Poems of Antarctica (2010) and the Arctic (2012)

PART 1

ANTARCTICA:  In 2010 I had the privilege of travelling to Antarctica. In 3 weeks I learned so much, not just about Antarctica, but also about our fragile planet. I still rank this journey as Number 1 on my list of travels.

The poems here were challenging: how to evoke in words a landscape that was so visual in essence. I ended up with both rhymed and free verse poems, often about the same place; I found it interesting that the free verse versions and the rhymed versions at times seemed totally different.

The poems are arranged in the order of the journey itself.

Poems of Antarctica

1. Prelude: Night Visions (Free)

Night:

chilling dreams
of ice-clogged seas,
the rolling thunder
of glaciers in labour,
days of darkness yielding
to incessant light –
an impenetrable homeland
for chosen children
of winds and waves,
unaware of human greed,
trusting, vulnerable –
a place that sings to her
alluring siren songs,
beckoning, dangerous,
and irresistible;
at last, entranced,
her spirit succumbs
to the journey
she was born to make.


2. Prelude: Night Visions (Rhymed)

They bewitched her soul at night –

images born of ice and cold,

a continent encased in white,

majestic secrets still untold;

a land pristine, too far away

to endure the lash of greed,

a fortress built to hold at bay

those who rape for what they need,

a refuge for the innocents

who gambol on the winds and waves,

whose allotted time is spent

in harmony with nature’s ways;

to look upon such radiance,

to walk upon the frozen shore –

her dreams demanded that she chance

this paradise of ancient lore.


3. Ushuaia (Free)

City at the end of the world,
faithful servant of ships
that dare to ply waters
lashed by vagrant winds,

enslaved to moody Neptune,
the giver and denier
of safe passage.

Walking alien streets

enshrouded in cold mist,

she passes rows of lupins

in shades of red and yellow

unknown to her native land,

ponders the human will

to soften harsh landscapes.

The ship lies berthed,

holds gaping like hungry maws,

a champion eager to run,

pulling at unwanted reins,

anticipating the race ahead;

no hesitation –

here the voyage begins.

4. Ushuaia (Rhymed)

City at the end of the world,

in the embrace of wind and rain,

faithful servant of dogged ships

immune to icy nature’s pain,

ever racing to southern lands

unseen by most who stay behind,

but she was bound to join the quest –

no fear existed in her mind.

The ship awaited, holds agape

as if a beast in hunger’s grip,

her maws demanding sustenance

before her ties to earth would slip

and she would venture once again

through seas untamed by human might,

where ice and gales awaited all

who ventured into endless white.

Upon this ship she gambled all –

forsook her treasures of the past –

the unknown world had called her name,

and from that time the die was cast;

no backward glance at what she left,

no hesitation in her heart,

she walked the ramp into the ship,

and waited for her journey’s start.

5. Crossing the Drake Passage (Free)

Winds grow fierce overnight,

a hurricane at sea:

Lord Neptune in a rage,

and the ship bobs and weaves

like a battered boxer,

exhausted by the fight,

yet not admitting defeat.

The horizon disappears:

everything in shades of grey,

sea and sky entwined

as towering waves crest,

then break over the hull,

tossing, pounding,

challenging land-dwellers,

telling them to retreat

from oceanic realms,

and yet the ship endures

each angry pelagic blow.

Within, one pilgrim fears not:

born a child of the sea,

she well knows its fickle ways –

soon Lord Neptune will relent,

turn his wrath elsewhere;

still, she honours the trident god,

offers him the respect of all

who sail upon reluctant seas.

6. Crossing the Drake Passage (Rhymed)

Neptune cast his trident high

and the winds began to howl,

sailors on the southern sea

prepared for waves grown foul,

for gales that only albatross

accept with spirits soaring,

while those land-born find fear

within the waters roaring.

The ship was tossed and battered

like a toy in Neptune’s grasp,

and all aboard her waited

for his fury to blow past,

for dawn to light a kinder sky

and calm the raging motion,

free from blasts that terrified

trespassers on the ocean.

At last an ice-clothed island

stood against the sea god’s wrath,

to its shoreline came the ship,

welcoming a gentler path,

and then the eager voyager

recognized her long-sought dream –

she stepped upon Antarctica,

her spirit and her hope redeemed.

7. Cuverville Island (Free)

Apollo arises at dawn

to calm the raging waves,

as if in answer to her prayers,

as if she matters here –

a blue and white landscape,

surreal in the newborn sun,

no hint of lingering cloud

to dim the gleaming image.

Upon the shore tiny shapes,

tottering, jumping, sleeping,

oblivious to humankind,

unimpressed by her arrival;

they slip into the sea to fish,

return to feed their young,

now just balls of feathers and fat –

weapons against the winter to come.

The warmth and the cold,

the light and the dark –

cycles ever repeating

in the fabric of their lives;

little the young know of winter,

even less they know of her,

she stands entranced,

grateful to bear witness:

there is a place on earth

still free from human scourge –

she takes nothing, touches nothing,

she is the alien here.

8. Cuverville Island (Rhymed)

Birds of the Southern Ocean

tottering along the snow,

debonair in black and white,

ignoring those who come, then go,

as if immobile piano keys

walked suddenly upon the ground --

how the music they created

filled her ears with raucous sound.

She had to smile as they passed by,

heading off to swim for food,

intent on doing what they must

to feed the hungry, squawking brood;

ungainly and ill-suited

they appeared upon the land,

but once within the ocean swell

they grew so elegant and grand.

Creatures of both earth and sea

in a place besieged by wind,

they hurried through the summer sun

to feast before the dark set in;

there she stood, an alien,

a stranger from a far off place,

and though the leaving time came soon,

she received their gift of Grace.

9. Paradise Bay (Free) 

First comes the irony –

a place without human beings

labeled a paradise,

no Adam or Eve,

no serpent or apple;

then the hill draws her gaze,

the steep slope,

the mix of stone and snow

overlooking paradise –

and she begins to climb,

eager for a view

of Antarctic Eden.

Reaching the summit,

she gazes down

upon the sunlit bay,

landscape reflected in water,

a mirrored world without blemish,

a beauty almost blinding,

pristine, even sacred,

and knows she cannot stay –

to profane such a place unthinkable.

She descends, leaving paradise

to penguins and to seals,

creatures who belong here,

who would never despoil

what God had wrought.

10. Paradise Bay (Rhymed)  

The sun had never seemed so bright,

the sky had never been so blue,

yet as I sat upon the beach

my gaze kept coming back to you –

how you challenged every hill

as if unbound by gravity,

absorbed the beauty of this land

and gently brought it back to me.

Then hand in hand we walked among

the children of this ice-bound realm,

what frozen seas I dared to cross

with you the captain at the helm,

and how I wish we could have stayed,

the two of us in paradise,

to watch Creation still unfold,

with Eden spread before our eyes.

11. The Ghosts of Station W, Detaille Island (Free)

There are ghosts in the rooms,

keeping watch over log books,

listening to silent radios,

reading in the empty lounge;

fifty years ago they lived here,

among the skuas and the seals,

with curious penguins circling

as men gazed from the windows.

Detaille Island: a lonely outpost,

a small wooden building

preserved by decades of cold,

and so the ghosts remain,

bearing witness to the past,

to one more struggle in a land

never meant for human beings,

but ever so kind to ghosts.

12. The Ghosts Of Station W, Detaille Island (Rhymed)

Skuas soared above the wooden hut,

remnant of so many years ago,

but even in abandonment

the walls stood firm against each blow

from gales that never would abate,

from ice and snow without relent,

all nature seeming to conspire,

eager to expel the foreign scent.

But deep within those wooden walls,

in rooms once home to humankind,

ghosts of the past still wandered free,

invisible to her haunted mind,

although she felt their company

in every room wherein she stood,

what sadness overcame her heart

at knowing their intentions good.

She bid farewell and walked outside

to spend her time with living hosts;

this land was never meant for men --

she hoped it would be kind to ghosts.

13. Stonington Island: Creation (Free)

Stones: a beach coated with pebbles,

making the journey slippery and slow,

but the glacier is near,

a massive cliff of blue ice,

face sharply defined

by the summer sun;

this is the calving time,

and how much she longs

to see this glacier give birth.

Skuas drift overhead,

as if watching her progress,

predator birds, so beautiful

as they swoop in the air,

so deadly when they descend.

She approaches the wall of ice

and waits, camera in hand,

knowing glaciers labour quickly;

almost at once it happens:

crystal blocks fall into the water,

splashing and disintegrating

into drifting bits of sea ice;

she can see the trail left behind

as they leave on their own

for the great Southern Sea,

children born of ice,

now wanderers like her.

14. Stonington Island: Creation (Rhymed)

At the height of summer,

the sun bright in the sky,

she sought out the glacier

on the shoreline nearby;

appearing immobile,

as though fixed on the earth,

she knew time was coming

for it to give birth.

A crack sent the signal,

a sound like no other,

a block of ice tumbled

in front of its mother;

newborn on the sea,

it had no time to waste,

it moved away swiftly

in impetuous haste;

the Southern Sea called

with its cold siren song,

she took baby photos

and quickly moved on.

15. Horseshoe Island (Free)

No horse ever stood here,

but whales come to die,

leaving bleached bones behind

like markers on the shore;

lying near the landing site,

a single seal makes note of her,

looks up into her camera

and resumes its midday nap;

the abandoned base sits quietly –

having known the sound of men,

it has long treasured silence,

and she dare not speak a word;

life and death, ebb and flow,

island of contrasts even in stone --

black and brown, capped in white,

earth and water entwined.

Icebergs float in the bay,

but something alien is also there:

a sailing ship, its crew on land,

explorers like herself perhaps,

but so much braver than she is --

to come in such a fragile craft

to a place of frozen isolation,

to flirt with death amid stark beauty;

she watches them walk upon the rocks,

hears them call to each other,

sees them taking pictures,

pointing at the big ship in the bay,

and she waves at them,

wondering where they will sail next,

and if they will ever return home –

life and death, ebb and flow.

16. Horseshoe Island (Rhymed)

Shaped by forces never seen –

brown and black rock crowned in white –

icebergs wither in the bay,

ebbing in the midday light;

seals and penguins on the beach

animate the ancient scene,

skuas swooping through the sky –

life as it has always been.

Even ships within the bay

governed by the will of man

lay still in adoration

of this ever sacred land,

as if in frozen Eden,

how the pace of Nature slows –

time enough to feel the pulse

of life and death, ebb and flow.

17. The Fish Islands (Free)

Clouds of cormorants and skuas,

penguin rookeries full of life,

and in the ice-filled waters

seals and whales lie in wait;

all gather here in search of food,

plentiful and nourishing,

the gift of Mother Ocean

in all her pristine majesty.

The giant leopard seal, asleep

upon an ice flow near the shore,

seems indifferent to her presence,

the penguins go about their lives

in blissful ignorance of humans

with their gluttony for oil;

just one broken tanker means death –

her sleep brings only nightmares.

18. Fish Islands: The Leopard Seal (Rhymed)

The king of the ice

at ease on his throne,

watching the penguins

on their rocky home,

while soaring above

the skuas patrolled,

those lords of the sky,

so cunning and bold.

The leopard seal smiled

as if quite content,

no predator dared

dispute his ascent;

the king of the ice

he always would be –

too strong to dislodge

from this frozen sea.

19. A Patch of Green: Petermann Island (Free)

She slowly hikes to the bay --

a prison of icebergs too small

to break their way out to the sea --

trying not to disturb penguin chicks

asleep on the cooling snow;

soaring cormorants bear witness

as she crests the frozen hill,

and there, as if anticipating her arrival,

Iceberg Bay glitters in sunshine:

this, she thinks, is beyond description –

a sight meant for panoramic eyes,

stark blue and white, total purity.

Gazing as if in a trance,

mesmerized by dancing sunlight,

she struggles to cast off the spell,

and then starts back to the ship –

but something green appears,

and she bends to take a look:

a small, sheltered patch of grass,

nurtured by the warmth of February

and destined too soon to fade;

more miraculous than icebergs in the bay,

more a testament to Nature’s strength –

grass in a place of  ice, pure tenacity.

20. Tenacity: Petermann Island (Rhymed)

Bright snow enveloped the island

and icebergs floated in the bay,

the penguins moved upon the shore,

ignoring her along the way;

above she heard the cormorants

announce themselves with raucous squawks –

yet another frozen island,

she thought as she began her walk.

But something of a miracle

removed the ennui from her mind,

and showed her that Antarctica

held many treasures still to find;

for, sheltered by a pile of rocks,

a patch of green looked out of place –

she quickly bent to take a look

at grass as delicate as lace.

It clung to life in hostile soil,

doomed to die as Fall descended,

a blooming brave, a blooming brief,

all too soon it would be ended;

but, for the moment, life went on –

tenaciously it sought the light,

the only green she was to see

against the ever-present white.

21. Vernadsky: Ukrainian Antarctic Station, Galindez Island (Free)

An island housing aliens like herself

within a thin-framed wooden building,

of minor interest to passing penguins,

who briefly come, then, bored, leave to fish;

her mind struggles to understand:

human beings choose to live here –

through months of never ending darkness

when no ships come to call,

through months of ever present sun,

when kindred souls arrive unbidden,

but are welcomed with a hospitality

born of the human need to connect;

everywhere she sees their humour:

the palm tree painted on the fuel tank,

the “southern-most souvenir shop,”

where the refrigerator magnet she buys

winks ironically at the climate outdoors,

and the “furthest from home post office,”

Ukrainian stamps available for US dollars.

Strong tea and fresh cookies appear

(a small bar serving those with other needs),

and she laughs along with the men

who monitor the atmosphere each day,

working at cramped computer stations,

far from home, far from loved ones,

all in the name of science.

Part of her wishes she could stay,

experience the dark months,

know the cold of Antarctic winter;

but she knows her ship must sail,

another port of call beckons,

and she shuts down the daydream

to return to her reality –

but she leaves the station smiling.

22. Deception Island (Free)

Beyond the window, nothing:

the world in shades of snow,

while the sea turns angry grey;

on the deck, she seeks shelter,

shields her camera from the swirling mist,

then sees mammoth icebergs rear up,

suddenly, as if by some conjurer.

The ship slowly moves, the captain knows

how deceptive their destination:

a fortress of rock forged by Vulcan,

guarding an ancient caldera;

only one entrance exists,

barely space enough for their vessel;

the island guards its secrets well,

but this ship is a breaker of secrets,

and enters like thread through a needle.

No other vessels within this fortress,

despite the safe haven to be found there,

its waters once filled with ships of death --

the whalers who slaughtered life for oil;

on the shore stand only the tanks

that served them well, that beckoned them

with promises of untold wealth,

empty now, almost invisible in the mist,

abandoned relics built by greed.

Beyond this island humpbacks swim,

singing to each other in the deep,

songs unheard by her human ears,

yet these whales remain fugitives –

pirate whalers still sail these waters,

lawlessly dealing in death and oil,

working in darkness, working in deception.

23. Fields of Ice (Free)

Emerging from Deception

into blinding sunshine,

ahead lay fields of ice,

endless shattered fragments

floating as if in tandem;

small, dark figures totter

upon this moving highway,

penguin ingenuity –

the conservation of energy

in waters unforgiving.

Landing boats are lowered

to merge into the crystal floes,

slowly threading their way

in search of seals at rest

upon the frozen slabs,

sleeping as the road moves on;

she quickly spots her quarry –

a massive brown beast dozing

as her boat creeps closer;

the fur seal, heavy-coated,

raises his head, looks around,

stares into her eyes, so near

she can hear him breathing.

His eyes warn her “no further,”

and he roars as the boat leaves;

she has looked into those eyes,

prays his kind will no more feel

the pain of hooks and clubs –

desecration of a species

in thrall to human vanity.

24. Audience with an Emperor (Free)

Sailing north through the Antarctic Sound,

her agile ship navigates its path

among crowded fields of polar ice,

ever encroaching, ever eager

to surround alien trespassers

in a cold embrace designed to crush;

passengers on deck act as lookouts,

peering in every direction,

till one quickly drifting wedge of ice

heralds the presence of royalty.

An Emperor, travelling alone,

bereft of retinue and pageant,

stands regally as Supreme Ruler

of a realm temporarily claimed;

her fear of the ice promptly forgotten,

she becomes spell-bound, so mesmerized

by this sudden royal audience

that she dismisses a pod of whales

parading in formation nearby

as if they were merely commoners.

With her arsenal of cameras,
she asks just one portrait do justice
to the stately imperial bird,
but too soon this encounter concludes --
the ship and the royal barge move apart,
His Highness now just a small, dark dot;
unseen by her, the Emperor rests,
ponders the fleeting nature of fame,
then enters the waters flowing south,
where his more faithful subjects await.

25. Half Moon Island (Free) 

Last landing: a crescent island,

on its shore a wooden boat,

relic of the century past,

when whalers came to kill;

besides its shattered hull

sleeping seals dream unconcerned

as her ship enters the bay,

even landing craft fail to disturb

their lazy summer slumber.

But Chinstrap penguins notice –

quick, curious, comical –

looking like Royal Guardsmen

crowned by British bearskin hats;

they decide to entertain:

some begin a slow parade,

marching by as she steps aside,

so close, and so unafraid;

others mass into a chorus,

screeching in operatic tones

an aria unknown to her;

many feed their begging young,

mother and father hard at work,

the Time of Dark is coming,

and chicks must be fat and strong.

The final steps in her quest,

the last pictures to be taken --

how she hesitates to leave,

knowing she will not return;

on such a beautiful day,

in such a beautiful place,

part of her soul remains here –

and perhaps that is enough.

26. Back on the Drake Passage (Free)

Lord Neptune perchance is watching,

and, seeing it had done no harm,

grants her ship a gentle passage –

waters once raging, now subdued,

the surface becomes a mirror

reflecting images as bright

as the lands receding behind.

Two days at sea to contemplate,

to reflect on all she had seen,

but words come with reluctance,

inadequate to describe the indescribable,

to mirror the beauty of a place

where human speech does not belong,

and so she turns to photographs,

silent, yet able to be heard

above the chatter of frail words.

Only the camera, and not the pen,

can bear true witness to a land

of riches poorly known to men

whose distant actions foreshadow

a soon to come apocalypse.

She prays there is still time enough,

and still will enough, to preserve

the glories that her eyes have seen;

what she owes to Antarctica

is the sharing of its story --

that far away majestic place,

gift of God’s bountiful creation.

Her voyage is over,

but her mission begins.



27. The Unforgiving Land (Antarctica: January 2013; In Memoriam: Bob Heath, Mike Denton, Perry Andersen))

A continent where Cold is King,
where only the strong can survive,
where human beings are aliens
in constant fear for their lives;
a single mistake and they die,
no second chance to be found,
and death becomes even crueler --
a corpse cannot lie in the ground.

Yet they come on expeditions,
in the name of science to toil
beside the mountains deeply crowned
by glaciers that creep over soil,
to study the penguins and seals,
to analyze the atmosphere,
to gauge the ocean’s rise and fall
and study stars when nights are clear.

But beauty abides within terror:
southern lights that mesmerize,
icebergs pristine as they pass,
majestic forms before our eyes;
and only those who feel its pull
could ever come to understand
why I would wish to end my life
in God’s most unforgiving land.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

PART 2

ARCTIC:  In September 2012, I took the second best trip of my life (Antarctica 2010 being number 1): the Arctic. We explored the Svalbard Islands of Norway, then our ship took us down the east coast of Greenland, finally ending up in Iceland.

I am in the process of writing poems inspired by this adventure, but I will now post a few here. There are more to come, in no particular order for the time being.

1. Leaving

The seductive suitcase,

akin to a lighthouse,

calls me to a harbor

not visited before --

beyond the Arctic line

my pilgrim heart must go,

leave behind my sorrows,

to burden me no more;

to set myself adrift

on a vessel of the North,

a wanderer entranced

by lands misunderstood,

temporary respite

for the vagabond in me,

so eager to escape

until I leave for good.

2. Arctic Quest 

I must depart to find myself,

escaping from the Realm of Here,

expose my soul to distant soil,

drink deep the drafts of foreign air;

to leave familiar things behind

allows me time to see anew,

to revel in the alien,

the far-off land I never knew,

where children of another clime

pass lives so different from my own,

the musk ox and the caribou

who claim this tundra as their home;

to feel the touch of Arctic cold,

to see the sun alive at night,

its power made so manifest

by undulating waves of light.

I have not long to linger there,

for other lands are calling too --

my spirit restless as the clouds

that come and go within my view --

but I must see the polar bear

adrift upon her floating den,

and watch the walrus late at night

avoid the tainted hands of men,

then gaze at Arctic fox at play,

and meet the Innu face to face,

to learn from them the majesty

imbued by God upon this place,

and mourn its passing as I go --

for soon the tundra disappears,

and all mankind will bear the guilt,

except that some shall shed more tears.

3. The Winds of Cape North

I stand by an ocean

as cold as the snow

that pummels the landscape

when brief summer goes,

as winds from the north

descend full of rage,

demanding my presence

depart from their stage.

The screams and the howls

that punish my ears

have been here forever,

forgetful of years,

born of the fury

of nature untamed,

winds never conquered,

their freedom retained.

I stand on the headland,

my face to the north,

at peace with the violence

these gales have brought forth,

secure in the knowledge

that comes on this day:

the winds of the North Cape

will outlast my stay.

4. The Northern Kingdom

The ship lies waiting in the harbor,

resting from the rigors of the north,

with one more voyage still to come

before the sailors change her course;

to traverse the northern kingdom

where once thick ice had ruled the sea,

and wooden ships had met their end

entrapped, unable to get free,

to see the creatures of the cold

before they vanish into night --

with just a camera in my hand

to record their desperate plight.

For generations yet to come

might never know the polar bear --

how it roamed on rafts of moving ice,

an uncrowned king who knew no fear;

but the winds are blowing warmer now,

and human greed has reached no end,

the northern kingdom fades away

like embers with no light to send,

and its death brings condemnation

upon the clan of humankind --

who saw themselves the chosen ones

but left the grace of God behind.

5. Arctic Vision

Endless horizons,

cold earth reaching up

to the distant warmth

of a dark blue sky;

ancient rocks recline,

dormant in the wind

sweeping from the north

with a haunting cry.

And I, standing mute,

silenced by the sound

of lights that dance high

and sing arctic songs,

look up at the stars

in newfound wonder --

perhaps this is where

my lost heart belongs.

6. Northern Lights

The Northern Lights were glowing,

dancing waves against the sky,

never resting long enough

for capture by a camera’s eye,

and so I stood upon the deck,

gazing at the transient show,

its beauty like a welcome chain,

forbidding me to go below;

the icy wind was powerless

to move me from this treasured place --

the majesty of Heaven

fell full upon my pilgrim face,

for on this Arctic evening

a message had been given:

however vast the Universe,

God’s grace was never hidden.


7. Suspension of Time

Arctic midnight:
the sun descends
but refuses to dip
below the horizon;
these northern lands,
so attentive to light,
nurture it like an orchid
too frail in its beauty.
The sky no longer blue,
tones of sepia
stain remaining clouds
as if they grow old;
an eerie calm sets in:
the planet seems fixed,
no longer turning
in the celestial dance.
In this silent interlude,
neither night nor day,
lovers seek sanctuary
from the dagger of time,
that merciless scimitar
ever eager to cut down
the soft bloom of love,
too frail in its beauty.

8. On a Bust of Amundsen at Ny Alesund (Svalbard)

To reach the poles --

vast wastes of ice --

to venture all,

to risk his life;

a race for fame

on coasts unknown,

the frozen lands

were his alone.

The need to explore

his drug of choice,

to reach the goal,

and then rejoice --

let others try,

he would be first,

so great the zeal,

so strong the thirst.

This face of bronze

I gaze upon

will still stand here

when I have gone,

but the ice recedes,

the cold gives way --

his polar lands

have had their day.

9. Encounter at Dusk

The sky took on a cloak of pink

as if preparing for the night,

but sunset never truly came

in those long days of polar light;

I stood on deck to watch the floes

parade in pink as they moved by,

then suddenly a shout arose:

“polar bears on the starboard side.”

A mother lounging with three cubs

upon a floating bed of ice,

still unaware of being watched,

perhaps awaiting sleep tonight,

but soon they saw us drawing near,

arose to gaze right back at us,

then roamed around their frozen bed,

by now proclaimed unsafe at dusk.

As they slipped into the water,

disturbed by strangers from their rest,

I bid farewell and wished them peace,

for I was just a transient guest,

one soon to leave their Arctic Sea,

enriched by all that I had learned,

and fearful that my human world

remained so cruelly unconcerned

that polar worlds were growing warm,

that ice receded year by year,

that we exploited this domain

and gave no heed to polar bears.

10. Sled Dog

A shape in the fjord, emerging out of fog,

warily avoiding rocks and ice --

its murmuring wakes him from sleep,

from dreams of snow and mountains,

of glacial fingers reaching towards the sea,

of ghosts entombed beneath the frost;

his curiosity renders him alert,

urges him to climb higher, to look,

until, at last, he sees familiar forms --

newcomers abandoning a ship,

struggling to reach the shore,

awkwardly moving on only two feet,

lurching, not gliding as he does

over the frozen and rocky terrain.

He howls to attract their attention,

knowing that they will need him --

his strength and endurance vital

for them to survive the deadly cold,

these weak and furless creatures;

running into the wind he greets them,

ears erect in anticipation of adventure,

in the testing of his skill and power,

and, without hesitation, in giving his life

to protect them from angry predators.

And soon the strangers kneel before him,

playfully caressing his snow-coated head,

eagerly embracing his now taut body,

accepting the love within his heart --

even now they could not imagine

the depth of your devotion.

11. Arctic Passage

Soon the Arctic waters revel,

released from winter’s icy grasp,

to flow in springtime’s warmer sun

although the chill within still lasts;

soon flowers bloom upon a land

too long bereft of nature’s grace,

and vessels come to sail once more

but hurry through as in a race.

For despite the kinder breezes,

ice still remains the northern king,

and any sailors moving slow

must face the wrath the Arctic brings;

too soon the floes will seal again

to leave the land in frozen gloom,

reducing meadows of delight

to dark and silent Arctic tombs.

12. Ice Child

First comes the noise:
a cannon in the distance,
the crack of an angry whip,
the groan of giving birth;
then comes the splash:
waves quickly leaping up
as the newborn falls
into a cradle not of earth.

How slowly it drifts away,
its back upon a mother
unable to nurture
her child any longer;
on newfound currents floating
ignorant of its fate –
doomed to diminish,
to never be stronger.

The ice child fades from sight
as more siblings descend,
leaving the land for water,
orphans on the sea,
now moving on in silence
and never to return –
in other lands than these
they will simply cease to be.

13. Northwest Passage: 2012

Franklin’s frozen ships,

ice that held fast,

cold without mercy

on the disappeared;

dreams of passage,

glorious exploration,

heroes and villains,

trade and greed;

songs written,

legends grew --

years of searching,

looking for ghosts.

Now the ice retreats,

the age of exploitation,

the thirst for oil,

for fields of gas;

animals scattered,

forced to go elsewhere,

to their death,

sacrificed to man’s dominion;

new ships designed,

the Northwest Passage calls --

the pristine realm of Innu

lie ready for rape.

14. The Tundra Trilogy

1) Everlasting Tomb

Barren tundra weeps to see

green valleys in their bloom,

with life asserting presence

in overflowing room,

tears absorbed by silent rocks

unable to give birth,

standing guard upon a land

deprived of fertile earth.

Barren tundra turns her face

to hide from living eyes,

no envied pains of labour

can mute her anguished cries,

no seed to bring existence

lies planted in her womb,

the arctic winds announcing

an everlasting tomb.

2) Inukshuk 

Grey earth, grey rocks, grey sky --

no boundaries or signposts,

a land consumed by nothing,

bleak haven for ill-fated ghosts

whose mournful cries grow silent

as northern winds descend –

who can say where life begins

or where existence ends?

To surrender to the sameness

and watch her flesh turn grey –

at peace with earth and rocks and sky,

adrift between both night and day –

but first she left a message

for any who might care:

she placed a stone upon a rock,

a mark to say that she was there.

3) The Cairn 

A thousand days had come and gone,

and still her stone kept watchful eye,

a mast upon the barren rock

in hope that one would soon come by –

perhaps a soul her words had touched,

perhaps a stranger to her tale,

to bend and place another stone

to spite the deathless northern gale.

From out the greyness came a man –

a pilgrim on a loving quest,

who pledged to follow where she led

before his heart would yield to rest,

who saw her stone upon the rock,

and offered his to say goodbye,

then lay beside the cairn they made,

at peace with earth and rocks and sky.


15. The Face in the Glacier

Sailing along the glacier’s face
as the Arctic wind chilled her bones,
she spied an image in the ice
that appeared to be well honed:
a profiled man with gazing eyes,
a prominent nose on display,
carved by the will of the Arctic
over the course of countless days.

But she also perceived the fate
that awaited this semblance of man:
the abrupt disintegration
that would defeat the artist’s hand—
the message written by the North
to all who looked upon this face
said Nature ruled all living things,
and even man could be erased.