Power forgets.
But the human heart remembers.
And poetry
is the memory
we share.
You gathered forty-one nations
without borders,
without flags.
Only voices
meeting in the same breath.
You understood
that poetry is not ornament.
It is responsibility.
Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace was born—
not as ornament,
but as moral labor.
Truth carried softly,
so it could travel far.
Different voices speak,
yet one truth answers.
Across oceans and screens,
pages move.
Ideas breathe.
Words find the hands
that need them.
This book does not demand attention.
It earns it.
It does not shout.
It remains.
Like kindness.
Like conscience.
Thank you, PoetrySoup,
for choosing depth over speed.
And thank you, poets—
from every corner of the world—
for trusting words
to carry
what humanity must not forget.
James chapter four, verse four..
Matthew chapter six verse twenty four
Gospel of John chapter six verses
Forty one and forty two.'
Well He knew of humans, in Him alone is
Help to be found..For He Is from Eternal
To Eternal.)
Isaiah chapter two verses seventeen
Unto twenty two.)
Grandma, the tortoise,
lived hundred forty one years
she witnessed many
animals generations
died at the San Diego Zoo
You were my mother until I was forty-one.
I was fortunate and lucky to be your son.
December has arrived and Christmas is near.
Life would be better if you were still here.
You were the best woman that I've ever known.
But since you died, I've spent Christmases alone.
If you and I could share another Christmas, it would be great.
But you died over eleven years ago and it was a terrible fate.
I still miss you to this day and that is certainly true.
Have a Merry Christmas, Mom, everybody loves you.
[Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013]
Great aunt Dorothy had a concrete donkey in her yard.
She had inherited it and the house from my grandparents.
This donkey had been in this yard since nineteen forty-one.
We kids always begged to decorate it for Halloween and Christmas.
Aunt Dorothy said this idea was despicable.
It would not be honorable.
The donkey would not like it.
She died three weeks ago.
Two days before Halloween, so we decorated the donkey.
He was now a purple peril, and I think he loved it.
After we left, he walked down to the graveyard to show her.
And there he sits, all pretty, next to her grave.
My Anniversary Today, August 17
Married forty-one years ago today…
the unspoken poem therein
writes itself…
Another June ...
Underneath the same sun,
Much like the last forty
And now its forty-one
Forty-one long years ...
Below the same sky,
The finches are still here
And somehow, so am I
To see the zinnia
Come into full bloom,
To see the sunset
Longer does it loom
To hang wet laundry
Flapping in the breeze,
Where goes a bumble bee
Buzzing 'round my knees
Another June ...
Come and gone so slow,
Still, I am not sad ...
To see her finally go.
Today is Mother's Day of 2024.
But you died and you can't celebrate Mother's Day anymore.
You were a wonderful mother and I'm your youngest son.
You died eleven years ago in 2013 when I was forty-one.
You were a kind and giving person and that is a fact.
Being generous was a trait that you sure didn't lack.
It broke my heart and it was painful when you passed away.
Even though you're dead, I wish you a happy Mother's Day.
[Dedicated to Agnes Greene-Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013]
So this be the day after
nineteen forty-one
Be December the eighth, the
nightmare has begun.
Pearl Harbor still in blazes
all watched the Pearl dull,
Bodies are everywhere, some
crawl or ... not at all.
Some boats are okay, though they're
mostly smaller ships,
Large ones burning, some capsized ...
need to come to grips.
"We are having our jobs cut
out for us, Franklin,"
"Do you think my namesake has
some sort of game plan."
"They sure dropped on us, we should
put the drop on them."
"Government can make something
we can throw at 'um
"Infamy, Frank's way over
there, and it's just us."
"Last I heard, all his four son's
giving dad justice."
"Serving somewhere ... let's holster
the guns." "Right, a-ha!"
"Don't need 'um carrying the
stretchers, GO!" "Oorah!"
English writer Jane Austen -
Reading was a thing she could get lost in.
Never married; died at forty-one.
With romance novels, her readers' hearts she won.
Wake up, Wake up
You who slumber and sleep
Wake up
Return whence you came
Jarring, dissonant
The ram's horn bleats
thirty, forty, one-hundred
unencumbered blasts
A simple device, no frills
the breath of a ram
caught in a thicket
magnified through its horn
It is the voice of Abraham
The cry of Sarah
The breathing heart of Isaac
~ It is the cry of a Jew
I could call in sick except I don’t.
It is only nine more days until summer break.
And I am taking Friday off.
That is only two days from now.
I keep thinking I could leave early.
Because the worst part of my day is coming up.
I watch the clock.
Forty-one minutes until lunch duty.
The dreaded, horrible, awful, terrible, lunch duty.
Forty minutes now
Thirty-nine minutes now.
Thirty-eight minutes.
Thirty-seven minutes.
Thirty-six minutes.
Thirty-five minutes.
As you can see,
I am determined to
spend my whole day on this.
Art; The fine line of not caring at all
and giving everything you’ve got .
You’re gorgeous and clever, inspiring and quick,
Beautiful and sassy, you know every trick.
I know when I’m beaten, I know when you win,
But who can resist the touch of your skin?
You’re my wife and I like it,
You’re my woman as well;
You’re my muse and my priestess,
Don’t send me to hell.
Send me to heaven, as you do every day,
That you’ll kiss me each moment is something I pray,
Hold me tight and never let me go
Look into my eyes where my love will show.
Forty-one years sounds like a lot,
But a love like ours is not soon forgot,
1.3 billion seconds in fact
From the very first time we made our pact.
Hour by hour, day by day,
Our life together goes on its way.
It’s always absorbing, never dull
And in my love for you, there’ll be no lull.
Enjoy the pressies, enjoy our life,
I’ll never regret making you my wife.
I’m just a man whose name is Pete
And being your husband is my finest feat.
You were my very best friend,
but now that you are dead.
I know that I did love you,
but I hate you now instead.
Just because I didn't pray,
the day before you died.
I blamed your death on me,
but tried my hardest not to cry.
The hate isn't hate anymore,
just a sadness from the past.
So I really do love you still,
and hope this bad feeling just wont last.
I can't believe you died,
at the age of forty-one.
I didn't know what to say
you're life had just begun.
Three years have passed now,
and this poem comes to mind.
It came from deep within my heart,
it wasn't hard to find.
Saying these words,
I look up to the sky.
I think of you,
then I begin to cry.
"I love you very much,"
I say and sadly sigh.
"I just wanted you to know-Daddy,
you're the Angel In My Eyes."
Dedicated to: John Edward Tawney Jr.
(July 21,1953--February 14,1995)
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!"
Written: July 21, 1998
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.