Tips Poem by Jim Young

Sure-footed on clinking slag slopes a boy-goat sprang,
Flew from one unsure foothold to another at speed.
Black shiny eyes wept frozen in the sharp slag or
Bled dry tears in the ochre cinders crunching underfoot.
Blue sky sunny laughter soothed to smiles the
Grimace of despair of the slip-hazard tips they teased.
A sulphurous miasma in yellow crystalline depths pulled
As it repelled the buzzing daredevil amour of youth.
Cancerous crustaceans gnarled hammer tongs at the valley
Yet failed to smother hope, for industrial insult had died.
No more Hades smoking chimneys, but a retinal glow
Replaced the old men's closing eyes with a blue blaze.
The voices were there of course, dead, they still whispered
With stone heartbeats halted mid thought finger raised to
Spin us around searching for the voice that dislodged
The keystone that sent the mirage tumbling down.