Arktos

                           I.

The Lord of Ice and Snow is going to die

And for our part we must know why.

For the thawing of Nanook’s ice bound caves

means the melting of man by sun born waves.

            Dripping eyes cry over unfrozen graves.*

 

                           II.

Arktos is winter!  The King of our seasons,

And his southern march each fall gives the reasons

That green trees shed leaves in mock sickness,

Or creatures whiten and hide from his stress.

            Shivers lessens the bite of the cold.

 

His breath is the arctic wind that freezes rain.

His claws are frost that binds the ocean terrain.

Winter’s darkness creeps from his black hide,

And the whiteness of day seeps from the fur on his side.

            A chill is pain blanketing warmth inside.

 

His large paws pad down like snowdrifts on a trail.

His growl sets the auroras adrift like an Inuit tale.

Over the pack ice he crosses and we know he’s coming

To hunt us each winter with a chill that is stunning.

            Pursuit provides subsistence to the cunning.

 

                                  III.

Freeze the waters, trees, and soils he certainly can.

Thus his influence commands the respect of man

who learns from this bear some lessons of life;

taught each winter in his school of seasonal strife.

                        Knowledge of snow keeps us safe.

 

The teachings of this seemingly cruel headmaster

Educate and insulate us from true disaster.

The way snow buried ptarmigan are kept apart

From storms that would seize the blood in a heart.

            Cold lessons give the strength for a start.

 

                              IV.

The industrious fires of men may well induce

The irony of our survival upon his elimination.

From his situation we might deduce

Clues that warm us up to our own extinction.

                        Fires invite a new visitation .

 

Northlanders repent the heinous hot day

That sears the ice bear from our bipolar way

Of one season hot and one season cold

With overtures preceding each solstitial fold.

                            Ice parts and all is tolled.

 

When the druids of ice-henge melt into the sea,

And the compassions of winter cease to be,

His tortures will pale under the hot glare

Of his blood boiling cousin, the dis-temperate sunbear.

                            A dying plea for us to beware.

 

*(Inuit translation or reading preferred as a spiritual overtone)