Poetry: 'Anti-Shanty' By Georgia Harvey

We all sing the songs of souls lost at sea
and preserve in musical amber memories.
But what of the land-bound in fishermen’s towns,
Now the fish are all dead and the industry’s down?

These boatmen more solid on liquid than land
on coal-littered beach front at sunset they stand.
Watch while their mistress is tossing her waves.
Greying and gloomy. She resents what she gave.

Now she casts off the covenant and keeps all the catch
and the sails in the harbour are folded or slack.
Lobster pots line up, empty in the sun,
while their salted-faced owner silently burn.

For it’s pints they are downing
to tribute the drowning
of another in whiskey not sea.
For they know where they’re going,
it’s their own path he’s showing
a way out of their own misery.

The swallows that flit through the cherry blossom trees
know the sea demands her tithe ev’ry fifteen years.
She lowers the pressure and hitches her skirt.
Swishing them wildly unbuttons her shirt,
booming with laughter she rolls on the shore
and demands that more businesses pay her, and more.

Her revenge for her rape is undeniable and savage
for hell hath no fury like an ecosystem ravaged

The touch of the hull on her skin is well met
but behind these caresses is an anchor of debt.
She gives life and takes life; some later, some soon
changeable as wind direction, reliable as moon.

People flocked to pay homage in sunny days gone by
but they’ve mostly stopped coming since the monkeys learned to fly
and now the town relies on hand outs and the landing stage is closed
and they’ve paved over history with a red brick road.

The people left land locked pay their dues in installments
of barometric infirmity and camphor-based liniment.
Crippled by ozone and scattered by squall.
They yearn when they hear the Wind Maidens call.

It’s a lifetime of hardship and internal fights
when the wind’s from the West and the bells ring at night.
But the Goddess takes all, every bit in the end.
Either swallows with love, or starves and contends.

And if
you ask if in this contract they willingly took part
They’d say

They’d give it all again. Body, soul and heart.


Author: Georgia Harvey; Isle of Man; Pharmaceutical Technician and Performance Poet @empireofwhimsy (insta) www.empireofwhimsy.blogspot.com