Dear Readers,
In honor of National Poetry Month I have decided to deviate from my original planned posts to focus on poetry instead. Over the next several weeks I will be sharing some of my favorite poems and why they have special significance for me. I’m hoping that you will share some of your favorites in the comments and I’ll post them here as well.
In the meantime please check out the National Poetry Month Website which includes a list of 30 things you can do in honor of poetry month. Let me know if you do any of these. Some of my favorite suggestions are:
1.) Sign up for Poem-a-Day (I’ve already done this and it’s great!)
2.)Memorize a poem (good for the brain)
3.)Chalk a poem on the sidewalk (or the street for walkers in your neighborhood)
4.)Celebrate National Poem in Your Pocket Day on April 21,2016 (you’ll have to check out their website to find out how to do it!)
Please join me on this journey and let’s talk poetry!
The Bohemian Freethinker 
Yes times 30! Thanks for sharing these terrific suggestions! I am signed up!
LikeLike
I knew you’d love it Joy!
LikeLike
My favorite poem is “The Man Without a Country.”
Breathes there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself hath said, “this is mine own, my native land”? Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, as home his footsteps he has turned, from wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathes, go, mark him well. For him, no minstrel raptures swell……..etc., etc.
LikeLike
Thanks Linda for sharing. I’d be happy to post it here but could not find the full text online. Who is the author?
LikeLike
Its the 6th canto from a poem by Sir Walter Scott entitled “The lay of the Last Minstrel” A part of it was used in the American book “A man with out a Country”
LikeLike
Thanks so much for posting that John! Better late than never (:
LikeLike
Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto VI,
Sir Walter Scott
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;—
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
LikeLike