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So We'll No More Go A Fishing (or Roving)

So we'll no more go a fishing
only father proud son
quiet strength of huddled waiting
sharing enough reason.

Through the needs of strength and caring
ribbed rose catch gasp in ice ballet
to cease our bellies yearning
as reindeer jump in relays.

And walrus hide and ivory sled sob
when ice flow thins to rupture
when leviathan moves near under
and unknowing our small lives rob.

And thrown lance unfolds whale fat pearls
then smeared on faces deep bond and cold home
and whale bone pots of oil roam
when women join in death’s twirl.

We'll no more go a ice hole fishing
dressed in bear fur hide
behind laughing huskies racing
as pup seals glide on neap tide.

For the Autumn ice flow thickens
And a boys eyes worship dad less
And clotted venous warmth still quickens
And migratory birds dream of the South’s nests.

And ice saw teeth break and blunt
on the dirt and dead flesh frozen.
And on the youthful promises broken
the Northern winter’s sun sunk.

We'll no more go a ice hole fishing
only father proud son.
Laughing others go ice skating
ashamed now I was one.
And polar warming kills traditions
as my father’s fading vision.

(This poem relates to Inuit traditonal whaling and fishing. The author does not sapport modern industrial whaling.)

poem by Philip Housiaux
Added by Poetry Lover
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