carried us all on his shovel; and I remember him reading D H Lawrence, who also grew up near us.



Arthur Lawrence to his wife Lydia

You say my nails are dirty,
and I say they are the nails
of a working man, and these
nails are on the fingers
of a working man, and these
fingers are on the hands
of a working man, and these
hands are on the arms
of a working man, and these
arms are on the shoulders
of a working man; and I carry
you all on my shovel as I dig
for the coal that stains my skin;
so milady do not disdain me,
for though I be a working man
Iím not ashamed of what I am.

© D G Moody 2022




Poetry by D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 38 times
Written on 2022-08-04 at 17:53

Tags Miners 

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


1LFD
I love the idea of a family being provided for by the toil of his shovel, that is a fantastic phrase. Hard graft for those you love. I can see him walking in after the pit, weary, hungry, clothed in a coat of coal. His good lady shoo- ing him to the tin bath.. brilliant concise writing
2022-08-06


Sameen
And nor should he be. Working class folks are the backbones of every great nation.
2022-08-05


Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
The words of a wise man.
Allen
2022-08-05


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Good one, Dougie.
2022-08-04