Grounded

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the gentoos at Port Luckroy have nested

dated, consumated

gestated

 

4 lasses and a lad cultivate them and the tour boats

visiting the station’s museum and gift shop

where limited edition commemorative

jackets of Scott’s southern grounding

go for u s dollars 375

 

it’s a sought-after posting

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to summer this way

advertised annually by the trust

now tasked to preserve

this secret spy base

circa second world war

 

in the library old copies of

reader’s digest and ice station zebra

make me nostalgic for cosy childhood

(not to mention the bottle of bovril)

 

i remember them later

when i squeeze in an hour

crunching through brash ice

on a kayak

 

Continental Slide

 

 

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it would appear (after all the big talk, slick walk)

that only today do we touch Antarctic proper

 

no islandic rock no more

it is continental shelf we tour

a glacier so frail

with a rumble and a roar

it sheds a slice

as we scale its shoulder

to perch near its eyes

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before we take the tobbogan down

 

at the top i stayed a while

napped in warm snow

atop continental plinth

lapped in fortune’s gift

 

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Super Pod

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just before bedtime, we drive into

killer whales in two pods

from different origins

having met to mate

(two to three dozen in all)

they take a break from copulation

and stay an hour to play

criss-crossing under-bow

belly sometimes up, sometimes down

curious as our squeals are of them

so many their spouts rival wave-caps

 

seeing a super-pod is patently such a rarity

that even our usually unflappable expedition leader, Lisa,

hops from starboard to port muttering “it’s insane”

other journeyers generally less restrained to start

issue an unending stream of excitations

 

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no matter

this night

this sight

is so awesome

one condones

inevitable americanisms

 

And just for good measure ..

RIMG0583what’s a few more penguins among friends?

 

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Make Mine a Mocha Cappuccino

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And when I lay me down to sleep..

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this must be where sea-farers come

to draw their last breath

to sink into death

to rest

to rest

 

 

 

Life and Death Enterprise

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in the ice canyon

where we berth

whalers, oilers once thrived

drunk at the font of enterprise

harvesting fine cetacean fat

supping from the glacial slabs

till fire or foe sank their bones

to frigid stony graveyard

 

humans being one of a few

species that outlive their breeding years

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another being whales

larry wonders if

this be to permit elders

transmit their wise to young

 

the tanker rearing

only bow above water

rutting, rotting rusting body

an undergirdle

for our craft

tells a seerer tale

 

the tern sky-dives for krill

the harpoon for the kill

the skua pries

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the limpet dry

greed repeats

nor do we

stop our eyes

from our feast

 

 

 

 

Crossing

mid-afternoon, we return north-west

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squeezing through narrow Antartic Sound

named not for the Continent

but the first boat that slipped

between the tiny gap

that keeps our footprints

on east weddell secret

a while longer

after taking so many photos

i miss the one just outside my porthole

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three penguins on an ice floe

dash madly

fleeing us

crossing bosphorus

 

 

 

 

 

 

Too Cool for Words

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Ice Walk

jammed into ice

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a ship-stick in the popsicle?

we alight on three-feet fast ice

(hitched to shore, thus safe)

around us thousand-year ice-bergs laze

in blue-tinted purity, unsalted

i could stay forever

but they give us 2 hours

and hot chocolate

to leave the Emperor Penguin

Weddell Sea and its seal as well

alone