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.
Desperate to be well My guts were manufacturing Barbed wire and I could feel Every yank of the sibling strands Grating of their braiding Bite of each marital point As the barbs were pinched Onto the endless line. Later, on
Trading the sweetness, a rainbow on icefalls, you will come back on rocks and drink the elixir of death. A fantastic dream of soap bubbles in a tumbler, ejecting the inky grief on the transparent glass. The pink goddess of
People everywhere are all the same Given names and titles playing a game The game you might call seek and hide A full circle of love never divide This is the law of creation In every country for every nation
Don’t take your faded floral Out the front door Your dirty laundry From this ship to that shore Don’t tell your lovers’ quarrel To the neighbor next door It’s a pity there are people who prey on The personal problems
O sailor a voyage you know and know the nautical miles , ways of winds find your ways faraway land you discovered , treasure beneath and distant,precious stones,waterfalls and fountains , everday I lit a lamp and hope you discover
Really focus lately,less moving,more thinking Creating my poetic dosage More painting, more illustrating, my reasons Splashing in poetic motion Adapting to the season and grateful I’m still breathing Thankful for the pain mixed in with the joy giving my life
Why? we kill, without mercy or regret yet we are still somehow human with every strike of the blade, every pull of the trigger every scream uttered every drop of blood spilled soldiers thought of as heroes but nothing more
It’s not it It’s the feeling would you help me, stop, would you help me, stop, would you help me, stop, open parenthesis every album I hear makes me want more close parenthesis, stop can you feel it too or
The sky above our country Tells about the capacity This sweet country is place To forget your purgatory For friends it is flower For terrors it is burry Equality for the people Is the matter of hurry It is the
A thought starts a fire loosening the lips. I want to scream. Between dreams and stars a sky hung with inverted moon. The desire springs a scythe but cannot cut a jellyfish of eye. A sunstroke was speechless without a
I have a lush green garden full of Charming snakes, Their frightful sight can give heart attacks. Though in appearance attractive and sleek, Their dominance can make your life very bleak. My garden attracts them to fulfil their greed, They
Waiting under the opaque moon a primeval instinct takes over you and you start arriving. A black bone renders the ash on your forehead and you complete the circle – reaching childhood; you start climbing the ladder, for instantaneous release.
Maimed, tortured for love of resistance this night appears to be without an end. There was nothing to lose, it was looking for some reason to die on the side of a cloud when the sickle moon was sailing. Tomorrow
Her journey took her to a place Where smiles did sit on every face Where long ago the Indus came And so gave India her name Softly shifting desert sands And mountains that stood high on land The setting sun
Egos, like glass bottles, Always on edge; Of precarious ledge; Into a thousand pieces break when touched; Prick and poke the puerile mind; Until time heals the Bottle, and Back it goes to the edge. Man, slave of identity: glass
You are not me. It was not gentle, It was not sweet. It was fire in the glass. One yellow rose was opening up, In a very bright night. I was shivering, Under the leafless shade of hawthorn. One surrogate
That roasting night when honeyed moon hung high weaving a humming sound I spoke to clouds. It happens every night, when smoke rises to discover the pain of a falling star. I start making a god from earth and water.
Irreverent arsenic of lake bottom was seeping in me I was riding on waves, moon-stuck. The nude shot of anemone, blindfolded after the criminal assault. Why they were throwing the lewed comments? A raw cave of white pain, drags the
Arrest this lament this false flag of endeavor star eyes at elsewhere parachute of the midnight aplomb splendor soils christened by an exorama defouled by a parasite cancel who are you in the liturgy of night? nameless index of heathen
Sore with discontent, Oblivion beckons, Fade out or live long- Perhaps not an option. Choices are illusions, Life a big lie, Return to innocence- Most desired. Loath and anguish, No logic to talk about, Haze of negativity- Call it depression.
Twenty white pigeons, swallowing raw rice, half-staring at me? Twelve white-faced swans, basking in the sun, ignoring me? Eight white-haired owls eyeing me from tiny forested corners? Six whitish foxes and six brown-red squirrels quizzing me? Five pink-white beluga whales
‘T’was a fine morning when she cameMy cherished passion and true flameA moment I can hardly waitAlong this road and near the gateShe walks in grace and flawless styleA breathtaking sight when she smileThat leaves was turned from dark to
Miracle within miracles constant pondering overcomes the urge to feel the one eyed boy lingers, he figures the urge to think creates certainty in a world of ambiguity. Loneliness is shared and company is acquired one with the other and
Where he fixed the features of his mental image what he thought and what tells vividly his visage He planned a journey of progress for present to start When his country would cover that with spirit of heart In future