In Flanders Fields
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.

McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields” remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. Canadian physician Major John McCrae was inspired to write it on May 3, 1915, after presiding over the funeral of former student, friend, and fellow soldier Alexis Helmer, who died in the Second Battle of Ypres. According to legend, McCrae discarded the poem in a nearby trash can because he was not satisfied with it. A fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but the London-based magazine Punch published “In Flanders Fields” on December 8, 1915.

McCrae was moved to the medical corps and stationed in Boulogne, France, in June 1915 where he was promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel, and placed in charge of medicine at the Number 3 Canadian General Hospital. He was promoted to the acting rank of Colonel on January 13, 1918, and named Consulting Physician to the British Armies in France. The years of war had worn McCrae down, however. He contracted pneumonia that same day, and later came down with cerebral meningitis. On January 28, 1918, he died at the military hospital in Wimereux and was buried there with full military honors.

I chose this poem today because around the world, today is celebrated as Armistice Day or Remembrance Day and in the United States as Veterans Day. World War I – known at the time as “The Great War” – officially ended when the Treaty of Versailles was signed on June 28, 1919, five years after the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria which had begun the war. The Treaty was signed in the Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles outside the town of Versailles, France. However, fighting ceased seven months earlier when an armistice, or temporary cessation of hostilities, between the Allied nations and Germany went into effect on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. For that reason, November 11, 1918, is generally regarded as the end of “the war to end all wars.”

In November 1919, President Wilson proclaimed November 11 as the first commemoration of Armistice Day with the following words: “To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations…”. The original concept for the celebration was for a day observed with parades and public meetings and a brief suspension of business beginning at 11:00 a.m.

A Congressional Act approved May 13, 1938, officially made the 11th of November in each year a legal holiday—a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as “Armistice Day.” Armistice Day was primarily a day set aside to honor veterans of World War I, but in 1954, after World War II had required the greatest mobilization of soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen in the Nation’s history; after American forces had fought aggression in Korea, the 83rd Congress, at the urging of the veterans service organizations, amended the Act of 1938 by striking out the word “Armistice” and inserting in its place the word “Veterans.” With the approval of this legislation on June 1, 1954, November 11th became a day to honor American veterans of all wars.

Though there has been a few attempts to move the holiday to a Monday or to celebrate it at other times, Veterans Day continues to be observed on November 11, regardless of what day of the week on which it falls. The restoration of the observance of Veterans Day to November 11 not only preserves the historical significance of the date, but helps focus attention on the important purpose of Veterans Day: A celebration to honor America’s veterans for their patriotism, love of country, and willingness to serve and sacrifice for the common good.

Note:
The photograph above is from Kristine Potter’s series of black and white photographs, The Grey Line, a collection of portraits made at The United States Military Academy at West Point. I loved the mist in this picture. To me, it was a perfect symbol for a Veterans Day commemoration.

Four Winds
By Sara Teasdale

“Four winds blowing thro’ the sky,
You have seen poor maidens die,
Tell me then what I shall do
That my lover may be true.”
Said the wind from out the south,
“Lay no kiss upon his mouth,”
And the wind from out the west,
“Wound the heart within his breast,”
And the wind from out the east,
“Send him empty from the feast,”
And the wind from out the north,
“In the tempest thrust him forth,
When thou art more cruel than he,
Then will Love be kind to thee.”

Haunted Houses
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 – 1882

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star
An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,—

So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, one of the “Fireside Poets,” wrote lyrical poems about history, mythology, and legend that were popular and widely translated, making him the most famous American of his day.

I’ve always loved a good ghost story. Do you think ghost stories are silly or interesting? Do you have a favorite? Do you believe in ghosts?

I find ghost stories fascinating, and I do have a few favorites. And, I do believe in ghosts. I think some souls just have a hard time moving on in the afterlife.

From Henry V
By William Shakespeare

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’

Yesterday I wrote about the Equal Rights Amendment and how I believe we should have a new ERA that includes LGBT equality. The ERA was introduced into every Congress from 1923 until it was passed in 1972. It was a long fought battle, which was never won. Once it had passed through Congress, there were fifty battles to be fought and a minimum of thirty-eight had to be won. Those fighting the good fight, lost three battles too many. Once more into the breach we should go and fight the good fight again, but this time we should make sure that all men and women are equal.

Amendment
By Christina Davis

The love of each of us
for some of us,

of some of us

for all of us—

and what would come if it were
welcome, if learning were
to prepare “a self with which to

welcome”

the in-

admissible, stranger

whose very being gives
evidence of
a discrepancy. School of our just

beginning to think
about this, I believe
the seats will be peopled.

About This Poem

“The idea that emerged through the poem was that each generation enlarges what we as a people are capable of receiving, that the amendments to the Constitution recognize an increase in what we constitute. Though each generation confronts a new concept of what is strange, the task remains the same: when I look back on the progress of America (and other nations and peoples) it takes the form of this incremental admission, and when I consider future progress it is likewise this reception of the heretofore strange.

The original version of the poem had the word ‘education,’ but I changed it to ‘learning’ because learning is continuous throughout our lifetime and I did not want to limit this progress to the young.

I’d also been thinking of poetry itself, both the struggle of poems to integrate and include and also the way in which poetry is often called ‘inaccessible.’ Whereas I would suggest that the limitation has to do with its reception: it is treated as the ‘inadmissible,’ not what won’t let us in, but what we refuse to allow too near. Imagine what would come if it were welcome?”
—Christina Davis

Christina Davis is the author of An Ethic (Nightboat Books, 2013). She is the Curator of the Woodberry Poetry Room at Harvard University and lives in Cambridge

Paw Prints On My Heart

You came into my life one day,
So beautiful and smart,
My dear and sweet companion,
I loved you from the start.

And though I knew the time would come,
When we would have to part,
You’ll never be forgotten,
You left paw prints on my heart.

HRH did truly leave paw prints on my heart. From the time she was a kitten until her final days, she would lay, not in my lap, but lengthwise across my stomach and chest with her paws over my heart. We spent many an hour like this or with her laying under the crook of my arm, her paws on my chest and her head nuzzled to my chin. When I was sad or sick she’d come to comfort me. When a storm would hit she would run to me for comfort, but always act as if she wasn’t scared.

As most cats do, she refuse to show fear or embarrassment. I remember her once falling off the bed, actually between the headboard and mattress. I tried to catch her but couldn’t move fast enough. I worried she’d hurt herself, and I looked under the bed. When I looked up she was in the doorway to my bedroom acting as if she’d been there the whole time. Even in her final days, when I know she was scared and in pain, she refused to show it. Only when she was sedated and in such agony did she let her guard down and it broke my heart further.

The poem above and below are both anonymous. I’m not sure I’ve ever posted an anonymous poem before on my Poetry Tuesdays. So this is a first. I just felt they were so beautiful and touching. I couldn’t resist.

Beyond the Rainbow Bridge

As much as I loved the life we had and all the times we played,
I was so very tired and knew my time on earth would fade.
I saw a wondrous image then of a place that’s trouble-free
Where all of us can meet again to spend eternity.

I saw the most beautiful Rainbow, and on the other side
Were meadows rich and beautiful–lush and green and wide!
And running through the meadows as far as the eye could see
Were animals of every sort as healthy as could be!
My own tired, failing body was fresh and healed and new
And I wanted to go run with them, but I had something left to do.

I needed to reach out to you, to tell you I’m alright
That this place is truly wonderful, then a bright Glow pierced the night.
‘Twas the Glow of many Candles shining bright and strong and bold
And I knew then that it held your love in its brilliant shades of gold.

For although we may not be together in the way we used to be,
We are still connected by a cord no eye can see.
So whenever you need to find me, we’re never far apart
If you look beyond the Rainbow and listen with your heart.

The story goes that just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals like HRH, who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. Her bright eyes will be intent. Her eager body will quivers. Suddenly she will happily run from the group (she never liked other animals anyway), she will fly over the green grass, her legs carrying her faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together…. I know I will see my beloved Victoria and Calico again someday. I’m sure there will be other special animals in my life as well. Most likely said animals will be cats. Calico was my first real pet, but she was as much a family pet as mine. Victoria, however, was a vat I picked out and took her home. She was loyal to me and I to her above all others.

I promise this will be my last post about HRH. I know it is sad, and I am dealing with the grief which is hitting me hard. I don’t want this blog to be a downer, so I will move on to happier topics. Thanks again for all of your love and support.

Shame: A Poem
By Maggie Yaddof

Yes there was a time
A time before the pain
And yes it was a good time
That time before the pain

Yes it was simple
Yes it was full of peace
Yes it was worriless
Yes we lived with ease

Well, that time isn’t coming back
We will never be the same
Relax though —— it’s okay
Let go of your shame

This is not your fault
You are not to blame
This cannot be prevented
So let go of your shame

Just try it I dare you
Live in the now
Not tomorrow, not yesterday
Come on, you know how

Don’t dwell on the past
And what life could have been
Quit mourning for that loss
Don’t let the “what-ifs” win

Stop fretting about tomorrow
And what it will be like
You’re making your own misery
So step into the light.

Look at where you are
See the brightened sky
Look-over, look around
We are all on your side.

We know that you are strong
We see your beauty, see your smile
And we will battle next to you
Mile, by mile, by mile.

You are a silent warrior
You will never be the same
As a person you are now better
So let go of your shame.

I had a very bad scare yesterday. I woke up and couldn’t find HRH. I had to leave for work, so I hoped and prayed all day that she was just being lazy and had overslept that morning. Sometimes she doesn’t get up, but just looks at me and goes back to sleep. I hoped she was just somewhere I couldn’t see. I worried all day, and by 2pm I had a massive headache. I left school an hour early and headed home to find HRH.

I searched the house to no avail. She’s been known to sneak out the door sometimes if it’s left open too long, and I feared that she might have been out since the night before or even that morning. HRH is an indoor cat and in the years she lived with my parents while I was in graduate school they’d had her declawed. Her voice and her bite are her only defense these days. Her voice is by far her best defense. She can let loose a blood curdling yeow that have caused dogs to run in fear. In fact last time she was out, two dogs cornered her. When she was finished with them, they’ve never stepped foot in our yard again. Still I feared for her safety if she’d been out.

I was right to be afraid. When I checked outside, I found her hidden next to the front porch. She was tired and dehydrated. Alabama this time of year is no place to survive the heat outside. I took her in to get water. That’s when I noticed that she couldn’t stand on her back legs. As soon I she stopped drinking water, I rushed her to the vet, fearing a trauma I could not see. There were no signs of anything having hurt her other than she couldn’t stand on her back legs.

I finally was able to see the vet and they sedated her and did some x-rays. My sweet HRH has arthritis in her lower back. Osteoarthritis, also called degenerative arthritis or degenerative joint disease, is the most common form of arthritis in cats. Still, it is less common in cats than it is in dogs and usually produces milder symptoms. However, it is most often seen in Abyssinians, Himalayans, Siamese, and Persians. HRH’s father was a Himalayan and her mother a gray tabby. Usually with mixed breeds, the genes for pedigree cats are suppressed, but HRH has always shown the signs of a Siamese (Himalayans are a Siamese-Persian mix). In a cat with degenerative joint disease, the cartilage covering the articulating surface of a joint wears out and the underlying bone develops a roughened surface that damages the joint. Most of HRH’s damage appears to be in her spine which caused her problems with her home legs.

The vet gave her a steroid shot and some fluids. I will have to give her steroids twice a day for five days and then once a day for another five days. If there is not improvement, I will have to take she back on Friday, otherwise she will go back to the vet in ten days. Please pray with me that she improves. Next week, HRH will turn 16. She’s been my loyal and loving companion since she was a kitten. I love her dearly and I don’t know what I’d do without her. I know there is no cure and a day will come when the arthritis overtakes her, but for now, the vet seems to believe the steroids will give her strength.

The poem “Shame” by Maggie Yaddof was written by a young girl who suffers from juvenile arthritis. It was originally published in Arthritis Today.