  Poetry
This week: John McCrae Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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Mine Host
by John McCrae
There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say,
"How have ye fared?" They answer him, the most,
"This lodging place is other than we sought;
We had intended farther, but the gloom
Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
Yet will we lodge. Thou hast abundant room."
Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
No voice of fellowship or strife is heard
But silence of a multitude of dead.
"Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!"
And to his chamber leads each tired guest.
The Harvest Of The Sea
by John McCrae
The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear
The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep.
John McCrae was born November 30, 1872 in Guelph, Ontario. He attended the Guelph Collegiate and Vocational Institute. After he finished his studies there he went onto the University of Toronto. There he studied for his Bachelors in Art and joined the militia, the Queen's Own Rifles. During this time McCrae published his first poems.
McCrae had to take a year off from college while he was serving but returned as soon as he could. McCrae moved up the ranks quickly and was appointed Captain and in charge of his own command all while still in school. He later studied medicine on a scholarship. He tutored to pay the rest of his tuition, two of the women he tutored became were among the first women physicians in Ontario.
During the Boer War McCrae served in the Canadian artillery, and upon his return in 1902, McCrae was appointed a professorship at the University of Vermont, he taught there until 1911. When World War I broke out, McCrae was once again called to serve as a field surgeon in the Canadian artillery. This put him in charge of the field hospital for the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915. McCrae's close friend Alex Helmer was killed during this battle and it is said his burial inspired McCrae's poem "In Flanders Fields," which was published later that year in Punch magazine.
While still in command of the Canadian hospital McCrae came down with phenomena he died On January 28, 1918. He was buried with full military honors in Wimereux Cemetery. "Bonfire," McCrae's horse, led the funeral procession.
In Flanders Field
by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
Forever
Harvesting their love
In a garden of vows
Wedding bells
Chime against the wind
Together they stand
Hand in hand
Golden leaves falling down
The momentous kiss
Oblivious to the winter frost
Honorable mention:
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Poetry: August 31, 2011 Issue [#4583]
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