NewFoundering Lande in 2021

 

It is the year of our Lard Jaysus,

Two thousand and twenty one.

The oceans are in distress

and boats are on more often on the rest.

This New found lande feels

floundering without its founding fishery.

 

 

You see, there are Cod;

But there no Cod.

 

The natives, still on the waters and the bays,

Claim they are privy to “plentiful” fish – as

They call this island’s  beloved Cod. 

Still, the personnel retained at the

Former Department of Cod

release another of their annual reports –

The Cod are still “low in abundance”, they

tell us, 29 years after our

Most severe outport suffering,

When the covenant of the Cod with the New found lande was broken.

 

Nothing ever got repaired after that milestone year;

Despite the many mouths that uttered the empty words:
“We are committed to the fishery of Newfoundland – we take our role very seriously.”

 

And so, in this year of 2021, people in the know

know the jig is up on the Cod.

The covenant will likely never

Be resealed as was promised for years on end.

 

Its fisher folk still embark to the bays in their swift boats

and jig a few fish – but only on Rule Days.

There are 39 Rule Days out of the entire year now

During which this New Found Lande can mend its battered culture.

 

Some brave souls take to the open line or the newspaper

to voice to their disgust and concern;

But overall, there aren’t many in this

Land left with a fighting fish spirit.

 

The courage and the determination of their ancestors have left this land

And have skedaddled amongst the dense fog in the hills.

The fishery has become a relic

of a bygone era;  and, it seems, there is no rescue mission –

not even the launch of one small dory or punt.

The natives are content to fish their 5 fish a day (only on weekends & Mondays) for 39 days

 – a miniature replica of an once grandeur culture when this land fed the world.

 

In this now New Founder Lande,

My eyes feast on the waters,

Which held so much abundance and hope;

Which shaped so many places and faces;

And I wonder if salty tears are all that’s left in the

Wild deep Atlantic ocean.

 

The promise of this Land of Fish

Was once its fishery.

It is clear that it has been

Laid to rest – headstone pending.

 

I must depart now,

For as a fishing spirit for over 500 years,

I cannot bear the apathy which haunts and hinders this

Once sacred place.

In Cod we all once trusted,

But not any longer...

 

Now, there are newer gods and false cods.

And the culture killers

bank on Cod fishing fading ever farther into the

memory of the briny sea,

which can no longer preserve one single dried fish.

 

And the New found lande soul

feels starved to the soundbone.