I mentioned some time ago (The Demise of Roland Ratso: Chapeter nine or ten) about Chris Muter - a coal miner who wrote excellent poetry who had suddenly died from a massive heart attack. I said I would publish his poem "Red Ribbon" because it sent shivers down my spine. Well I have only just found it - so here it is.
Red Ribbon by Chris Muter 2000.
The stars were as bright as diamonds that night
A silvery cloud sailed the moon,
The fields and the meadows were frosted and white
As he whistled an old fashioned tune.
With his radio on and its honkey-tonk song
He whistled the rhyme out of key
Tom was out on the road with his fourteen ton load
A long distance driver is he.
No more than a dream is the babbling stream
With its pebbles of hard polished stone,
No more than a dream were the places he had seen
As he headed his lorry back home.
Going eighty or more with his foot to the floor
And no sign of a police car in sight
The road sparkled with frost and unless he got lost
He was sure that he’d get home tonight.
As he travelled each mile old Tom wore a smile
As he wrestled the wheel in his fist
With a ring on his hand, just a plain silver band
And a red ribbon tied to his wrist.
No more than a dream is that river bank scene
As it chattered its way to the shore
No more than a dream are the things he had seen
As Tom held his foot to the floor.
He could still see her face in the moonlight
He could still see her face in the stars
Never faded by oncoming headlights
As he raced by the lorries and cars.
If the weather stayed fine he would get home on time
So soft is that silk on his wrist
As he lifted the hand with the plain silver band
The ribbon he lovingly kissed.
The banks of the stream were all frozen
The pebbles they glistened like pearls
And the tips of the bulrushes golden
Could adorn any maiden with curls.
And a young girl laid there, battered bloody and bare
Concealed neath a tangle of reed
But no ribbon was there to tie up her hair
And old Tom was picking up speed.
But no more than a dream were the tears and that “scream”
As Tom disappeared into the night
With the ribbon he kissed that is still on his wrist
That ribbon that once had been white.
Sends shivers down my spine every time I read it.
Hi my name is ann and that poem was lovley sent tinglels down my spine im new on here and will give you an update later if thats ok with you as said im new and not sure where to start apart to say take care like to be a buddie if you would like to many thanks ann xx
Chris Muter wrote a number of poems but when we tried to get him in the poetry group he always said it was for clever people which was not him. All you need to do with a blog is write what you feel. Sometimes things get a but "heavy" on here - it is serious stuff but what I try to do is lighten things up without trivialising anyone's situation. I would be pleased to be your buddy there is a lot of Roland Ratso on here - maybe some people are getting fed up with it but as I am writing it basically for me i will continue to post it. It's no skin off my preverbial.
