December 27

Poetry & Kindness 41.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge. I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. This is the last poem and kindness challenge for the year. Enjoy.

G&G Headstone Detail - Poetry 41

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In Memory Of Anyone Unknown To Me

At this particular time I have no one
Particular person to grieve for, though there must
Be many, many unknown ones going to dust
Slowly, not remembered for what they have done
Or left undone. For these, then, I will grieve
Being impartial, unable to deceive.

How they lived, or died, is quite unknown,
And, by that fact gives my grief purity,
An important person quite apart from me
Or one obscure who drifted down alone.
Both or all I remember, have a place.
For these I never encountered face to face.

Sentiment will creep in. I cast it out
Wishing to give these classical repose,
No epitaph, no poppy and no rose
From me, and certainly no wish to learn about
The way they lived or died. In earth or fire
They are gone. Simply because they were human, I admire.

 Elizabeth Jennings

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 41 Challenge – Do you admire the lights or Christmas decorations of someone’s house? Drop a note in their mailbox saying how much you’ve enjoyed looking at their pretty decorations this season and thank them for sharing the holiday spirit.

Posted by lori . Filed under Poetry & Kindness | No Comments

December 20

Poetry & Kindness 40.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 40

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The Maiden On The Shore

She wandered so young on the shore around,
Her thoughts were by naught on earth now bound.
Soon came there a painter, his art he plied
Above the tide,
In shadow wide, –
He painted the shore and herself beside.

More slowly she wandered near him around,
Her thoughts by a single thing were bound.
And this was his picture wherein he drew
Herself so true,
Herself so true,
Reflected in ocean with heaven’s blue.

All driven and drawn far and wide around
Her thoughts now by everything were bound.
Far over the ocean, – and yet most dear
The shore right here,
The man so near,
Did ever the sunshine so bright appear!

 Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 40 Challenge – Play a board game or card game with someone.

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December 13

Poetry & Kindness 39.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 39

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Counting Sheep

Half-awake I walked
A dimly-seen sweet hawthorn lane
Until sleep came;
I lingered at a gate and talked
A little with a lonely lamb.
He told me of the great still night,
Of calm starlight,
And of the lady moon, who’d stoop
For a kiss sometimes;
Of grass as soft as sleep, of rhymes
The tired flowers sang:
The ageless April tales
Of how, when sheep grew old,
As their faith told,
They went without a pang
To far green fields, where fall
Perpetual streams that call
To deathless nightingales.
And then I saw, hard by,
A shepherd lad with shining eyes,
And round him gathered one by one
Countless sheep, snow-white;
More and more they crowded
With tender cries,
Till all the field was full
Of voices and of coming sheep.
Countless they came, and I
Watched, until deep
As dream-fields lie
I was asleep.

 William Kerr

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 39 Challenge – Do something to support your local community.

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December 6

Poetry & Kindness 38.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 38

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Friend or Foe?

There’s a man I know –
A likeable man –
Whom you meanly wound
Whenever you can,
Remark with malice
His task is done ill,
He’s poor of judgment
And weak of will.
I implore you, now,
As that poor man’s friend,
Let persecution
Have speediest end.

Cease taunting the man
With blunders he makes,
Cease harping alway
On wrongs and mistakes.
Come, be his good friend –
Hail fellow, well met –
His failures forgive,
And his faults forget.
Who is the man you’ve
Discouraged and blamed?
The man is yourself –
Are you not ashamed?

For faults of the past
Make ample amends,
And you and yourself
Be the best of friends.

Jean Blewett

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 38 Challenge – Let someone go ahead of you.

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October 25

Poetry & Kindness 37.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 37

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The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door,
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;, vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”, here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”,
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore,
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;,
‘Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore,
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “other friends have flown before,
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore,
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never, nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee, by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite, respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!, prophet still, if bird or devil!,
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,
On this home by horror haunted, tell me truly, I implore,
Is there, is there balm in Gilead?, tell me, tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil, prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting,
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!, quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted, nevermore!

Edgar Allan Poe

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 37 Challenge – Go meatless one day a week.

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October 18

Poetry & Kindness 36.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 36

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Ghost Stories

When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill,
At twelve o’clock when the night is still,
And pale on the pools, where the creek-frogs croon,
Glimmering gray is the light o’ the moon;
And under the willows, where waters lie,
The torch of the firefly wanders by;
They say that the miller walks here, walks here,
All covered with chaff, with his crooked staff,
And his horrible hobble and hideous laugh;
The old lame miller hung many a year:
When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill,
He walks alone by the rotting mill.

When the bark of the fox comes over the hill,
At twelve o’clock when the night is shrill,
And faint, on the ways where the crickets creep,
The starlight fails and the shadows sleep;
And under the willows, that toss and moan,
The glow-worm kindles its lanthorn lone;
They say that a woman floats dead, floats dead,
In a weedy space that the lilies lace,
A curse in her eyes and a smile on her face,
The miller’s young wife with a gash in her head:
When the bark of the fox comes over the hill,
She floats alone by the rotting mill.

When the howl of the hound comes over the hill,
At twelve o’clock when the night is ill,
And the thunder mutters and forests sob,
And the fox-fire glows like the lamp of a Lob;
And under the willows, that gloom and glance,
The will-o’-the-wisps hold a devils’ dance;
They say that that crime is re-acted again,
And each cranny and chink of the mill doth wink
With the light o’ hell or the lightning’s blink,
And a woman’s shrieks come wild through the rain:
When the howl of the hound comes over the hill,
That murder returns to the rotting mill.

Madison Julius Cawein

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 36 Challenge – Sing in the shower at least one day this week.

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October 11

Poetry & Kindness 35.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 35

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The Autumn

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them,
The summer flowers depart,
Sit still, as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.

How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.

Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!

The dearest hands that clasp our hands,
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come, as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.

Hear not the wind, view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill
In spring, the sky encircled them,
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe, come winter’s cold,
Come change, and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 35 Challenge – Give someone an old-fashioned treat. Some ideas…a corsage, lemon or horehound drops, a handkerchief, a malted milk or maybe Cracker Jack.

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October 4

Poetry & Kindness 34.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 34

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The Forest Of Dreams

I.

Where was I last Friday night?
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following the blur of a goblin-light,
That led me over ugly streams,
Whereon the scum of the spawn was spread,
And the blistered slime, in stagnant seams;
Where the weed and the moss swam black and dead,
Like a drowned girl’s hair in the ropy ooze:
And the jack-o’-lantern light that led,
Flickered the fox-fire trees o’erhead,
And the owl-like things at airy cruise.

II.

Where was I last Friday night?
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following a form of shadowy white
With my own wild face it seems.
Did a raven’s wing just flap my hair?
Or a web-winged bat brush by my face?
Or the hand of something I did not dare
Look round to see in that obscene place?
Where the boughs, with leaves a-devil’s-dance,
And the thorn-tree bush, where the wind made moan,
Had more than a strange significance
Of life and of evil not their own.

III.

Where was I last Friday night?
Within the forest of dark dreams
Seeing the mists rise left and right,
Like the leathery fog that heaves and steams
From the rolling horror of Hell’s red streams.
While the wind, that tossed in the tattered tree,
And danced alone with the last mad leaf …
Or was it the wind?… kept whispering me
“Now bury it here with its own black grief,
And its eyes of fire you can not brave!”
And in the darkness I seemed to see
My own self digging my soul a grave.

Madison Julius Cawein

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 34 Challenge – Purchase a get well card and put a stamp on the envelope. Next time you hear someone is ill, send it off to them.

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September 27

Poetry & Kindness 33.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 33

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He Prayeth Best Who Loveth Best

“He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.”

Louisa May Alcott

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 33 Challenge – Write a letter to an actor, musician, writer or artist whose work has touched your life.

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September 20

Poetry & Kindness 32.0

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Every Friday, I share a poem. Friday is also the day I post a prompt of something you can do to make the world a kinder place. I call this the Kind is Kool challenge.

I offer both the poem and the kindness challenge without any obligation, so “Comments” are turned off every Friday. Enjoy.

Poetry 32

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The murmur of a bee
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
If any ask me why,
‘T were easier to die
Than tell.

The red upon the hill
Taketh away my will;
If anybody sneer,
Take care, for God is here,
That’s all.

The breaking of the day
Addeth to my degree;
If any ask me how,
Artist, who drew me so,
Must tell!

Emily Dickinson

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Kind is Kool Challenge

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Week 32 Challenge – This week, speak well of everyone behind their backs or don’t speak of them at all.

Posted by lori . Filed under Poetry & Kindness | No Comments