Roger Singer

The Coal Man



Wagon wheels
Press the soil
Like fingers on clay
Molding a path
As the coal man
And his horse
Find the driveway.

A Santa bag,
Scared by use
Is hauled rudely
Like homeless bones
As the canvas sheath
Bulges wildly with
Bituminous jewels.

A leather cap
Appears pasted
To his thick head
While a cigarette
Fades at the corner
Of a tired mouth,
While walking heavy.

Arms muscled wide
Stretch easily
Like crawling vines
On a fence
Broadly reaching
Owning the space
Without restriction.

Bits of blackened
Coal tumble
Into a waiting bin
Sounding like
Angry rattlesnakes,
As the horse looks
And the man coughs.




Roger Singer: I began writing poetry when I was in the military many years ago, for relaxation and to express my thoughts in an abstract form. I enjoy the challenge poetry offers, unlike the articles I have written, which are straight forward. Poetry allows the writer to step to the side from general thoughts, thus creating a miniature story which in and of itself can bifurcate into other levels of literary form.





Mark Lamoureux Lois Marie Harrod Sam Silva Eve Rifkah Christopher Barnes Roger Singer David McLean