The Journal

It sat upon his bedside table, closed,
And waiting to keep record of each day:
The silent pages still and unexposed,
A diary to come, his dossier.

He saw it every evening as he bent
To turn the lamp off, then to lie at rest,
Remembering her face, the one who’d sent
That book for musings, each still unexpressed.

He thought of how she’d looked that day, her plea,
Her face so drawn and weary from their fight . . .
“Why can’t you just communicate with me?
Please . . . won’t you open up to me tonight?”

But, he had stood, unmoved and silent there,
Unable to convey to her his heart,
And she had walked away, still unaware
How difficult it was for him to start.

The journal came after a week, not wrapped–
Her writing on the note had merely said,
“Just write them down, those words that still are trapped,
Release those noisy voices in your head.”

And so he cracked its cover late one night,
And, pen to paper, let the thoughts escape:
His hopes, his fears, his love, in black and white,
The formlessness of soul now taking shape.

A year had passed, and, then, one rainy night
He met her on the doorstep of her home,
And handed her the book, eyes shining bright–
Then disappeared into the evening’s gloam.

Today, that journal sits beside their bed,
A testament to discourse of the heart,
The quiet man whose thoughts she now has read,
Who found communication’s counterpart.


A Little Man with Power . . .

Tyrant ruler, do you figger
That you look a little bigger
With your finger on the trigger–
Cutting souls down in their prime?

Bureaucrat with new promotion,
Is this rule book all your notion?
Just a way to show devotion
To the red-tape paradigm?

Hey there, you who hurts his brother,
Beats his wife or slaps his mother,
Do you think there’s any other
Name for bullying but “crime?”

Standing over those who cower,
You’re just small and mean and sour–
Give a ‘little’ man some power:
He’ll abuse it ev’ry time.


Amy Foreman hails from the southern Arizona desert, where she homesteads with her husband and seven children.  She has enjoyed teaching both English and Music at the college level, but is now focused on home-schooling her children, gardening, farming, and writing. Her blog is

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12 Responses

  1. Satyananda Sarangi

    Dear ma’am, greetings!

    These poems are so beautiful. The first poem has such a touching story in it, I loved it.
    The second one is about truth and is hard hitting. Perfect poems make one’s Sunday.


  2. Helen H. Gordon

    “The Journal” is very touching, but could be shorter with less explanation. Rhyme and rhythm are excellent.
    I love the poems about tyrants and bullies. By keeping the lines short you give them real punch! Nice work!

  3. Father Richard Libby

    I enjoyed these poems, Mrs. Foreman. I always enjoy your work!

  4. James Sale

    As always some wonderful things in your poetry, Amy – and most of all, this one line: The formlessness of soul now taking shape. How profound that is as a commentary on the act of writing itself, especially of writing poetry.

  5. Amy Foreman

    Thank you, James. I always appreciate your comments! You may be interested in some thoughts I presented in an interview with Rhyme that follow that same vein: (full interview here:

    “Communication is all about form. Whenever we speak or write, we distil our indeterminate experiences and perceptions of the world into the socially-recognized forms of words, phrases, sentences, and paragraphs. If we fail to put those thoughts into words, then –barring excellent body language – those thoughts will never be comprehended by another. That’s the beauty of communication through language: one person harnesses a thought, puts it in the form of words, in the structure of a sentence; the “hearer” then reads or listens to those formed words, which are subsequently unharnessed in the hearer’s mind and heart.

    The poet who adheres to specific form and rhyme takes this normal but beautiful linguistic communication to an even deeper level: placing, with particularity, each formed word and structured phrase in such a way that the meaning is concentrated, refined, and even purified.”

  6. David Hollywood

    Very enjoyable poetry with The Journal being really touching! I always advocate everyone should read a poem a day and then the world would be a better place for us all, and The Journal exemplifies that sentiment perfectly. Thank you.


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