Hideaway – a wreckers poem. Sea and pirates and treasure and the macabre.
Far from port we hide,
Lanterns ready to be carried,
In dead of night,
Across the knives of the bay,
That cut ships to shreds,
Leave their treasure filled stomachs
Open to the sky,
Ready for our carrion claws
To dart and disappear,
Scampering through the wreckage,
To peck at the ribs of disaster,
So we can eat another day,
On the spoils of tragedy.
The Beadle and the Sheriff
Come along the rocks,
With dogs and torches,
Searching for our lair,
They’ll never find our Sinbad’s cave,
It’s tucked away, secret, lost,
We’ll hide until the law
Has gone away, until
The next ship comes.
In the night we’ll leave,
Treasures stashed for other days,
When it’s safe we’ll steal away.
They caught our comrade on the coast,
Strung him up in the port,
So as the tide wanes,
He smiles his rictus grin,
To the sea that kept him,
Until she was done with him,
Rolled him into the arms of the law,
On a rogue wave,
That sent his angler-fish boat,
Onto shore, where the
Fishermen found him.
Sea born, sea dead,
He threw his boots off as
The pushed him from the gallows pier.
One long drop,
Then they’ll return you to the sea,
One last drop,
Neck snapping as she comes to take you,
Back to briny waters whence you came,
She birthed you and she’ll take you home,
When all is done and fishes nibble at your bones,
Smile the grin of men long dead,
When they catch you,
Mother sea will take you back,
To Davy Jones’ long sought home,
In the end, what’s dead is dead,
But seafarers are ne’er alone.
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