written for an exhibition local to me about the area in which i live. James “robber” Snooks was the last highway man hung in England and this poem is about the locals’ tale behind his last few hours. it is displayed at the art hub run by Annafunkyart.co.uk.
Today at #DVERSE we have been asked to write something about risk . in the las few days i have been looking at the building of the canal around where i live. i was impressed with the shear effort of the working men digging these out by hand using only pick and shovel ( the spadesl they used are called grafts hence the saying a hard days graft). The navvies (workers) risked their lives digging these out and lining them with a mix of clay and sand called puddle clay, which when keeped wet is water tight . it needed to be stomped un by many feet to drive out any air so i came up with this as i could imagine them singing in unison like sailors singing sea shanties while they stomped. .
Thanks Sarah for a great prompt at #dverse poets pub. here in England we have recently had a mental health awareness week. so have taken the opportunity to write a piece about how Sunday night and Monday mornings can make you feel really low sometimes. especially when you are working in an environment you do not enjoy. not really living just surviving.