Long Interrogate Poems
Long Interrogate Poems. Below are the most popular long Interrogate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interrogate poems by poem length and keyword.
It was surprising me then a lot,
For my new mission now,
Before a virgin from a little town,
The Lord Creator, how?!,
Will be a boy in human bosom, womb,
But when I see Mary close,
She plays a simpleton,
Interrogate, question:
"I'm a maiden, I don't know."
By Isaiah's book, she verifies me in response,
That I'm not a demon,
I'm not, but understand more:
Now liar may not lie ever again about God,
What He would not be? Love,
What He would be? Arrogant before all,
And did the "defective creation" therefore,
When the commandment of life would be something wrong,
It would be better to be a self-idol like Judas Iscariot?
No, it is wrong, this abomination of desolation, the poison!
But from inequality come the source of sorrow,
Humble God and humanity working together in All in This Boy Lamb,
The Inspiration gives the Freedom,
Annunciation Glory,
Blessed are You, Abraham's daughter,
And miraculously Mother,
How Isaiah too well spoke,
Mother of the Eternal Son,
The Earth of Sabbath for New Adam Young Lion of Zion,
The Ark alive for the Word,
My wings covering above.
Imagine a world if they made it first
Their want to dominate would continue to thirst
Heavy Water to be their goal
More innocent lives, more lost souls
The German want for Nuclear Arms
Brought them to, Telemark's charms
A county in scenic south Norway
If they achieve the world will pray
1942, at Vemork Power Station
Scientist boffins on the road to creation
Allied forces, intelligence heard
Sabotage on the tongue is the word
November 1942 Operation Freshman starts
The 1st British Airborne
From Wick, Scotland they part
Destination Møsvatn - frozen lake
Where hero's will land
For the worlds sake
But tragedy hits, the gliders crash land
Soldiers captured, now with German command
Gestapo interrogate these fathers and sons
On Hitlers Order
Machine gunned
Operation Swallow and Gunnerside
Norwegian and British commando pride
Take on this mission to destroy this plant
If they fail, they face German rant
Production impeded as they make their escape
To Ski to safety and dodge their drape
A decision is made to bomb the plant
143 B-17's, as many bombs grant
Many fail, to hit their mark
This Heavy Water terror in Telemark
Damage is little as the Germans act
Shipped back to Germany by boat and rail track
On February 20th 1944
The ferry ship SF Hydro is at the fore
Her laid-en cargo in railed tanks
By the grace of god, about to be sunk
Plastic explosive, alarm clocks
Ignite together as the Hydro rocks
As her Stern sinks, the tanks roll
Into the fjord, jeopardise German goal
All hero's they are to risk their lives
As this conflict of history
Is told from their eyes
To sabotage this plant and its Holy Water
And saved the world from Ultimate Slaughter
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
POETRY…
Poetry – two sticks with which to interrogate a frog, hold up a cardboard box in quest of pigeon’s freedom. A petal-less flower weeping in an early frost, a squirrel hiding acorns he will never find but his offspring will climb. Solitary footprints erased in a sadly silent surf, a seagull screeching at the howling wind. Words elevated on the updraft of unfathomed emotions, falling helplessly into an ever darkening void. A voice scratching across a vast expanse of unshadowed doubt,
forming the shape and soul of a moment. Two hands venturing into the realm of words, reaching ever closer to the thrill of touch, the pain of separation, the ecstasy
of eternity’s now. A flint possessing the power of a conflagration scorching the edges of imagination. A child kissing the wings of a butterfly, laughing at fluttering snowflakes. A lonely street lost in the clutter of windblown debris,
shimmering in the light of swaying street lights, its history clinging to withered branches. The soft grip of an infant telling you “it will be ok”. The sound of a pen confessing, a lover repenting, the laughter of life – crying out. A tepid intimacy shared by unmet lovers – alone yet somehow together.
John G. Lawless
©2/23/2019
Walking here and there,
Scrounging for messages of Care,
Journalists of the day.
Standing by at door or gate
Spirited, to interrogate the great.
A long-serving microphone,
Miking words from those interviewed,
And an esteemed bagged camcorder on the shoulder;
Always await eventual days
So they’d pace with grace
But, their presentations tremble under status’ feet
Whereto their integrity doth greet.
Their job hence counts slackness of Justice:
That if they are to question a poor fellow,
They’ll do it diligently till he’s zero
But if they are to question a rich man,
Minister or president in particular,
The ‘eye-box’ is covered with red cloth,
Their journals closed,
And their inkers halt;
They’ll compromise till he’s out of any cases.
Sorry
They are!
Turning a blind eye to the rich’s injustices
And giving a bright eye to the poor’s…
Yellow Journalism eke in Africa?
Internalise, questionalise
Interrogate ourselves
To justify some others belief in hell?
Seek into the deep
Explore past the bolt closed gates
See yourself and weep
Justify or clarify?
Be one with what you are?
Apologise to no man's eyes
Because they are just like you, or worse than you for being what they are
We steel ourselves to hide ourselves
From facing the realities of what we are
We pretend so many different things
So we don't have to look that far
We smile when we should cry
We laugh when we should scream
The force of nature is there for all
The force created by mankind is selective
Not for all
Such technology, such famine
Such life, such evil
Men and women, child or children | money, greed, money, greed, money, greed!
In the end - who wins?
The elevator opened on the 46th floor, to a small foyer and one plain, grey door
The door opened and a young girl, 10ish, in a blue, polo, tennis dress, said, “Hi! I’m Karen, you must be Anais. Will is around here somewhere. Aren’t you pretty, though? You go to school with Lisa? No wonder Will likes you.”
She skippingly ushered me from a bright, windowed, off-white, staircase entryway, into a deep-red, mahogany paneled library. A persian cat was soon underfoot, purring and winding around my legs.”That’s Misha,” Karen said, “just shoo her away if you don’t like cats.”
I stooped down to pet Misha who eagerly offered herself to be petted and admired. As I stroked her charcoal fur, Karen said, “Let me get Will,” as she scampered off.
A gold framed, impressionistic painting, pin-lit in bright crystalline light, hung over a fireplace. In the painting, two girls, in summer hats bright with startling red bows and yellow flowers, were sharing a book. The colors were rich, deep and swirling - it looked very much like a Renoir (I know my French artists). He’d done a whole “two girls” series. I drew closer - it wasn’t a print.
Though dazed by the opulence, I hadn’t missed what Karen had said. Will liked me. I longed to interrogate her about how exactly she knew Will liked me, and what form, exactly, Will’s liking took.
I know Will and Lisa (who would be joining us in a minute) are just friends. Not that it matters, we’re heading back to New Haven later - but Karen’s statements were capable of activating a girl's guy-dar.
Karen, wearing socks but no shoes, came to a sliding halt, on the wooden floor, by grabbing the door frame to stop an otherwise complete slide into the library. “You guys are going to the Ritz for lunch?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder, in a way that indicated that she knew the answer quite well.
The Ritz Carlton is a block away and our mission was to grab the food and bring it back here to eat. “Mind if I join?” she said, before I could answer her first question, all wide-eyed, blinking impatience.
“I don’t mind at ALL.” I said, Karen whooped and was off again down the hall. “I’M COMING TOO!” she yelled. I chuckled, knowingly - I’ve been there - I’m a little sister too.
Helplessness immobilizes yours truly,
I genuinely agitate
permanently lasting indelible impact deux
biological offspring unfairly bore brunt,
compliantly, complicity, and complimentary
I avidly, doggedly, instinctively helped create
subsequently, unintentionally, or willingly
unpleasantly affected as adults facilitate
learned behaviors to navigate
their respective independent lives
both managed to coordinate
transitioning as responsible adults
more successful than me -
I do congratulate
their separate feats, titillate
papa, who admires emotional growth,
though grievously despair
weaknesses invariably did inculcate
their once innocent selves did graduate
courtesy positive resources I dedicate
to other then myself, commiserate
as unwittingly tortured saturate
without knowing and implicate
thine guilty poor role model,
me - heartache afflicted with anguish,
especially younger offspring doth indicate
perhaps apathy, difficulty, paucity to equate
body/mind synergy, she doth habituate
herself with destructive behavior,
vicariously saddening me psyche
where alarm doth germinate
yet... particular influences I
awkwardly essentially, and
inadvertently now articulate
unsure if word choice (mine)
obscures soulful heartfelt
angst that doth resonate
oft time does afflict my existence
thousands of miles distant,
nonetheless doth percolate
reckon, reflect,
and reiterate pointlessly berate
to nobody in particular -
minus followers courtesy
various and sundry
digital poetry venues articulate
and doth interrogate,
fulminate, and futilely castigate
himself psychologically damaged goods
paternal legacy, their salad days
hoop fully mushrooming into great
and healthy women, where
every last trace of my
objectionable faults they eradicate,
cuz Shana thee mean more
than fine spun gold!
Perhaps it is inevitable
interpretation of the constitution negligible,
what you've read
is a dream forgotten as we bleed;
the soldiers in the ranks
randomly receive our thanks,
and fool hearty presidents
interrogate every bill of right precedent
thinking and saying we should leave
when questioning alone is ill-perceived.
In the voices of the house
some think the people should be quiet as a mouse
and yet the very stones on which we stand
drip with the blood of braver woman, child and man.
America could be great again
when we embrace the people freedom's gained
fought and died for over and over again
now is when we need another John McCain
where is the plan and cabinet of smarts
lost to the dream that rose now dies in our hearts?
SURROUNDED
on the
terrace
shimmering
in the
breeze
concerns
of the
present moment
portals
to
a dialogue
conception
has evolved
encompassing
vocal
demands
a dynamic
which rise
to a
vision
expansive
&
searching
but
thoughtful
&
surprising
its resonance
never incoherent
with a
distinctive feel
it evokes
a cluster
of deep
layers of
time
bright airy
unobtrusive
take their cue
to interrogate
& redefine
to hold
a mirror
&lay bare
problems
to
restore
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
AURA OF THE EXPERIMENTAL
palpable
energy
in possibilities
of shape
pictorial
unconventional
experential
in
curved form
of empty
space
embedded
in three
dimensions
a collade
of natural
variation
with jagged
incisions
to evoke
the disparate
in the
distintinctive
& interrogate
&transform
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived