Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
Jake, he worked on the longwall,
everyday he walked the shear.
The rumble of the cutting,
was music to his ear.
The ventlation was low that night,
and it was hot what I'm relating.
A loud explosion happened,
and there appeared ole Satan.
With a pitch fork at the crew he jabs,
work you cursed dogs.
I'll strap you to the headgate,
and that small crew ran like dogs.
The sulfur fumed around him,
there were demons who danced with glee.
The devil walked the shields,
and then bent down on one knee.
Well, this is the one I've come for,
a miner worn and old.
With controls in his hands,
a site . . . just behold.
We'll, you'll mine much coal for me,
your back will bend with toil.
You shall beg for water,
and that water will be in boil.
Things now looked grim for jake,
you know a mine of fire.
Walking around in boot tall mud,
never able to retire.
But he just stopped the shear,
calm, he knocked the bits.
Smelled ole Scratches breath.
Jake said if I knew this was it.
Guess I should have feared my death,
I would have gone and changed.
The errors of my life,
I would have prayed a bit.
From God I was on strike.
I would have done as the Lord so called.
And I would not have lived so low.
I would have done what the parson said.
I would not have seen this show,
But I didn't Scratch and here I am.
In bad deep Hells domain,
but it's funny how things are, and how they stay the same.
You see there you devil dude,
I'll tell you straight out mister.
I doubt that you'll surprise me much,
because I'm married to your sister.
Copyright Joel Tankersley