We lowered them in an’ by the score,
as we have done so oft’ afore.
In nowt but mud, in sweat an’ grime,
with shovels, picks an’ pails of lime.
Grey mounds of clay, anomalies
in rows an’ rows of RIPs.
Of acres long an’ acres wide,
where boys an’ men lay side by side.
No sadder toil, from morn ’till eve,
from weeks to months would you believe.
It was as if, no other than,
to hide the shame, the sins of man.
We wrapped them up in rags an’ sacks,
no lumber ’bout to make them casks.
They all broke up, the best of men
an’ some, begad, just bits of them.
Knew not their names, their trades or hopes,
farmers maybe, gamblers, poets.
Waiters, tailors, a clerk, a smith;
their fate, some graven monolith.
Then came a day when there was none,
’twas rumoured that our diggin’ done.
Why tell us now, not years afore,
what all this fuckin’ diggin’ for?
We packed our geer, to home we trod,
just tools we were, ’twas all a cod.
Through whiskey’s tears my horrors seep.
God help me please, I cannot sleep.
-
Author:
Tony Grannell (
Offline) - Published: August 21st, 2025 03:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Teddy.15
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Comments7
Another most entertaining poem Tony. Have a good friend that was a grave digger when he was young and also knew a mortician but he has a very dark sense of humor. I continue to love the cadance and rhyme in your poems not to speak of the tales. Another fave my friend
A trade overworked by which mortal conflict? Applicable to one of many.
A point of view enriched by your poetic lines, Tony.
I heard someone call me. Grave digger has arrived! 🪦 🤣 My silliness aside, the spade digs deeper than the earth here—it carves into conscience. “Through whiskey’s tears my horrors seep” lingers like a curse. Powerful work, Tony. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️
Shivers down my spine, I'd drink a lot of whiskey too. lol most entertaining. 🌹
Soil swallows names
Shadows remain
Hands still ache
From weight of shame
Enjoyable Poem. Thanks.
A tall tale of true?
Well dug.
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