Cool Stuff, poems

The Cremation of Sam McGee

The Cremation of Sam McGee

BY ROBERT W. SERVICE
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
      By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
      That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
      But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
      I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursèd cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ’tain’t being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”; … then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
      By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
      That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
      But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
      I cremated Sam McGee.
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Murdered Dogs: Among the Consequences of False Reports to the Police

Falsely Accused

surveillance-video On July 30, Kansas City’s finest invaded Brandee Buschmann’s property unannounced and fatally shot her dog, Sierra, while Sierra tried to reach the safety of her house. According to Ms. Buschmann, the report that “authorized” the trespass (at close to midnight) was false. One minute she was watching TV in the security of her living room; the next, cradling her dying companion.

I signed a petition recently in support of Brandee Buschmann, a 43-year-old mother of two, whose dog, Sierra, was shot by the Kansas City police when she ran out to see who was in her yard at 11:30 at night. When Sierra was fired upon, she tried to run back inside to the safety of her family and was gunned down. Ms. Buschmann had shrieked, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” One of the officers sarcastically answered, “Too late.” Then they asked if she…

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Glenn Palmer, Oregon Sheriff, Oath Keeper or Traitor?

The following is an excerpt from this story:  http://m.ktvz.com/news/grant-county-sheriff-says-he-was-not-told-of-fbis-plans/37697912

 

“Earlier, Finicum said members of the Grant County community were interested in Bundy’s message.

A conversation between Palmer and a resident has been shared several times on Facebook.

In the exchange, someone asked Palmer if he had been told earlier about the traffic stop.

Palmer responded he had no knowledge of anything about the plans or who was coming to the public meeting.

He went on to say that the “FBI and Oregon State Police know me, they shared nothing with me and they know I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

He said the federal government went in so they could stop the Bundy militia from getting any traction and momentum from surrounding counties.”

 

Below is an excerpt from a second article:  http://dailyheadlines.net/2016/01/patriotlivesmatter-betrayal-behind-oregon-shooting/#

“Grant county Sheriff Sheriff Glenn Palmer, left, is one of the officers where Highway 395 iss blocked at Seneca between John Day and Burns by Oregon State police officers the evening of Tuesday, January 26, 2016. Dave Killen / staff

Here are two photos from the second article and I have added a photo of Glenn Palmer from Google images.

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Is this Glenn Palmer or someone who looks like him?  Is he an Oath Keeper or a murdering traitor?

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Gone Missing — What Happened To Them?

That’s an excellent article!

sandrabishop

Gone Missing

What happened to them?

June 7, 2015
Sandra Bishop

Every day all across the United States children and teenagers disappear. It is not often that adults suddenly disappear, especially professional adults. When a cluster of adults start to disappear in a short period of time it raises alarms. We have listed in our databases of missing people only a handful of adults that mysteriously disappear per year. Since May 24 Th until June 3rd we have had five adults all suddenly disappear when people were waiting for them. They disappeared in mostly public places with crowds of people around them. What happened to them? Three were found alive but a mystery surrounds where they were and why they could not contact their families. Two were found dead and the cause of death is suspicious or not being disclosed.
On May 24th Grace Martinez, a 20 year old…

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TIME

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From this ploughed field the young sweet corn shall spring,
These frozen clods yield to the tender seed,
And pulsing Earth with all her myriad gifts
From winter’s paralyzing grip be freed.

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This rotting mold shall bring forth loveliness,
These leafless branches bloom in bridal white,
And where the moon now gleams on frost and snow
The briar rose shall scent the summer night.

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Then down these somber walks where you have kept
Your aching trysts with bitterness and pain
New joys shall spring and all old sorrows yield
Before the healing tide of time again.

~Author unknown

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