Long Interviewing Poems
Long Interviewing Poems. Below are the most popular long Interviewing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interviewing poems by poem length and keyword.
Being a lover of the classics
my show would be classically true
all the great composers would play
to lift listeners hearts that I would do
Raise the profile of young and new
these future prospects would perform
grabbing hold of today's audience
showing that this music is the norm
From dawn to dusk on the air
interviewing real classical talent
Mutter, Benedetti, Bocelli, Netrebko
just a few to get classical pulses sent
So that would be my show
loving every minute of it all
to bring pleasure to the many
music at it's height supremely tall
AUTHOR NOTES:
Just some thoughts if I had the opportunity to have my own radio show
and what I would want it to be.
Erik Bye was a writer, entertainer, TV personality, and easily, in the sixties and the seventies, the most popular man around.
He was born in New York to Norwegian parents who later went back to live there, while their son Erik went
back to the USA to finish his education.
On returning to Norway, he wrote a book about his experiences crisscrossing the USA.
The travel book was a best-seller in Scandinavia and
the book was also translated into English.
Erik also wrote some other books and many songs about the seas
As a journalist interviewing people from the masses
he was superb at getting them to open up and tell their story.
His own untold story was his battle with the booze
Oslo, in the sixties, was difficult to find a place to drink on Sundays, he and his drinking cronies bought
flight tickets to Denmark, and could sit in the international lounge, drink, and miss the plane.
He was also a prolific songwriter, many of his songs have been published in book form
Erik Bye was, in his lifetime, a big, imposing figure
It looks like the way we think Vikings appeared
Alas, his health took a beating; the alcohol spares none after several hospital stays, he passed away at 78
The classroom hums with invisible electricity
screens glow like campfires where we gather to learn,
each tablet a window opening to forests, galaxies, ancient cities we touch with our fingertips.
We sit in circles, on cushions, at standing desks,
bodies moving like water finding its own shape,
while ideas bounce between us like light through prisms,
splitting into rainbows no one could predict.
Today we are architects building virtual bridges,
tomorrow historians interviewing grandmothers in Tokyo,
next week scientists watching cells divide on screens that see what eyes cannot.
The teacher walks among us, not above
a gardener tending different seeds,
knowing some need sun, some shade,
some time to root in silence.
And we wonder: is this learning or learning to learn,
this dance between question and search,
between knowing and discovering we've only just begun?
It’s a swill no one interrupts—
A pill that consumes and corrupts
Our honor's been jailed
And truth’s will is impaled
As the blood PAC tempest erupts
Author's note: Many of the super-rich (who do not yet have it all) are determined to have more of the pie since their multiple residences and bank accounts are not enough and their yachts and jets are too small and range restricted (OMG). There are about 600 people who have donated more than $1,000,000 to presidential political action committees (PACs). The very rich, who also are trying to buy Congress, are in the process of remodeling our society. They liked it when society was feudal--when the rest of us were consigned to serfdom or were slaves. This weekend, the Koch brothers are interviewing candidates to see who they will spend almost a billion dollars to elect. Are we to believe their propaganda (that they have our interest in mind)? That is why I support the only candidate who does not have a super PAC who is running for President--Bernie Sanders. Enough is enough and maybe, just maybe, we can prevail over the corruption of wealth. The truth always matters and can never be denied over the long term.
I was to interview my husband’s new secretary
And was not excited or pleased
But he claimed he did not have the time
So I had her come to the house
Shoved the children upstairs
Where they put the four year old
down the clothes chute
Because she would fit and they would not
The woman was young,
I noticed I had worn panty hose
She had not. That struck me odd.
This was 1983, when everyone wore them for interviews
If you were a female anyway
I tried to look prim, proper, official
Even though I was interviewing her
in my living I was trying to look professional.
The children were almost silent, and I thanked God for that.
I asked her to tell me a bit about herself,
Then I leaned back in my husband’s oversized office chair
Which fell with a clunk on the ground
My legs were sticking straight up above the desk.
I crawled out and her face was all red.
But not redder than mine I guess.
I quickly said “You are hired”.
A huge mistake as she barely typed seven words an hour.
But in my haste to cover up, I grabbed at the only thing I had.
Later we became fast friends and laughed all the time about it.
On that day, however, I ended up with her cat, which I did not want.
Because she cried and said her mom said she had to find a home for it
She ended up with a job and the four-year-old went down the laundry chute.
Interviewing Mr. Blue:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mr. Blue, whose hue is true?
Yes, sir, my heart sings in azure notes, while trembling in cerulean.
Mr. Blue, are you as rich as they say of you?
Yes, my friend, I possess sapphire and indigo, all the blues who conspire to reach beyond this present darkness, into the heart and soul of joy’s lustrous bloom.
Mr. Blue, is it true that the dejected are drawn to you?
Well, now, I don’t know for certain, but I’ve often heard the moans and groans of those who travel the roads of despair and remember that certain shades of my troupes can be seen wandering there.
Mr. Blue, do you fade when the sky is overcast and storms in the forecast?
Of course I do. There is little that I can do to prevent the weather from changing my hue.
Mr. Blue, I’ve got news for you. You’re given the loyalty of every fan of you. All of them are true blue and welcome the wonder of your hue as they fight the winds and rain to reach your promise of navy sands.
Thank you, friend. I’ll forever be grateful for your enthusiastic faith in me, the color so true, even when it fades, it is filled with a gentle peace that lasts throughout the worst desolation and grief.
“thank you, again,” Mr. Blue smiled as the news washed him with a royal hue who certainly knew he deserved all the salutations of hearts who knew him as forever true!
I guess I will be a pharmacist. Why?
My uncle is a pharmacist
What do they do? I am not sure.
Did you know they count pills all day?
Okay. You think it would be fun?
I guess maybe.
Why do you want to be a pharmacist?
My uncle lives in a big house and makes
A bunch of money, and they have a husky.
I will be a surgeon like my
Mom probably.
Or a nurse like my Dad or something.
I thought you fainted last week when you
Saw a film that had blood in it.
What does that have to do with it?
Twelve boys in a class of eighteen
Approach me together.
We are going to be basketball players for the Bulls,
And live in mansions and drive Lamborghinis.
I smile at them.
All of you?
Except Kevin. He is a football player.
We will make him our quarterback or something.
My mom says I can be a pretty rainbow princess
Will that be your career? I ask her.
I think so, she answers.
Will you live in a castle?
She shakes her head ‘no.’
I want to live with Daddy.
Guess what age I have been
Interviewing today? Ready? Here it is.
These are nine-year-old fourth graders.
Two sounds signal Sunday night –
The “Sixty Minutes” ticks
Which lead into Bob Simon’s voice –
My end-of-weekend fix.
He feels more like a friend to me
Than just a talking head.
I’ve followed all his stories
To wherever they have led.
Across the seas, around the globe,
He’s traveled for the news
While interviewing many with
Diverse, conflicting views.
Ironically, he lost his life
At home, on native soil,
Quite far from all the places
Where, in danger, he would toil.
I’ll miss his presence on TV –
His voice, his calm, his face
And CBS will have a slot
Not easy to replace.
The Upper Wealthy
It was said that famous families
only lasts for about three generations
The Churchills, the Kennedys, and many
Others have a sale by date.
I thought of that while watching a program by
Crise Hedges, who happens to have grown up
among the stratospheric wealthy, and he
spent time trying to distance himself from
that class of people
He can't, everything about his language
manner, the smoothness of those who have
not had to strive
Cris was interviewing a man who writes
books about the rich, who, according to
him are bad for our society and economy
Clearly, the rich are different from those who have
No private plane when going shopping
They send children to the top school in a limo
They have a big household staff to keep
them in clover, and security, to be rich also
Mean someone is out to do your harm
The two men began annoying me, telling
stories about the wealthy, sounding like
a couple trying not to sound envious
I was trying to look adult but I was running late.
I was not in a business casual outfit or even a business outfit.
My husband had set up this appointment but forgot to tell me.
Be professional, he had cautioned me two seconds ago.
I was not happy because the interviewee was already ringing the doorbell.
The kids were in the basement screaming their heads off.
This was someone who wanted to be his secretary.
Yet I was interviewing her?
What?
I opened the door and led her inside.
She seemed sweet.
During the interview I leaned way back in his chair.
Too far back.
BAM! My feet were in the air.
Yes, of course I had on a dress.
My head was on the ground.
I crawled around and finished the interview.
Then I hired her.
She typed twelve words a minute on a good day.
I type eighty-eight words a minute on a bad day.
But I never wanted her to tell what happened.
We laughed like loons about it after we got to know each other.
And of course, I continued to do all the typing for she could not.
Bonus, we ended up with a sick cat because her mother said
she could not keep it, and I am allergic to cats.