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Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
Carlin Mine Rescue
I stood there alone,
in my hot bunker gear.
My hands cupped together
this I saw clear.
Right in the center
and it danced up in a pier.
Pure was that flame,
and that flame was pure fire.
Sweat rolled away,
but cold was the scene
Was this real heat,
or was I locked in a dream.
What was it's propose?
The flame won't expire.
It flickered and danced,
that flame of pure fire.
Out of my body,
the noise of the flame.
Two hundred feet high,
mean demons game.
The roar of consumption,
but death like and still,
Drawing me forth
as it always will.
For rigs, trucks and tankers,
tarmac and plane,
in Nevada at Carlin
I drill and I train
Cupped in my hands
Duty, Passion, Desire
Like that cupped in my heart,
that flame of pure fire.
Copyright Joel Tankersley
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