the engine shed and sulphur culverts
up the engine shed
often said and climbed
blue bricked in ruin crumbling
pulled the tram buckets up
my father said
that built these tips
my father said
he had a drawing of it
and i drew history from it
as we walked the old cooling tanks
brick built and empty
full of forlorn
his finger pointed at
the haphazard slabs skiltered
at all angles and underneath
sulphur
as yellow as fear was
touched with fear
enough was said
never to be forgotten
there are ghosts that mis
these derelict days
i am sure there must be
for a flake or two of me
is left behind
then my dad’s whistling
thrilled as the trill of a skylark
sent the blue reaches
up to the sky
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