This was the first in a series of poems that I submitted from a collection that I am currently building, tentatively entitled From the Closed Mines, By Closed Minds, in which I am endeavouring to portray the depth and (sometimes) harsh reality of Valleys life.
This is Our Truth
So far as I am concerned we are lower than vermin.
Everything is changing everywhere, expanse into nothing.
They built a bypass to forget about us.
What was once a childhood haunt is a kaleidescope of broken and burnt wood,
an unmended meld of wasted livelihood and forgotten men.
A reminder of who we were.
What we were.
This town is concentrated with frozen memories and false ideals.
The hills close us in but I long to escape.
Loose lips spill utterances of Paki shop poofters, Chinkys and Japs;
the nameless hands.
Reminders of who we are.
What we are.