Interview poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of interview poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on interview are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Time ticks away, Questions pour in Answers flow as crashing waves Against solid rocks The mute sky looks indifferent Is the era of clues over? Smilingly I pretend ease Watching, listening, chatting animatedly One eye on the clock Rhyming with
His fingers were frenetically tapping, as if passionately rehearsing the recapitulation of Schubert’s rich, nuanced B Flat Major Sonata. Eyes darting back and forth in the waiting room, accompanying the clamor of paper rustling and sonorous rhythmic accented breathing. *click*
Swamy consented to give interview to an Australian team of six men None of them expected such a stunning miracle that awaited, then Swamy outlined at the outset oscillating health of the mother of one of them Who too nodded
From the busy schedule, reserve some time for self Wait for a while and, analyze yourself Go offline for sometime and forget all the worries Peep in the childhood and refresh all the memories Do makeover for yourself and get
“Sometimes your worst self is your best self The moonlight divides the shadows. The essence of a black rose. Butterflies flutter by through the air. Unaware they are there without a care. I grab thee adorable like a snuggle bear.
Before the lights go out And the world stops hearing music One last song, Let’s sing the blues away…. Before the day dims out And people stop believing in magic, One last picture, Let’s paint the pain away….. Before the
When life deepened and words rose to a mystic high , When solitude became a beauty and deep inside could not understand if pain is a blessing or pleasure a boon , when wind whispered in ears sweet nothings ,
The table is set and the turkey’s fine, ‘taters, sprouts and a glass of cheap wine. Crackers, party hats, bad jokes and toys, plenty of fun for good girls and boys. Pass me the stuffing, cranberry sauce, Yorkshire pudding and
Behold our world so tired, torn, and insecure Filled with high tech answers, but yet unsure Nation after nation, fighting terror and crime Does mankind’s DNA force us to be so unkind? Many are seeking solutions, while others whine When
One ring from “My Friend”, Nice to hear can join a team outing, But “Am Not” part of that team, Curious to know which place- It’s “HONNEMARUDU”, “One Ring”– Made an Amazing Golden Moment with Nature!! With the blessings of
That pound of muscle beating so hard Resolved to break every rib apart Or die in its venture with no life after Resounded the cage with a monstrous laughter Beating as hard as it could the muscle Sent into frenzy
Build up to such situation near impossible to defuse Most convictions of earlier sense uncertain now infuse Defying palpable rationale to point radically extreme Sane logic where rescinds past any credible scheme It hits akin a thunderbolt hard shot out
Oh my Sunshine, are you looking for shade! Or do you miss the light under the scanty rain? Are you my yesterday’s reminiscence or my today’s muse in disguise? I, who fell in love with the monsoon that took away
Brave is nothing without proof But believe me I do believe I am brave Perhaps you will see that Maybe now Maybe in the generation Or maybe not It starts with the nature of you I am braver Than yesterday
Whereby: The scent of your breath love dances like a butterfly. Drenched in your raining desire lush spring awaits. Yearnings whispered vigorously. The sun kissed golden season’s ancient story filled with certainty and uncertainty. Every word I utter reflects you.
Well SALLY’S corpse is in the graveyard But her ghost clings to me like an old wet Blanket…maybe it’s because I treated her Like dirt when she was alive and shot her When I caught her cheating on me then
A few rough years we have left behind, Of fears, frustration, fights, just blind. Patience is what I needed to teach myself, A very difficult challenge in spite of myself. But as patience started to shine on through, My husband
Our men are slowly drowning in their tears. Labelled weak cos they express their fears. Father said I wasn’t man enough and told me to act tough cos I cried when I touched her cold body Regardless of the situation
Oh my dear best friend, Don’t run away from me please, come back, I believe that, you are best in this crazy world, As none can compete with you, You are faster of the fastest, And the genius of geniuses,
Tribute – on his Birth I stepped into the evening Of my life and lost interest in living And thought of leaving This wild world. I was waiting To see my grand son arriving Into this wicked world smiling Before
The heritage. Storm of violence in our chromosomes: perverts the senses. Spooky fear of burnt houses, broken limbs, utterly committing as witness of silent unbuilding, as the future defies the stunt of withdrawl. Not for tomorrow, the mother weeps for
Thou art light of heart- Radiance of soul That which has become perpetual in me Is the pleasure of thy embrace- All noble men taught to world thy reverence- We possess the most precious- Is nothing but thy joy- The
If you are reading this letter, Then your fear has now turned into anger. Our appointment on 26th March… For my absence did not emerge. I wish I could imagine how you felt. Lover’s tears when his beloved has sailed?
Poem Dedicated To My Father Late Moinuddin Hasan–An Ideal Teacher- BEFORE TEACHERS’ DAY Moinuddin was his name,eloquent, which means— One who is an aide to faith and for that weens He lost his father when only six months and mother,
Knock knock knock, I opened the door Some girl named Crystal was on my front porch. I asked what she wanted, she said “may I come in? I have a surprise for you,” then flaunted her little white bag. “You
You come home, sitting on my shoulders. I bid you farewell at door. Death tiptoes in dark before looking at the bare hands. A new concept of ending comes out from crozier. Uncoiling has stopped. In loincloth a truth unravels
The Legend of Procris and Cephalus. based on a painting in the London National gallery “A satyr mourns the death of a nymph “, painting by Pierro de Cosimo Who is this maiden sleeping here This beauty she is dead