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Dock Flat
by Leonard M HawkesIt hurts to see
The north eroded--
Misuse-abuse
Of a local treasure,
That tangible, usable edge
Of mountain wilderness,
Scene of so much memory,
Trailhead to higher beauty--
"Best hunting up and beyond,"
Where you camped
When you couldn't go further--
Last camp of the season:
Like "Hindburg Day,"
November of 1968,
With Mantua submerged
In an icy slush;
Thus, ten adolescents
In a five-man-tent--
Warmth by closeness,
Dryness only possible
By the absorbency of
So many sleeping bags,
Its pleasantness encased
In the social magic
Of misery in company.
Or those early Mays
When the road above
Was still under icy drifts,
The flats themselves gardens
Of wild hyacinth, dogtooth violet,
And afterward
The illusive zigadinas;
All first to grow and first to go--
Now in reality gone--
Ground to erosive dust and gravel
'Neath the earth-chomping round feet
Of the man-boy toys--
I hate them.
Keggers too are a part
Of the lure and lore,
And lonely drunks, and strangers;
Illicit sex always on every edge;
And summer picnics,
Quick get-aways,
And those who even indulged it
As, "Our traditional week . . . ."
Yet, mule's ear dock,
I never saw much,
Sagebrush, good grass
And even shade
Up against the hill,
The little spring--drinkable
In my early youth;
And before my time,
The site of the stray pens.
Mountains meant different then--
Livelihood was an urgency,
Resources were to be used:
Local families had at least
Time honored entitlements:
Woodlot, grass, deer,
Sage hens, all for a shared "us."
Only water use was justifiable
Ground for real contention,
"Mantua should have . . . long ago."
And with improvement--
The road changed;
Restriction encroached
Like the culverts, and always,
Always, the More.
Now, we will have a gate.
And what is Ours won't
Be ours anymore.
Time knows so little
Honor in Washington.
Bureaucracy knows no treasure
But its own.
The inward ethic of self-management,
Generationally lost,
Now given over to outward law,
Enforcement, and
"Resource management:"
The tangibly administered edge
Of a federally protected
Mountain playground.
01/10/2010 Author's Note: Somewhat random thoughts on "south of Mantua," Utah (begun in Church).
Posted on 01/11/2010
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 01/11/10 at 05:40 PM Great thoughts turn to great poetry from where I sit Leonard. It seems as we age our thoughs turn to how things seem to have changed for the worse and I suppose the before us saw what we were doing as a failure in some way or another also.
We all have our dreams of what is best for the mountains/nature. Savor what you can as long as you can and take care of yourself. |
| Posted by Michael Smith on 01/12/10 at 05:36 AM Random thoughts? Well, you're blessed to be randomly poetic, Leonard. This is poem is tremendous.
This piece comes across as quite polished. It flows very well. It is so rich with dichotomy, so full of sincerity -- your disappointment so easily felt. It is truly evocative.
It is meant to be shared, and needs to be shared. Thank you for sharing it with us.
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| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 01/12/10 at 04:34 PM ...Leonard, don't seem random to me ... 'a perspective shared of one who's seen the north eroded...' and it picks-up there and like a coal train chugging around that mountain of which you refer...chug, chug as mankind and our Big Brain disease slowly slides down the other side, we become detritus, our forefathers' values being in a pile...leonard, great and scary write about what's not right, eh? |
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