Cornish Miners
Poem about my family, my father’s suicide, my own sense of purpose.
Cornish Miners belongs to the following groups:
Dearly DepartedMy father’s family came from Cornish mines
Leaving that dreary landscape and darker pits
For Australia and the prospect of gold.
I am not sure if they found that much,
But at least they mined it in the sun.
And they shed the miner’s collar
With education, not a lucky strike.
With the sun so purchased they understood
That only learning kept one above the ground
Until my father, best and brightest of them all,
Aspired even higher – and failing
Took his life rather than be sent down.
At Heathrow, my throat catches on the fog
And buried deep is some dread still
Of return to some wet and deadly hole.
AmandaWitt
The thoughts of so many migrants – wondering what the ‘promised land’ held, the natural fears of leaving the mother country behind. My father did it all, so I’ve had some insight into this subject.
Matt Penrose
Very nice poem. I liked the flow and the story you told. My dad’s ancestors were actually cornish miners as well, so I guess that means we share a familiar history. ;-)
Paul Louis Vil...
You had me visualising every scene.
Nice work mate! :D
Rose Moxon
beautiful and sad all at once
AlOlmstead
Great picture! Only critique: ‘Till” is a cash register. Til or ‘Til is short for UNtil.
Pilgrim
Al, thanks
Robert Knapman
‘At Heathrow, my throat catches on the fog’, as mine did at this line. Thanks Pilgrim.
banditart
thats tops i dig it good stuff old chap
TRACY BAGNALL
And I have been sent back to that ‘wet and deadly hole’ not litterally but we returned to England and all in the name of my education. And after being bored for two years while education caught up with me I managed to loose all ambition and interest in life. I have the reverse story.
Very well written, I love it.
nickowen
My wife taught in Cornwall for years and my business partner retired there
In Cornwall the memory of aspiration and despair is a long one
Thanks for sharing your heart felt fear and longing
I think the poem cuts a little short on your father’s Icarus like fall
It is a hard blow to survive for the son.