Best Journalist Poems
There was once this noted journalist
Who was fond of making lists
His stories lacked the punch
For he always followed his hunch
But the event always missed
Temporal Dilettante Journalist
David J Walker
no-thing need not name the nameless
breaks the morning in disguise
shakes the shame and wakes the shameless
quench tormented turbid eyes
the bootless errand realized
who shakes the hand but shuns the banquet
a polymath of nullity
a picnic spread on follies blanket
the argot of a fervent plea
omnifarious frivolity
dante sings symphonic anthems
measured meters latin chants
pardons plied to paphian sanctions
the queen retorts in satin rants
a paupers portion the monarch grants
bemoans the message minimalized
.
The genuine journalist must be nosy but fair.
His profession strictly requires him to be so.
But between a public matter and private affair,
the legitimate, fine distinctions he must know.
His nose for news must be tempered by discretion,
that sharp sense that condemns the mangling of insight,
that creeping in of gossip with truth's distortion,
and that blurring of borders between wrong and right.
With the highest respect for what's confidential,
he must despise tolerance for any coverup.
To inform, to enlighten, these are essential
for him to smile when his time is finally up!
.
on Friday
one pm
reporter
for the
standard-examiner
at s8
interview me
puffy puffery
it is the day before Saturday
one post meridiem (1 p.m.) demolishment
set in time
correspondent of journalist
falls quickly ephemeral, quick
standard and examiner
frolicking on Sections of eight
with a simple dialogue
of puffy puffery
safety unknown
Massachusett's Willianm Cullen Bryant
The first 'All American' poetic giant;
with verses in 'American English'
Focussed the new nation's eyes
as his poetry became widely recognised.
Bryant(1794-1878) found fam with 'to a Waterfowl' & 'The Prairies' & also helped lay the
foundations for 'American' poetry as well as creating Central Park NY
The journalist may be
nosy and noisy,
but must be fair and
truthful as he can be.
His demanding art
requires him to be so.
Between public matter
and private affair,
the lawful fine distinctions
he must know!
The dedication of this journalist gem
Whose writing, brought down
Drug dealing men
Eire's Sunday Tribune
And Sunday's Business Post
Newspapers of note, for in them she wrote
But it was the criminal world
And her writings so splendent
That craved her to write for the Sunday Independent
This brave reporter put her life on the line
To reveal to her country
Their drug filled slime
To avoid libel
Pseudonyms she chose
To protect the paper, from legal blows
Drug dealers uncovered
Showing their ill gotten gains
Irrespective of lives and families pains
Threats turned to visits, firing shots at her home
To deter her uncovering
In her investigative roam
Three months later she was shot in the leg
But the dedication of her
Thousands of newspapers were read
Near Newlands Cross
On the outskirts of Dublin
On a motorbike, two men with a gun
At a traffic light junction
With a Magnum .357
Ireland's Journalist Jewel, was taken to heaven
The name of this gem
Veronica Guerin
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the
criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "
No arrests have been made yet,
but an investigation and manhunt for the suspects are underway,” says police spokesperson
Col Mavela Masondo in a statement.
The family of the deceased was in Cape Town
when they tried to contact him but he could not be reached, a family friend went to check up on Gordin.“Upon arrival, she found the back door of the main house locked and the key of the door was in the lock on the outside, she entered the house and discovered that it was ransacked,” journalist was already dead with multiple injuries.A television and Gordin’s car were stolen.
A journalist jokes not with jotter,
His news - hunting hours makes shorter,
To the task devotion much truer
And to the penned down stick, though fewer
Journalist should trust news - filled jotter,
Their minds firm; sure legs that don't totter.
No lumbering of facts like hewer,
All junks to not escape the sewer.
Truths clean jotters twist not nor slaughter,
From the mind lifted straight yields gutter
Power jotters bring out from the pen,
Pen becomes A lion outside Den
One man who speedily wastes ten
This I've kept telling Freelancer Ken.
Australian journalist with big dreams
Advocating freedom and transparency
Becoming founder of WikiLeaks
Attracting international attention
By publishing secret documents
Uncovering human rights abuses
Appalling war crimes and corruption
Refusing to be censored comes at a cost
Forcing Julian to seek political asylum
Trusting only his beloved faithful cat
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on April 14, 2019 for contest JULIAN ASSANGE sponsored by KAI MICHAEL NEWMANN - RANKED 8TH
You made up your mind to view the world
With different eyes —eyes recessed, eyes inundated with lustre,
Straining to catch every flight of the dancing seasons that hurled
Man and beast beyond frontiers with baluster.
You are the town-crier of our time, delivering messages printed on banners
That hail the energy of the heated earth.
What a voice you possess! So smooth and euphonious, it rings loud and clear
With the gumption of a king’s augurer, leaving behind manners
That haunt us pleasantly with bliss and mirth,
Suggesting frantically the suavity of a seer
Journalism has come to judgement, fragmented by words and the eloquence
Of time and grace. Are you not equal to the task?
The world admits you certainly are! And with supreme relevance
Your disciples are many, Dear one, flaunting the mask
Of imitation — they litter the world like tiny red beads flung and scattered
Beyond boundaries stretching from sea to coast
You are a lover of words, speaking with valour even on the arcades
Of fright, charming viewers with the powers of gathered
Attention when rainy nights and dewy mornings boast
Loudly of integrated existence of cascades
An anointed raconteur you are, reeling off tale after tale
By moonlight of cosseted playgrounds
I assume you frequented gatherings, prelapsarian, on a scale
So great that the sage spoke on select backgrounds
How do you do it?
Do you burn candles with scented tallow, and without
Need of a flint —thus reluming primitively dark alleyways?
You are the light that shines on tenebrous path and grit,
Revealing fey monsters responsible for the drought
That burned the pennants of truth posted on archways.
I never before knew an institution of mass communication
Until the bright age of running news crowned your labours
By way of a universally attended coronation
The world attributes to you the favours
Of heavens and caverns of Eudemons.
Arise, Dear One, arise and claim your special flair,
Make noise with the reeds of the Nile and dance gracefully
As you dine on stewed cinnamons
Rest assured you’re deeply blessed, Dear one with a dare;
I assure you mightily, speaking faithfully.
It’s a bicycle to ride
On a death-free roadside,
The killer cars gone to hide,
Busy traffic at its lowest tide
And catastrophe unlikely to glide!
So, why my time now bide?
For its tyres won’t ever slide;
All the slippery muddiness dried,
My concerned eyes, watchful and wide…
Journalists to never report “A rider has died”.
When, like your own very death, you hear,
Early morning, in an unexpected hour;
That a person who you have been seeing,
Every day, as a journalist, and admiring;
His realistic reporting on things and events,
As original as they are with full commitments;
Is no more and you'll not hear him anymore,
And his soul toward highest heavens sore…
.....................................
................................................
This was what I felt when I heard the demise,
Of Kamal Khan, of N.D.T.V, who suddenly dies…
.....................................
................................................
I’ve seen him calling a spade a spade,
None could dare, his genuineness, invade;
A person with deeply reflected insights,
On society, religion and vivacious politics;
He stood out unique for his perspectives,
His great expression of words and verses;
A generous person, and a loving human,
Who enjoyed hilly truth; little mammon…
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May his soul Rest In Peace I pray,
May he enjoy his heavenly stay...!
May he report to us what’s really above,
May his truthfulness inspire us, truth, to love…!
14 January 2022
The genuine journalist
must be nosy but fair,
his profession strictly
requires him to be so;
but between a public matter
and private affair,
the legitimate, fine
distinctions he must know.
His nose for news must be
tempered by discretion,
that sharp sense that condemns
the mangling of insight,
the creeping in of gossip
with truth's distortion,
and the blurring of borders
between wrong and right.
With the highest respect
for what's confidential,
he must despise tolerance
for any coverup;
to inform, to enlighten,
these are essential
for him to smile when
his time is finally up!
My work is not as factual as yours
You have done extraordinary work to expose men
Kali Shalwar is a pioneer in the field of literature
What a cultural masterpiece of Art & Romance
You have truly unclothed the nakedness of society
Please teach me moral and ethical values
Inspire me encourage me and update my software.
1.Azaad tabiyat umda soch aur sadgi
Tayri narazgi mein bhi rahi Amadgi.
2.Ye tang nazar log kya samjhain gay tayray haath ki likhai
Tun baray achay say Kar kay gaya hai masharay ki dhulai..
Note. Mufti Abdul Qawi often falls into the trap of women.