"ore" poems
*He sat by a furnace of seven-fold heat,
As He watched by the precious ore.
And closer He bent with a searching gaze,
As He heated it more and more.
He knew He had ore that could stand the test
And He wanted the finest gold,
To mold as a crown, for the king to wear,
Set with gems of price untold.
So He laid our gold in the burning fire,
Tho’ we fain would say Him "nay."
And watched the dross that we had not seen
As it melted and passed away.
And the gold grew brighter and yet more bright,
But our eyes were dim with tears,
We saw but the fire, not the Master’s hand,
And questioned with anxious fears.
Yet our gold shone out with a richer glow
As it mirrored a form above,
That bent o’er the fire, though unseen by us
With a look of ineffable love.
Can we think it pleases His loving heart
To cause us a moment's pain?
Ah, no! But He sees through the present cross
The bliss of eternal gain.
So He waited there with a watchful eye,
With a love that is strong and sure.
And His gold did not suffer a bit more heat
Than was needed to make it pure.
~ A.F. Ingler*
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.
You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.
A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.
10.4k
It was hard in the Moonta Mines that year
For the miners, down in the pit,
It wasn’t a place for a weak man, but
The Cornish Miners had grit,
They burrowed deeper with every day
Extracting the copper ore,
And the skimps grew high in the heaps that piled
Not far from the Moonta shore.
They wore their helmets deep in the mine
With a candle fixed to the brim,
And worked in the glow of the candlelight
While the pumps pumped out and in,
They pumped for water, they pumped for air
For the air in the mine was rank,
And water seeped at the lowest lode
Where the atmosphere was dank.
They built their cottages out of lime
And mud, with a building board,
On Sundays, that was the only time
Once they had prayed to the Lord,
The Cornish Miners were Methodists
Built numerous churches there,
And Cap’n Hancock had said, ‘Attend!
Or your job is gone – Beware!’
Those men of flint had hearts of gold
And they raised their children fine,
Sons would follow their fathers then
And go to work in the mine,
One Christmas Eve they were gathered there
By their hundreds, on the green,
A candle lit on their helmets each
Like a glittering starlit scene.
The wives and children were there as well
With their voices raised in praise,
The swelling sound of an angel choir
With their humble miners ways,
They called it Carols by Candlelight
And the movement grew apace,
It spread all over the world from this
The Moonta Miners grace.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
psychologism, i.e. neo-racism, neo- due to it being without any collective ethnic collectivisation, best insinuated by marijuana users, grouping alcoholics with ****** sharp shooters; they think they have the moral high ground, but they talk jack sh-: medicinal marijuana is synthetic marijuana / ore without casual-use effects, it's not the sh- you put in your **** have a *** change and tell me about children suffering from cancer while you're at it: because those starving children of africa adverts... are really really working... knowing that the man in control of such charities earns over half a million a year - post-colonialism only really works while you have former colonial indigenous peoples nearby, then you can milk that ***** cow from the locals... make sure you think the nairobi international airport has a dirt runway and you'll feel all ******* fuzzy giving money to these companies... post-colonialism only works like that... import some former colonials to milk the former colonial whites into coughing up money & guilt... then watch the irish get leery with sarcasm at almost anything... and the scots gear up pride and become politically malignant... the good friday agreement? tony blair did as much as / avoiding-tax cigarettes smuggled from eastern europe west of the ural mountains exchanged in belfast... but geographic borders were never used in rhetoric in politics... because ireland was always further west than iceland: as oaths go... it was a neighbour of liberty iseland... with the true statue of liberty in a moulin rouge cancan attire, skirt up, flame extinguished - although ***** as hell: and in koranic reality, requiring a harem for her three holes.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Tujhe chhoone par hai lagta
Tu jalti jwala re!
Tujhe niharne par lagta
Tu chaand ka tukda re!
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya
Ore Priya re!
Tere sang Tere sang ishq hua re!
Bana Dene jaisa lagti ** tum
Ek chitra!
Are munh tumhara ek
Paan ka patta
Bana Dee gayi lagti ** tum
Ek moorti!
Sach jaisi
Konark ki kala kirti
Tujhe padhne se lagti hai tu
Sach mein ek kahani re
Tujhe gaane see lagta
Tu ek geet re!
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya tune
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya toone
Ore Priya re!
**** bhar Teri
Rajnigandha ki khushboo
Teri chaal mein
Raj hansini ka chhand!
Barasne jaisa pyar tumhara
Madhu ki varsha!
Sabhi or hoti hai
Bas teri hi charcha
Tujhe tolne par
Tu lagti
Ek phool re!
Tujhe dhaalne par lagti
Tu kuchh rang re!
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya toone
Ore Priya re!
Tere sang Tere sang ishq hua re!
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
A nother ****** day
B inging, then throwing up; Hunger
C rying, as usual
D eath sounds comforting
E each day is a struggle
F orcing smiles
G one too soon? Not soon enough
H eaven isn't for people like me.
I nternal struggle—i want to
die//i want to live ..
J ust one more cut .. Oops, too
many to count
K ill yourself, my thoughts say
L iving is exhausting
M ore scars
N othing inside. It's hungry. Being
eaten alive
O h, I woke up this morning, I
wanted to die
P ain .. So much pain.
Q uit it!
R est in peace [RIP]
S hut up!
T hese thoughts will be the death
of me. Tired
U nder the facade is a corpse. Im
a walking dead
V ery soon i will end it.
W hy should I stay alive? Should
I **** myself?
X friends, x lovers, goodbye
Y es
Z ero thoughts
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
Still alone
We are not
Maybe Titan
All we got
Mine our way
Barge ore back
Build a bridge
Plutonium tack
Ceramic sails
On solar wind
Terminal shock
Butterflies pinned
On orbital ellipses
‘Gainst starry drops
Spun light and dark
Like judgment tops
Spendthrift starfish
Regenerate limbs
From primal screams
That eat our sins
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Many a miner has gone
into the deep pit
to receive the dust of a kiss,
an ore-cell.
He has gone with his lamp
full of mole eyes
deep deep and has brought forth
Jesus at Gethsemane.
Body of moss, body of glass,
body of peat, how sharp
you lie, emerald as heavy
as a golf course, ruby as dark
as an afterbirth,
diamond as white as sun
on the sea, coal, dark mother,
brood mother, let the sea birds
bring you into our lives
as from a distant island,
heavy as death.
4.8k
You are glancing out of the window
Taking a look at nature's creation
Wisps of your hair gently stroking your face
Feeling a cold wave against you
Walking slowly amidst the misty clouds
The endless curves of the mighty mountain
Spinning your head around
Deep down there lies deathly valleys
Defining life beyond explanation
All you can see is plush green colour
Ranging from warm to tender
While I travel,I try not to grasp at people
By their devotion towards work
An independent river flows curvily to reach its destination
Given much ore of its freedom
Captivating nature in just one go isn't enough
You have to soak in as much as possible
Sure one becomes perplexed at the first sight of the beautiful sunrise
And I bet the day couldn't get that better otherwise
The air had its own charm,its own charisma
While the chants and prayers of monks completed the atmosphere
I smile as I currently jot this poem down
Words fail to express my happiness crown
I say to myself-" This isn't imagination,This is reality"
Confused, are you reader?
My heart beats and quenches for the aroma of green tea leaves
Hmm,I'll miss this heaven on earth,
This place,these people,their lives,their struggles
Their homeland.
Their Birthplace.
So this is my travelogue
And currently you were into my experience
My "Darjeeling Experience"
And not a dream,or a part of paper
Cause its far more than your mere imagination.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
.
*Links in the chemist chain
laced in a double helix
defy the laws of the universe,
and the atavistic resurgence
creates isotopes of dream passion.
Elements conspire in panic
with a symmetry of casual chaos
that mimics an atomic bomb,
destroying its own creator
in a cruel parody of birth paradox.
Arresting the Iris of Dissolution
with cuffed anxiety drowning
in a pond of helium ore,
carelessly drifting on acid flesh,
coagulating in a soup of memory.*
And the paradigm shifts again,
reality unfocussed clears, strains,
revealing your shuddering form,
next to me, keeping me warm.
Lids flicker and you open your eyes,
shining, smiling in cute surprise.
Moving my finger up to my lips
whilst I gently untangle our hips.
*Do you remember this night?
Last night, tonight, tomorrow night?
Time begins to slowly rewind,
on the night you blew my mind.*
My essence is filled with your heart,
a love I have yet to discover.
Whilst you wander between the stars,
my universe starts to recover.
So please don't break this silence now.
Please don't shatter this moment long,
I want this post ****** memory to remain
in the morning when you have gone.
© Pagan Paul (04/11/17)
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
Right now, loving you feels
the way my toes do when stepping on pebbles
(the stones they put on your back in physical therapy)
or mining ore -
supposed to be cold, but extremely hot to touch.
A copper meadow
shimmy into a tree so you can look up my dress
and catch me like gold armor when I tumble, tumble.
One defense, two defense, three defense, four
worms with spines as soft as hair
try to spindle cobwebs where we skip and hopscotch
skeletons dunk our heads in some sea
but pickaxes
make air pockets, iron is a pillow for us to sleep.
The lights cease when you leave
no longer nearby is the helmet that exudes site -
I think I could mine meteorite from your soul, there’s
only demonite in my own.
Let’s build a house with it
then wait for the bad men to leave, it is night again
perhaps they shall be burned by my evil.
Shrouded in wood, tucked into a golden chest
the walls are a deep purple
amethyst, aubergine, build our ceiling some citrine -
bunnies swallow the window frame
and I cry because somehow it is my fault,
I try to jump but I fall. And you open the door, you let
in some monsters, how I hate you for a moment.
But no bad man can get you
even ones who have skin sunken like a dead spider
pull out an archery kit
seventy-seven arrows, I put them all in hearts
leaving one special hook for you Cupid gave to me.
We make a great team
demonite meteorite silver copper topaz gold-tipped
and sterling the vultures listen in jealously
knowing this is what love can feel like right now.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
She sits on the bow and dangles her feet
A rigid, cloaked figure looms on the stern
She runs her hands across the skeletal vessel
Thick mist twists and slivers past her cheek
A coin-filled cage hangs off the Ferryman's arm
as he pulls an ore through the ominous glow
A rusty lantern rocks and steadily creeks
Bright green flames lick the Ferryman's robe
Into the void, into the churning ink
He gently rows across the river of woe
where no one hears her scream
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:28 PM UTC
Helping a child with a mental illness and co-occurring disorder such as substance abuse disorder. Our little diamonds who grow up with a broken mind.
Diamonds are in the rough. How long does it take to mine a diamond?
If you as a parent do not have any tools, you will have bloodied hands and feet and never will you get to where your child can shine without the addictive source.
Diamonds are found in many ways, but to communicate with the diamond, the ore around it is crushed and milled.
Diamonds repel water, but are drawn to grease.
Expect to get down and ***** when helping your addict, but DO NOT, go into the pit. You will be of no help once you are in.
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 3:08 PM UTC
Hush my baby don’t you cry, for this is not a lullaby
For I am your knight of shining armor, glistening steel no peel ore
Massive fortitude for in which gratitude is always accepted
For my speech you will need to be calm and collected
My beautiful Ambitious Girl, why you are so perfect?
From your skin, to your feet no flaws can be detected
Talk to me; tell me everything you ever wanted
For I am the one to give it to you, only if don’t flaunt it
You ass-mazing, to the degree in which I slur up my speech
No I am no Martin Luther King Jr, so I will not preach
Hold up; Hold up baby, please, I won’t take up your time
I just want to get to know you, just let me unwind
See I am a man of grace and commitment
With that saying, I want you to be the only one I commit with.
My Beautiful Ambitious Girl, is it too early to tell you “I Love You?”
That you’ll be my only one, no other woman above you
Heavens above will smile with just the sight of you
For I picked a women so elegant as you
Star crossed lovers no Romeo and Juliet
If I tell you well get married how much would you bet,
My love, my heart, my enormous riches?
For you are my most prized possession
You are my Beautiful Ambitious Girl.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
ek het iemand nodig om namens my te bid, te pleit
my gebede val soos ouds op dowe ore ongehoor
ek voel oud en alleen uit gesmyt
ek het nou op gehou pm te glo ek kan toor
ek het ver geval en seer gekry
ek het op gegee op my
my kop en my lyf probeer mekaar so ver moontlik vermy
weereens het ek myself verloor
ek is te moeg om op te staan om weer te begin soek
ek is bang vir die kry, die kruis verhoor
ek voel teen gekant en vervloek
ek is niks nie anyways
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
The mine boss needed three more men.
Several showed up at the mine.
He saw a big strong German
and said, “You‘ll do just fine.”
Your job will be to take a pick
and scale the walls of ore.
The work is hard but you are strong.
You’ll certainly endure.
A Swedish man stepped up out front.
“Sir, if you’ll hire me…
You’re sure to get your money’s worth.
I’ll do the work of three.”
“You’re hired!”, said the mine boss.
Grab a shovel from the back.
You’ll shovel up the scaled off ore
into the mine car on the track.
With one more left to hire
The boss looked down the rows
and saw a little Chinaman,
all dressed in Chinese clothes.
The last job is an easy one,
“Mr. Chinaman , I choose you.
You’ll be in charge of all supplies.
When low, we’ll come to you.”
Off they went into the mine
to do as they were told,
A German, Swede, and Chinaman,
into this mine of gold.
As supplies needed replenished,
the Chinaman could not be found.
The mine boss went into the mine
to take a look around.
.
Anyone seen the Chinaman?”
The Swede answered, “Ya sure,
The crazy man run down the mine
and no come back no more.”.
The boss man, now a bit upset
grabbed a light so he could see,
and through the dark, went deeper in.
Where could this Chinaman be?
He’d gone, it seemed, a mile or two
with great concern and fear.
There, hiding around the corner,
The Chinaman sensed him near.
He jumped out from his hiding place,
this Chinaman so wise,
and nearly scared his boss to death
when he yelled out….”SU-PLIZE”!
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:57 AM UTC
Cosmic kraken,
gelatinous tentacles that choke the ventricles..
air tainted by its pungent pores...
daylight darkens,
its presence hearkens,
for the light to shine no more...
Heart is hardened
vestigial veins with not blood but pain...
wrinkled cartilage writhes at lore..
of the divine despair
I now come to bear,
graces this unworthy *****
"I beg I pardon!
spare me the road to your celestial abode!"...
whispered screams that scrape throat raw...
silence snares...
at my futile affairs...
with the sadistic nexus between doors...
"Oh I cannot fathom
creature with unworldly features...
and blade fashioned from nebulous ore...
what terrors await...
and to permeate....
my flesh forevermore!"
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 11:39 AM UTC
Given up, deluxe in Essex
Cornwall, seaside Fortress
Stonehenge, felt the Vortex
One Vision, one idle Apex
Kiss the Haven Sanctum ******
Diligently Lingers the Finger Remix
Vibrate the ring tho Rung Her Nexus
Into New Blue , You beg the Context
Of seeming NonSense, hum my Edifice
I'll give You This, oh humble Tread
I've past the Veil, many lives I've Led
Memory to Full to sustain, Unfurled
This Nomenclature not of this World
Do you want Me? Come then, Explore
Rich, sweet, then Sour, Drink More
Intoxicate, bubbled deep risen the Core
She is Ancient, She is bled, of Iron Ore
Cleanse your Palette, taste must never
Mix, or coagulate, congeal, or Root
Fluidic Fauna, Flower Sauna, Resolute
Cleanse, release into Her, Ashen Soot
Absolute Sanctuary, must enter, Barefoot
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
A
Kiss, stolen in secret.
Away, from prying eyes.
Before
The the school
Bell rang.
Can't
You see the memories
Concealed behind my eyes?
Do
You even care
Don't you even see my tears?
Eventually
They say I will forget.
Even though I know I never will.
Fore
Your smell still lingers on my clothes.
Forever etched into my brain.
Going
Round and round my head,
Got to forget your kiss.
Help
Me move on and
Hold my head up high.
It
Simply does no good to remember.
I swear I'm going mad.
Just
The way you say my name.
Jynn... Like it's beautiful.
****
Me before I fall too deeply addicted to your
Kiss, so sweet and soft.
Love
The age old
Lie, told by every member of your kind.
Maybe
I can do this on
My own, free myself from you.
Never
Did I think I'd
Need you this much.
Only
Boy to ever truly
Own my heart.
Probably
the most
Painful of any hurt.
Quiet
Tears as loud and
Obnoxious as a car alarm.
Running
Away from my fears.
Ripping you from my life.
Stop
Trying to
Stay, It only makes it harder.
Today
Is the day I finally
Tear away from the life I hate.
Unfortunately,
My heart and brain
Unanimously decided that life was caused by you.
Very
Well, If you agree. This
Vacancy in my life is not for you.
Won't
You let me die?
Why must you torture me so?
eX-treme
Heartache, I
eX-alted you so.
You,
The love of my life. un-
Yielding rollar coaster, just wont stop.
Zombie
Of my former self, drained of
Zest, and life.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
I haven’t got a heart of gold,
Gold is too soft and beautiful.
The world sinks its teeth into gold
And leaves a bite mark for every hungry mouth
And I haven’t enough surface area to accommodate them all.
I have a heart of silver.
Let the wolves bite into that,
Let it stick in their teeth.
They will not break the skin.
The don’t deserve to see my blood,
My silver dragon’s blood,
Running down my head and chest,
Dripping and pooling in the darkness,
Shining and reflective
Like a thousand little moons
And worlds made of moons.
No, let them trade in gold.
My heart is ugly enough to survive
And beautiful enough to live.
They will not steal my blood to spend,
The will let it pool and lie
As unattainable stars lay in the sky.
If any other silver bleeder comes to claim me,
Let me be his and he mine.
If any blue-veined miner puts away his pick
And loves me without claim,
Let him be mine, I will not hurt him.
But if, God forbid, there is yet a man
Who bleeds gold and loves me for my blood,
I will love him to the reaches of my sky -
I will spend myself on him to the last cent -
For that is a claim that cannot be paid,
It is a love that would destroy me.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
Matters of love, you’ve reaped into me
Dynamics of knowledge, richness and profoundness
Bringing age to my heart
Knowing love and knowing brutal pain
More real, more powerful, more beautiful
Gifted consciousness filling missing part of potential
Crumbling down our incompleteness
Loving you more than consciousness of my thoughts will allow
More than the passion of my intensity
To be a model of human brilliance
Manifests within the existence of my being
I am a furnace
You are the only flame
Sparking this wild fire
I am a candle, inanimate,
You are the flicker that gives it life, light, soul
I'm am intrinsic potential waiting to be actualized
You are the catalyst of life breathing momentum into me
Through your existence
A flower, a beacon, weapon to my oppression and pain
Appropriation of your love, impossibility in my life
Immaculate potion to my sorrow
Like a wild flower
Withstanding thunder, hurricanes, and rain
An atom from another dimension
Your pulse travels through my heart and my soul
As dangerous as ore
You are the purest form
Deep underneath farther than I can explore
You are the most beautiful creation
You are the end to my means
Unconceivable new reality to my rebellion
The revolution I await
In the deepest part of my existence
Knowing it might never be
Key to my chains
Chant to my muted voice
You are the embodiment and the soul of my freedom
Always escaping from me
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
Have you forgotten?
The Iron
The Fire
The hammer and anvil of it all
The pile of **** and scrap metal
The dirt ore heap in the corner of your soul
The useless heavy burden
On your shoulders, and in the heart of you
Have you forgotten the forging and the beating
The sweating and the bleeding
The swing and the crash,
And the pain and the smash;
The heat from the fires that purify
And the hiss from the waters that solidify
Have you missed the bending and folding
and the way that you're constantly molding?
Have you forgotten
You are the hammer
You are the anvil
You are the iron and the forge fire
That creates the steel of your character
The sharp sweeping sword of your soul
For no one else can change you
Except for you
So slam the hammer down!
Swing it without flinching
Tense yourself, your muscles your nerves and sinews
Grit your teeth and clench your jaw
Grip the metal like a white knuckled vice of certainty
Focus on the spot and
Slam the Hammer Down!
Beat it into something useful
Beat if into something beautiful
Beat it with meaning for it is meaningful!
Did you forget that!
No, You did not forget
You dreamed of throwing it off,
You dreamed of being rid of it
You hoped to wake one day
And find that it had melted away
But
“You cannot dream yourself into a character:
you must hammer and forge yourself into one.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
365
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door—
Red—is the Fire’s common tint—
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame’s conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith
Whose Anvil’s even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs—within—
Refining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Until the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge—
3k
Atomori mi,
Like any iyawo eyan, girlfriend eni, aburo eni, ore eni, ololufe eni yan, olugboran okan eni, my expectations for you are so high, lofty and grandoise! I have however grown to learn that my commitment to you cannot be hinged on attainments or by anyone. So regardless of whoever that doesnt accept you, or how high you fly, how far you go, or how much you accoomplish. Females might have walked away for a reason or two, but you can be rest assured that I Adebola will always be at your corner, cheering you on. Owo le masi, but fulfilling happiness I can offer with good food for your belly and your thought, Ko si ikan ti ole yawa, ju iku ati yourself (ara e). I have your back anytime; anyday. Also, I have grown to trust you,and that my sweet is one key to a successful relationship. With every beat of my life; Olatokunbo Gabriel Atomori Awoga, you are all I love ♡♡♡♡ {WEBOMLYAAIL}
I adore, love and cherish you!
Happy New Year, ife mi !
Debola Oluyomi copyright © 2014
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
There is a history, could be called their story,
But the clouds,
To the dirt beneath,
Their finger nails,
All were lined in silver,
Or other precious metals,
Smelted with treasured memories,
Weaving silver through all,
The storms, along every cloud,
Each raindrop and teardrop too,
They labored,
In veins of mineral mines,
They smelted iron ore,
Got more troy ounces then they
Bargained for, by the millions,
Gold and silver for those linings,
Precious and semi-precious metals,
From deep holes in the ground,
To a furnace that evaporated sweat,
Under the fireproof suits, they worked hard,
Honestly while wearing protective lenses and
Not rose coloured glasses, it was a good life,
Memories and faded glory days,
Until the Company, took it away, bit by bit,
Leaving,
Flame but little glory,
To those special days,
And bygone days,
There are still a few,
Who survived modernization,
There are many more,
Whose best memory,
Is the pension,
Crew mates are gone,
Spouses are gone,
Yet the special days,
Are celebrated anyways,
In the Silver City,
That joy is almost,
Tangible, to when,
Generations of men,
Went home to their women, children
Broke bread, drink vino and shots of grappa,
Sharing day shift or afternoons,
And graveyard shifts during the boom,
Today many years later, more than 100,
Now the fireworks light the night-sky,
While figments of the past, stand shoulder,
To shoulder, with those who remain,
Shared memories of silver linings.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC