A Poem in remembrance of those who lost their lives in the Pike River coal mining disaster.
Pike Mining Disaster 2010
They worked in a mine, the Pike twenty-nine,
on New Zealand’s rugged West Coast.
Those poor brave men went down again,
and bragged who could drink the most.
You could hear noise, from those working boys
as they picked the seam of coal.
With laughter they sweat, till they’re soaking wet
and the day has taken its toll.
Number twenty-nine, the 10th prime,
the digits not of our choosing.
on the 19th day of November they say,
fate wasn’t going to be losing.
A second blast, flags at half mast,
the news sent our spirits falling.
The rescue date, it came too late,
we pray that heaven was calling.
We sing a lament, twenty-nine souls went.
from that horrible fiery pit.
Their faces we’ll miss, no goodbye kiss,
no passing wisdom or wit.
Twenty-one plus eight, an empty plate
at each house this Christmas time
The churches fill, with mourners still,
the bells begin to chime.
No vigil there, no graveside prayer,
no bodies left to hold.
The whole world knows, the pain that grows,
our prayers have not gone cold.
By Roger Vincent