“Nods to Season’s End”


“Nods to Season’s End”

Nods to season’s end in sight and something’s changed; he has
Fond remembrance in his veins and what remains of velvet skin,
Elastic reach, and exultation ever on the rebound, that once mighty fin
Bent perhaps to one side at times with the tides. Of course, he’ll come in last
Again, with no more north to his days, why wouldn’t his dorsal sag–
One of many signals. What was wont to win against the odds
In all his winds; savage waves have always been his simple treasures. The pods
Have someday left, or has he merely turned left? He leans retrograde and lags
 Finding pleasures in arenas, nearby bays, or just beyond the nets
Where all lessers still pay for what gains they find. Yes, his presence draws
But he cannot make a living this way. There comes that sundry sudden pause
Too many, and he’s trapped within an unforgiving inlet,
Or soon will be. He’ll not heed the signs, he cannot feel the warming;
Friends and family call to him but he can not hear the warning.
Above his seas are joys, the residue of being; happiness in the lark
And beaver, minions in the termite mound and anthill,
Cartographers of great cats and so much prey in the cathedrals
Of the grasslands and savannahs. What, then? If within this arc
By consummation is meant the nadir or the zenith of the flesh,
These accolades surely were and are the goal
Within the womb where division furthers nothing in the soul
Save loose-formed armour sewn to suit the coming dawns and dusks. The mesh
And weapons of the mighty tusk or needlework of poets for the faint of heart
Bring peace, but bliss? No, by God! No lasting joy accrues without the proceeds,
No finer path but what leads to families and winters left behind, and what meagre
Lights for journey become moot where there is no luminary. These lands depart
From substance and ephemeral change—the placeless placed—is never traced
And all that isn’t’s put to simple use from atavistic memory or puerile waste.


…wood sculpture at top by Cody Mathias, photograph at bottom by John Hyde…

4 responses to ““Nods to Season’s End”

  1. I sit reading in wonder, my laptop on my lap, {new one, Windows 8 …and still finding things to help me surf this Nett full of ‘stuff’} What a joy to read, Seasons End can be a bitter end indeed. … xPenx

  2. I have been so overwhelmed by access to technology that frees me to find music that I once thought was to die for and that in many, many years past I spend hours scouring music stores to find…or afford…or both. Photography, movies, every little thing I could ever have dreamed of is so much mine these days and with little effort to locate and capture that I began to wonder if I wasn’t evidently and obviously at the end of my life since, from the standpoint of locating these things and having them at my fingertips took up so much of my time in earlier years. In short, what I am getting at is that if I compare the present to the past from the point of reference of beauty and its acquisition, I’ve already hit Nirvana and wonder now what, if anything is missing. Congratulations on your laptop; yes, there is so much of the world merely given to us through these media that anyone who says they are bored must be completely out to lunch.

    I cannot wait, however, for spring, and the freedom to walk around the block without the coats and scarves and outrageously frigid winds. For the first time in my life, last winter, I found myself shivering most of the time, and this winter is worse than the last. Before, I never wore a hat and gloves, but now it’s impossible to do without them. It’s age, of course, and…the fact that I’m never really bored, and so the thought of leaving my apartment and “going out” seems more like a nonsense and an interruption to what I have going on in my own home. It plays hell on the legs without forcing some kind of exercise.

    Again, congrats on your new machine, and you are absolutely right on in your comment on the wonder of it all.

  3. I think we now have everything at our fingertips and it amazes me how technology, in such a short space of time, has sprung forward in leaps and bounds. When once I used to walk My Girl, I now sit and tap away, controlling this and that, moving this and that and wondering is this and that even need my help at all… Hours pass by and I wonder if one day we will all become attached by cords to this ‘Nett’ of information… as in ‘think and thee shall find’… Shivers!! xPenx

    • Yes! Frankly, it is slightly frightening to think how easy everything is to find, capture, and consume on the Internet. It seems to me that one of the primary differences between the experience of life now and only twenty years ago is that it appears that almost anyone I know is literally addicted to the machine and more often than not will pass up the opportunity to see anyone face to face for the almost ubiquitous anonymous comfort of email or e-messages of one sort or another. Like having a car, it gives just about anyone I know the advantage of the illusion that they can accomplish seventeen things in any given day with ease and comfort compared to the laborious methods of achievements in the past. [I don’t remember the last time I stood in line to cash a cheque or make some kind of transaction at the back with a teller.] The illusion at times is quasi-valid insofar as those certain joys of accomplishment included the human interaction with real souls, real people, and while I get more done, it’s true, still, after a list of “Things To Do” is quite finished, I have actually spoke to no one, and miss those little opportunities to uplift others in their daily lives or be uplifted in the process. At some point, yes! I got everything done…alone.

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