The Fram

A loud crackling of moving ice.
A bitterly cold wind!
What creaking sounds the ‘Fram’ made!
As ice encrust him.

“Abandon ship” the captains call.
As patience grows thin.
Already short on food.
We’ve eaten four sled dogs.

We numbered roughly a dozen.
Vikings in our veins.
Prepared our sleds, packed our gear.
We were now on the ice.

There were mice aboard the ‘Fram’,
I knew from their droppings.
Next to the flour bags,
Into which they’d chewed ragged little holes.


What will they do now?
Shall the icy grave of this ship,
Also become their tomb?
Or does nature, mice, equip for ice?

“Gather for a picture!”
I yelled as loud as I could.
Which I this wind,
Mounted to very little.

Still a few of the guys heard.
And alerted the rest.
I made my way down wind.
Affixed my tripod to the ice.

I laughed beneath the hood.
As I brought my lens to focus.
If this fate continues…well!
Man powered sleds?




Nansen assumes a confident stance.
Staring ahead as though the pole,
Is just beyond… who knows where!
The dogs could care less

But deep inside I know.
His thoughts sung a different tune.
For he knows all too well what lies,
Just beyond… our slow agonizing deaths!

I curse the day I was conceived.
That brought me to this world.
Spirit of exploration I’ve always had.
Yet, this! This elusive dream.

This yearning to make history.
To conquer the elements.
Subdue them even.
This North Pole… shall be our tomb!




History has always been.
The domain of the brave.
We shalt no matter how.
Though I’m plagued with questions.
There is nothing to say now.

For our escape is in all but possible.
What to say? I’m stuck to this fate.
Though I’d rather not!