Black River

Evening All, 

Today's poem/monologue is one from my childhood. I played freely as a child. In places that I would be mortified for my own children to play at today. One of those place was a river near my home. Used by the Cwm Colliery, it was polluted and a magnet to me as that free roaming child. To this day I know not what that little brook was called and I don't want to know either. It was nicknamed, `The Black River' by us children. `i remember it fondly as such and want to always. 
I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I love revising it. 

Black River 

Chocking as it struggles on it’s course

Black death almost consuming it

As oils skims the near by pools

Strangling further this struggling force

My eyes search where the rust settles

Making unnervingly beautiful colours,

Against it’s forest back drop of green.

Framing this picture to my mind.

Still I am drawn to paddle knee deep.

Child like minds do that... urge you!

The water, clear to the surface...Yet?

So tentatively I present my toe.

Cold surging through my body,

as my foot follows deeper.

Then I feel ‘it,’ the consuming sludge.

This black gold smothering my extremity.

Surging upwards and engulfing foot and brook.

A soothing sensation from something so murderous

Now disturbed - it seeks a new host

Clinging as limpets to a harbor wall.

Thick, suffocating, dark, dangerous.

I feel the grit of it between my toes.

Small wind fallen twigs, fattened by moisture,

Leaf litter and the carcasses of river insects.

All carnivorously consumed and under foot.

Still... I relish the slimy sensation abut me!

My legs heavy now with this sludge.

Sludge upon more sludge.

As the brook turns black. 

This enveloping darkness warming me through.

To me it’s as normal as the words from my mouth!

Here I’m at home in my playground

With this brook. Crucified by the washeries,

Used up and hanging on for life.

Trying still, to sustain all about it.

The sun breaks the canopy 

And now I see what I seek.

The blackness glistening,

in the dappled sunlight.

As pristine cut diamonds,

in churning water.

Nothing compares to this reflective beauty.

I see the glory of the black gold.

Admire it!

Standing statuesque,

The slow current about me,

Washing my sparkle away,

Back to the bottom of the brook.

Heading now towards the bank.

I drag my leaden feet,

to linger longer in the sensation.

Up and out - onto the bank.

The now drying coal dust clings,

finding life out of the black river,

But my sparkles dies with it.

The child in me wants back in,

but i’m late already for home.

Having lounged to long,

this summers day

Distracted by nature and her loves.

I am thankful for the distant pools

of clear fresh water.

Where I remove any trace of my friend.

For fear of being discovered.

Being outed for my adoration of The Black River.

By Helen Stallard

June 9, 2014