Dead Ground (1971)

Towering above a small village the monster squats,

Its ugly face peppered with purple heather and coarse grass-

Ready to release its great power at the slightest tremor,

Drowning the valley.

The oppressed rooftops shimmer, the reflection of the sun on their aerials;

Hundreds of long neat rows in a sea of grime.

At the foot of the tip, pit-head gear and sheds stand idle,

With unbroken glass still glittering in the haze.

Nothing moves.

A dog barks but dares not show itself

For fear of being punished from above for breaking the silence.

Old folks stare like Swiss expecting an avalanche,

And then fall asleep,

And dream;

Always of a beautiful snow-covered mountain or an Aztec pyramid,

But still the slides come,

And they awake to reality confronted by their curtain of slag, 

Sometimes shrugging away its menace,

But always condemning it.

The schoolhouse cowers at its foot,

An oasis of peace and youth, beauty and danger.

Every living thing feels the dark shadow over them; Even at noon it blocks out the sun,

Leaving the village

Dead-

For ever.

C. M. THOMAS 4A