Best Interviewed Poems
Last night I had a dream
I’d met the king and queen.
I was among the guest,
waiting to be seen.
They sat in separate rooms
and interviewed each guest,
When it was my turn,
I curtsied and begun
I spoke to only Charles
and even danced with him
Diana was there too,
she spoke to but a few.
I wondered if he knew,
If the rumors were all true.
That she was not to be
with him eternally.
Then one day she was gone
She left her loving sons
her dreams to carry on
The work she had begun
Humorous Rhyme - 8/2/2013
This man was affectionately nicknamed “The Stork”.
He played only two seasons with the Mets from New York.
George was a native of Salt Lake City.
His major league baseball statistics were not pretty.
When interviewed, he would often deliver a vintage quip.
He would have played longer if he didn’t dislocate his hip.
After the 1974 campaign, George walked away.
He is a youth baseball coach and school counselor today.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
WOMAN WRITER
If interviewed on the subject of the sonnet
What man has brought me endless cups of tea?
They’ll say I’ve got a Queen Bee in my bonnet
The male groupies will not type my poems for me.
What golden mother lives without inspiration?
What sister can be truly herself, and tackle
The canon in the patriarchal cold, the purgation
Of miles of libraries with the truth a hackle?
The worst thing is that there’s no male muse -
I don’t feel the marginalisation or the neglect
Quite as much as the possibility I might lose
The reader in the absence of his call-collect -
And I must be very careful with my man -
I lose a husband if I kiss a fan.
by Rosemarie Rowley
The Artist
Once described as an intense artist
He now sits comfortably
Patiently being interviewed
By a reporter
Half his age
He begins
When I was a younger
I would come home from school
To an empty apartment
To keep myself occupied
Until my mother came home
I would spend hours
Drawing random sketches
And imaginary shapes in a notebook
That I kept hidden behind a couch
My mind was full of images
I was young
I was vulnerable
It wasn’t until
I got much older
That I decided to study art.
Speaking softly, he continues
People respect art and imagination
But recognition for an artist has a life of its own
An artist must push himself to do
What he hasn’t done before
But art is complicated
What often comes with it
Is all extraneous stuff
Which you try to control
Before it consumes you.
The interview
And the questions ended hours ago
Returning home
The artist gazes out his bedroom window
Outside
The Greek Orthodox
Dome of St. George
Maintains a stoic vigil
Over the East Village
Facing upward
Toward the dusky sky
Light from an open window
Highlights his forehead
Drifting down to his lips
Gradually disappearing
Near his open collar
Only to resurface
In the middle of his shirt
Hands, calloused and strong,
Are down by his side
The left touching his thigh
The right hand dangling in freedom
Deep lines furrow his face
Shadows under his eyes
Mark a life spent
Perfecting his craft.
In the silence
He takes a deep breathe
Grateful
That the Roman in his heart
Always unwavering
Prideful and defiant
Never surrendered
A day of his life.
I was interviewed on Manx Radio about my poetry journey and it was broadcast today - the whole clip is about 7 minutes long. By the way it is not me reading the snippets of poems.
The programme can be found on 'on demand' the show is called 'women today' and was dated 5th August
this is the link for you to paste into your browser
If you go to the black bar under the Manx Radio logo and scroll along to 14 minutes 45 seconds this is a good time to start listening to it
http://www.manxradio.com/radioplayer/od/1762/
I have also done this as a blog ... but as not everyone reads the blog page I posted it here too
Hugs Jan x
5th August 2015
With my recorder I pursued my quest
This assignment seemed like a courage test
That’s why my boss sent me
Knowing that fearless I’d be
Covering this race brought such happiness
Hundreds of hot air balloons in the sky
Conducted the interview one mile high
But now as I reflect
What I didn’t expect
Was the loud blast that made the balloon fly
I thought it would be quiet as we flew
Over Doak Stadium up in the blue
The radio report
Ended up running short
When the pilot spoke, the hot air did spew
Every thirty seconds or so -- a blast
Interview literally filled with gas
The edited version
From this fun excursion
Left our radio listeners aghast
But viewing Chief Osceola’s emblem
From high above the football stadium
A sight I’ll not forget
I have just one regret
Creating airwave pandemonium
* As a radio reporter I was assigned to cover the Tallahassee Annual Hot Air Balloon
Race. We flew over Florida State University’s football stadium and it was a great
view from the air. But I had to edit out each blast of air when producing the report
for Florida Public Radio. Talk about a choppy radio report. I should have
interviewed the pilot BEFORE we took off. Duh! Ignorance was my plea to the
news director -- I was later sentenced to ground duty.
July 20, 2011
Entry for Francine’s “Happiness is a Balloon” contest
Written by Carolyn Devonshire
He hated his posting here;
Rome had sent him here as punishment;
He was sure of that;
These people were a stubborn lot;
He hated them most of all;
Then he met the prisoner.
He was supposed to be some kind of king.
Pilate had interviewed this man;
Now the other guards were mocking him;
They fashioned a crown of thorns for His head;
They forced it upon him;
Blood came pouring down;
Yet the king didn't utter a sound.
The guards stripped the king;
They placed on him a purple robe;
The mockery was intense;
Yet this king was different in some way;
He didn't utter a sound.
Then they began to beat the king;
The centurion simply watched;
This was no ordinary man;
The man simply offered them his back;
Then the centurion heard the man pray;
The man was forgiving his captors!
Pilate had ordered the man to be crucified;
So they led the figure out;
He was now beaten and battered;
Could He even carry the cross;
The centurion wished it was all over;
This prisoner didn't deserve any of this.
The centurion made another man carry the cross;
Soon they topped the hill;
Here they stripped the prisoner;
They laid Him on the cross;
As they drove the nails;
The centurion heard Him pray;
He was forgiving them for killing Him!
The centurion had heard of this prisoner;
He now remembered Him well;
The prisoner claimed to be the Son of God;
He had performed many miracles;
The centurion wished to see one now;
He wished the man would come down from the cross!
The sky around them began to darken;
The centurion watched the man on the cross;
The man looked at the centurion;
"I love you and forgive you", written in His eyes;
The centurion's heart was breaking inside;
The man on the cross breathed His last.
The earth rattled as an earthquake struck;
Tombs opened and dead men walked;
The centurion was oblivious to it all;
He seen only the dead man on the cross;
His knew now within his heart;
He had crucified the Son of God.
The Einstein paradox annotated ...
USA acronym:
unknown subspace anomaly
This astounding scientific breakthrough came by sheer accident,
the stuff of comic book portent
Bruce Banner employed by Bruce Wayne,
Tony Stark interviewed by Clark Kent
The dissemination of imminent advanced space travel
was met with global awe and dissent
Such is the case with earth-shattering news
Mankind standing on the precipice of
journeying between the stars
Distance no longer to be of any consequence
Mankind’s knowledge evolving on a precipitous path,
emerging from their planetary cave
to dwell well beyond their birth star
In a space station laboratory,
a rogue experiment runs amok
Shards of broken time
cuts through the spatial tissue of the temporal divide:
The future reshapes the past,
all known laws of physics shattered like glass
Thus, the subspace phenomenon occurs —
An unintended consequence unfolds,
a time loop periodically opens and close
Mankind now possessing the ability to travel unimpeded
through uncharted channels of space and time
Bursting from their solar quarantine ...
Humans will soon become viewed as a pestilence scourge,
spreading like a contagion among the stars
Busting loose from their terrestrial nursery confines,
waving a quantum gun of time
Forever seeking knowledge of the gods
is humanity’s most endearing cosmic crime
Two tennis pros at Wimbledon,
Competing stroke for stroke,
Played six hours plus and both
Were going, as they say, for broke.
Of course, at last it had to end;
My favorite, sadly, lost.
The winner, though, acknowledged
What the competition cost.
When interviewed, he shook his head
And then apologized
For seeming less enthused than
The reporter had surmised.
He felt for his opponent,
Knowing that he would have been
As devastated if he hadn't
Held on for the win.
Such humbleness was such a sign
Of well-deserved respect
And with roles reversed, the same response
Is what I would expect.
Left Monterey on Saturday.
Arrived in Paris early Sunday.
Driven to the Somme Cemetery Monday.
Job-interviewed and lunched on Tuesday.
Flew back home via L.A. Wednesday.
Recovered on Thursday.
Back to work on Friday.
Disappointed on Saturday.
Didn't get the job, but spent three nights in Paris at government expense.
C'est la vie.
Is there life after death?
By Stanley R Harris
The new mad author
& A poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
Is there life after death?
Did Christ rise from the dead?
If you are a true Christian!
Your faith must not that question.
In days of old word of mouth told.
Of what happened in those far-off days.
Then the word was written down.
By wise men, alas they were so few around.
If Jesus Christ was the son of God!
And came down from heaven to save us lot.
Why then could it not be.
After being crucified and died.
He rose from death for all to see?
Those wise words written long ago!
By wise men who seemed to know.
What the future would portray.
Which still some do not believe to- day!
A bright star they said would show the way.
Where Christ was born and it still shines today.
But crucified, He would be, they also say.
And rise from death on the third day.
Faith is what it’s all about.
Jesus spoke quietly did not shout.
Yet many that called to him.
He helped cure them, freed them from sin.
If I had two glasses of water!
Dissolve salt in one. Not that I ought.
And for water, you did thirst.
Which glass would you drink from first?
Now if I was always known to tell the truth!
Point out the glass that is pure.
That one you would drink I am sure,
And that is what faith or belief is for.
I guess what I am trying to say.
Do you believe and have faith?
Christ did rise on that third day.
As that’s what’s recorded about that day.
Raised in glory gone back home.
From where he did originally roam.
Now Jesus sits at the right hand of God on high.
His rightful place when He did finally die.
The above poem came to me, as BBC radio Suffolk today, Sunday 9 April 2017 Palm Sunday, were discussing they had interviewed some people who are claiming they were Christians did not believe Jesus rose from being dead. He was not the first person to rise from death, was He? As Lazarus was also raised from his tomb. Miracles are not impossible, are they?
Dress Code
Black pencil skirt
Black pants and black shoes, black blouse that’s the dress code here all black.
To a Macys employee our dress code identifies you and where you work-Macys.
I interviewed for a job at a nearby Macys department store so….
I get a nice email saying I didn’t get hired not once not twice but three times in five years.
I say I’ll apply again but the same thing happens and I wonder aimlessly if I’ll ever get hired at Macys.
I am very interested in Macys Careers after College after I graduate from college in about a year.
I once got hired at JC Penny. I really wanted and still want a job at Macys to be among the “employees” that must follow the dress code.
I would do it proudly.
Banana tree here! Bwana quick sit with me
Come sit with me friend for a spell
These damn tsetse flies are all out for our blood
By now we all know them quite well!
In African village we no got de fence
But when you share shade of my tree
I find even though conversation may lag
Still half flies bite you and not me.
Possessions I have really don’t matter much
You need what I have just please take
For most of the food that I need grows on trees
To own stuff just leads to heartache.
It’s true that I may never purchase a car,
I also have no place to go
And why should I want to spend money on gas?
Bananas are fruitful you know!
And why in the world would I want a TV,
You think I don’t know how to talk?
A box that is filled with bright colors and noise
Whose predators my wallet stalk?
Some people think God is the friend of the white,
But I know that’s simply not true!
A white skin is simply God’s mark upon Cain (2)
Explains why white souls are all blue.
Brian Johnston
November 20, 2014
Poet’s Note:
(1) Bwana is a Swahili word for Sir.
(2) When I was in college living in off-campus housing in the 1960's, the University of OK decided to interview the landlords of off-campus housing units to see if non-white students were being discriminated against in this market. I happen to be home when they interviewed my landlord. She basically refused to honestly answer the questions asked by the students conducting the interviews and then after they left confided in me that she found it hard to believe that anyone could doubt that a 'black skin' was the curse put on Cain's decedents after he murdered his brother Able. I was shocked into silence. Most of OU's fraternities and sororities banned blacks as well in those times.
Motorcycle Persecution gone mad.
Are they persecuting Posties?
On the streets of Brissy town ,
Cos them brawny bloody bikies,
Have made the Police to frown,
Hells Angels on Vespas,
on the footpath interviewed,
Do you have the drugs upon ya,
Is ya doing something lewd?
Nah we just taking Teddys to the kiddys hospital mate,
To put a little smile on the sad ones dial or plate,
Worried weekend bikies, being jerked off the bloody road,
And poor old guys at seventy, grilled for the bikie code,
The muttering and whinging, it’s all about the super sap,
The prince of persecution he knows just where it’s at,
Motorbike of persecution, good ole Police know where to pat.
Ludicrous say the locals,
as bikie Posties cringe in fear, {postman}
The Syndrome sure is biting,
And me “put put’s” acting *****.
Don Johnson
Of course we have bikies and Hells Angels etc and gang wars...
We also have a state Premier who persecutes people including bikiers and the handicapped, tossing the cripples out of their housing and taking their carer payments from them...big smiles all the time too:}
Limerick: Once an Anchor Woman at Sea Anne-Anne
Once an Anchor Woman at Sea Anne-Anne
Interviewed OFPRA* doing Can-Can
She said: Will you?
OF said: You, too!
And they rowed off in a rude bed-pan.
• Office français pour la Protection des réfugiés
et d’apatrides (French Office for the Protection
of Refugees and Stateless Persons)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013