For today’s prompt, write an interview poem. Maybe it’s an interview for a magazine or TV show. Maybe it’s a job interview. Or something more creative. Who ever or what ever you decide to interview or be interviewed by, have fun poeming!
Here’s my attempt at an interview poem:
“Bartleby on Trial”
With slumped shoulders, the prosecutor
swept both of his hands through his hair
and said, “Let’s try this one more time–
loud enough for the jury to hear–would
you please answer my simple question?”
The witness, a calm man who showed
no emotion, leaned over very carefully
and whispered in a voice so soft an ant
would have trouble understanding his
repeated answer, “I would prefer not to.”
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Learn the secrets of story structure and plot!
Great characters can be developed with a short interview, but they’ll go nowhere without a strong plot and story structure to put them in action. On Thursday, Martha Alderson will lead a live webinar, Secrets of Story Structure & Plot, to cover this storytelling essential. Plus, attendees receive a copy of her book, The Plot Whisperer.
There are only so many questions that can be asked
before they all start sounding the same,
plus the art of conversation is dead.
More or less, it boiled down to a battle of wits
until all that was left was the charred remains of words
and sentences.
How to Freeze Apples
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Hard and red, with just a scab of green flesh between the two
they fall into my colander basket like miniature bocce balls,
their sides clinking against the cold steel mesh. Even the
dog is keeping his distance, no doubt thinking October a
strange time to be picking apple remnants off nearly bare-armed
trees, but the growing season has been strangely sporadic
this year, much like my poetry magazine subscriptions.
In the distance, a crow sucks on my predicament.
Later, as I’m hunched over a white porcelain sink, peeler in hand
stripping October flesh off of Braeburns and Red Delicious,
I’m perusing clever things I would say if I were being interviewed
by some big shot magazine, when I get this sudden epiphany and
it dawns on me just how spiritual the whole process really is ~
writing poems, preparing apples, metering and measuring,
getting the cinnamon to lay just so until the kitchen becomes
like this temple of childhood memories for which my mother’s
ghost to happily wander about, giggling and peeling apples
alongside me while I hum this happy interview.
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
I’ll Ask
I’ll ask you no questions,
you’ll tell me no lies.
More is conveyed by osmosis
than interrogation.
I posted this at inourbooks.com, but it’s perfect for this prompt, so…
“this glamorous profession”
after Patrick Sokas, M.D.
Bill took an interest in my suit.
“Where did you get it?”
I looked at my feet and mumbled.
“I have one just like it.”
I glared. “This was my only suit, a mail-order suit.”
“You probably saw a picture on a model.”
“It looked good, though it was probably pinned up in back.”
“You said, ‘I want that suit.’”
“Actually I said, ‘I can afford that suit.’”
Bill took away my notebook,
and he played reporter for a while.
The Sun and Moon
I asked the sun, “How is it you glow with
with such perfect light and warmth?” She
replied, “Its not what I do so much as what I am,
a fire can only be light and warmth.”
I turned to the moon and said, “You are bright,
but not nearly so bright and warm.” He
nodded. “It’s not who I am so much
as what I do. My only light what I reflect of the sun.”
Interview
Potential groom for the blossoming grand daughter
Whispers of hope, filled desserts and rose water
He was carefully selected by a background Check
Of Family dynamics, education and wealth
She wore her favorite color so bright
Dressed, with care, and practiced her smile
Convincing herself that he may be the one
For this was the way, tradition was run
A fleeting meeting could decide her fate
How would she choose this candidate?
To have and to hold for the rest of her life
A stranger to marry and be called his wife
Would the dreams that she dared, be waiting for her?
Had destiny brought her, their choreographer?
A simple Yes or No would decide
The road she would travel on her journey in life—
PriyA Jane
CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING?
“Would you mind holding this?” I said
as my shy and reserved nerve found its footing.
A satchel, a valise, a leatherette bag
which held numbers and statistics.
She didn’t mind.
“Can I ask you something?” I had
gotten around to saying, staying within
myself, and dying to break out
(while I broke out). “Your eyes and grin,
are they always so wide and bright?”
Her answer came in a blinding flash
with a dash of playfulness tossed in,
that grin tore down defenses I never knew
had been constructed. She interjected,
“Are you always so shy?” I stammered,
no answer forthcoming as I stood drumming
fingers upon my leg. I begged for courage
and in a flourish of stars and trumpets
she took my hand. She could have left me standing
but she was assured and commanding
and stealing my heart. And I seemed
emotionally retarded. But, it was the start
of our time, and I’m grateful for that.
I held onto my hat in our whirlwind.
Over the years we had traversed, she was nursed
through anorexic fits, suicidal tendencies
and dependencies on me to enable her.
She was unstable, sure, and I was driven away.
To this day I have regrets. But one never forgets
the first love; the first question in life’s interview.
“I don’t know who you are, but would you mind holding this?
She held her bony hand extended; emaciated and
deflated in physique and spirit. As I hear it,
her first “attempt” was after I had gone.
And for as strong as she made me, she couldn’t
persuade me to aid in her self destruction.
For her to get stronger, I could no longer enable.
She had to find “stable” without me.
Who once came to celebrate me, she had come to hate me.
“Who holds life’s answers?” I asked after we were
reunited when they found her cancer. Her second bout
(the first, without me) and I could see anorexia was beaten,
but this new malady was eating her inside-out, and I doubt
I would have known if she hadn’t held out her hand.
She had found philosophy and a calm demeanor.
I never did mean her harm and her charm came from
the day I learned her name. And for the same reasons
she returned. I had burned into her soul and any control
she had over illness came from the stillness it gave her.
“What can I do?” I asked, as if it could save her,
but all she wanted was to savor every waking moment,
despite the torment that ravaged her being, we were
seeing our lives for what they were. Forever joined at the
lip. “There is nothing you can do, but love. There is nothing
you can say that you haven’t already. Stay steady.
Be the man I always knew you would be; who would stand
by me as I made my exit. Be expressive with the words
you have found within you. It knew you had it in you,
you just needed that kick.” Although she was sick, she continued.
Her once sinewy arms were bony and slight,
and how she would fight to keep her light from extinguishing.
Her eyes and smile, her most distinguishing features, found their power
for the brief time that remained. It was as if to ingrain themselves
in my brain. And she whispered, “Write your ass off”.
One last time, a hand extended, bent at the elbow
bruised below from the pokes and needles, tears filled us,
and she trusted that I’d know what to do. And she said
the words that came to her, “Would you mind holding this?”
And she glanced at her emaciated body.
Gingerly (befitting her auburn locks) I wrapped trembling arms
around her fragile frame. There came a moan and a sigh.
Butterfly eyes and a cough. I held her loosely as she hung
onto my neck for dear life. In a whisper the last query came.
“Can I ask you something?” Deep inhalation. “Do you love me?”
In clutching tears I breathed, “YES!” and she closed her eyes.
The interview was over; there were no follow-up questions.
She had all her answers.
In tears and speechless. Whenever I suspect there is no more beauty and emotion to express, she breathes more.
Amazing love.
An Interview with Daniel
This is Curi Ositiy with
Time Traveler News
here with Daniel
in Babylon, Sixth Century.
Daniel, how did it feel
to be thrown into the lion’s den?
I was worried more for the king.
He was tricked into signing the order
to not pray to God for thirty days,
which led to my sentence of death,
and he was greatly distressed.
Weren’t you afraid?
Yes, but I knew God would either protect me
or take me to be with Him.
My emotions just had to catch up.
Tell me what it was like facing hungry lions?
Dark, stinky and I was hungry, too.
The officials didn’t plan for a last meal,
since I was supposed to be it.
What was it like when you realized
the lions wouldn’t hurt you?
Kind of nice.
Have you ever heard lions purr?
Lulled me right to sleep.
And they made for comfy pillows.
And when they freed you, what was that like?
A relief but it was also tragic
since the men who framed me
and their families
were thrown into the den.
They died before they hit bottom.
It’s not a sound I’ll soon forget.
Terrible! What would you like to say
to those who are listening?
This is for future people, correct?
Yes, it’s airing in 2012.
I’ll echo my good friend King Darius,
“Worship the living God,
the eternal ruler.
He saves, rescues, and
performs astounding miracles
in heaven and on earth.”
He saved me from the power of the lions.
Thank you Daniel. Remarkable story.
Next in the news,
Children in public schools
forbidden to pray or read Bible stories.
Creative, creative, creative. And amen, Connie.
uppernaz
The Far Out People
LOOKING FOR SOMETHING
I watch the man’s eyes fumble
with my file. Reading them, thinking. Did he read
that I like to play bridge? He looks up at me, then
goes back to the paper in front of him.
” You grew up on coast, no?”
Yes, I am here. I am the person
who is supposed to be here. Does he
do this out of curiosity, the details
are so . . . he wants to place the facts and figures
in their proper proportion. Finally a question,
a smile, something to break the ice,
“How’s the fishing there, ” he asks. I say
my Dad and I went fishing
on a lake, that
my grandfather had a cottage. He lived there.
The man says he grew up
in that neck of the woods . . .
I come here looking for work and
this guy wants my life story. Waiting
for the punch line we pass the time
with stories . . .
The man gets up, “Looking forward
to see you here,” handing me a fistful of forms.
“Fill this out, and come back
tomorrow. Welcome aboard,” the man says.
ANSWERS
(c) 2012 – G. Smith
——————————————————–
Yes, Ma’ am, I’ve been looking for work,
For more than ninety days;
And yes, Ma’ am, I’ll take anything,
Provided that it pays.
Yes, Ma’ am, given the choice of these,
I’d rather be doing that,
But I’m a Jack-of-all-trades,
Used to wearing many hats.
No, Ma’ am, I’m not a smoker,
And I’ve never been arrested.
No, Ma’ am, I do not take drugs,
And I know that I’ll be tested.
No, Ma’ am, I never missed a day,
At the job I had before;
The reason that they let me go
Was they had to close their doors.
Does she know how hard it is,
Coming here with hat in hand?
And I know that what I do does not
Define me as a man.
At least that’s what they tell me,
But they’re not here in my shoes.
I wonder: if they were, just
How well they would do.
Yes, Ma’ am, I can start next week,
Tomorrow would be better.
Yes, Ma’ am, I understand,
I’ll be looking for your letter.
Thank you, Ma’ am, I appreciate
All the time you’ve taken;
But if you think I’ve come to beg,
I’m afraid you are mistaken
Does she know how hard it is,
Coming here with hat in hand?
And I know that what I do does not
Define me as a man.
At least that’s what they tell me,
But their not here in my shoes.
I wonder: if they were, just
How well they would do.
Interview with a Metaphor
Q: Why do you think you’re so popular?
A: Because I am the sunflower to the honeybee.
I am the smell of rain that ends the drought.
I am the walk-off home run in the bottom of the ninth.
Q: Aren’t you a little full of yourself?
A: No, not at all.
When a writer’s river of ink is flowing,
and he rides it in creativity’s boat,
I am the sail turned into the wind of language.
It’s just my job.
Q: But what do you say to those who believe
that metaphors are overused?
A: Can there be too many sunsets?
Did Mozart write too much music?
Can there be too much air to breathe?
Q: But can’t a simile sometimes be just as effective?
A: The word “as” is the crutch of the weak-minded,
the badge of the aphorism, the flag-bearer of weak analogies.
Q: Isn’t that a bit harsh?
A: No, harsh is a pair of sandpaper briefs.
Q: Thank you for your time.
A: My pleasure. You are the call of curiosity
in the jungle of knowledge.
Oh, Bruce! This poem is honeysuckle at dusk, the afterglow of wine, the very scratch of yard-birds. I love it!
This is the juice flowing down your throat from a peach!
This is an “O” bookened by two “W”s.
Ahem. Bookended?
Haven’t time yet to read all these marvelous offerings on the altar of poetry, but I will. This is the one I created and the one which I neglected to post here yesterday.
Spider: “Come Right In”
He watched their eyes,
Tells of unconscious intent.
They had come to him
Hats in hands, ready to deal.
“Mr. M, we’ve a proposition,”
Said the frontman in blue.
My stare flustered, I knew,
Causing fidgets and hesitations.
“We come to talk expansion,”
Said the brother in red.
“Expansion of the next year’s crops,”
Came the qualification.
I smile; imitation rattler.
“Expansion’s good, except when it’s not.
Clearing throat, I reply, smoothing
The way toward the bank’s financial gain.
“Are you buying or merely leasing ground,
And how much expansion are you talking?”
I watched the look pass between them.
My hand pressed The Button to the right.
“B. Elza, would you bring a full
Set of loan papers in, please.”
To the boys, “We should get these taken care of
Without delay, don’t you think, gentlemen?”
Witness
No, I didn’t know him, sir,
but I knew his Pa, as crafty
a man as you ever knew—
could build anything
and make it work too.
Yes, of course, everyone’s heard
the stories of a monster
roaming his tunnels for miles,
even heard the bellowing
underground during our dinners,
but we steer clear. I didn’t know
the boy, though once I saw him
when he was small, working
alongside his Pa, an eager child,
his father’s hope.
I didn’t know him, but I saw him
fall as if he were plucked from the sky.
Wish I’d seen him rise,
but there I was, back to the plow,
leaned into a mule’s behind.
I got this tingling in my crown, a pinch,
as if some god were staring down at me.
That happens plenty in these parts—
some neighbor’s girl, suddenly claimed,
touched by a god, they say.
Anyhow, I looked up just there,
as he plummeted into view,
all frail of flight and amazed,
his white legs gently peddling
the wind as if he swam through air,
and then the sea opened to him
and those giant wings buoyed him
for a bit, long enough to see
something circle above, to hear
keening like an eagle’s, to feel
the power of escape burning through
his veins, melting a father’s heart.
Thank you, sir, I’m glad my words paint
the scene for you. Some think farmers
too obtuse to notice things, but we are
forever searching the skies for a cloud,
a breeze, a miracle, any distraction
from the earth’s endless labyrinth of toils,
always seeking an escape, however brief.
It draws us nigh to whatever gods there be.
Still, I don’t envy you your search, sir,
for truth in a maze of myth and witness.
But tell me, was there any news about the father?
Are you at liberty
to say?
always enjoyed the myth and the painting. Your poem has a great flow and tone and does justice to the story
Thanks for the kind words, Steven!
Interview
When I asked her what she wanted
She said strong, iced tea.
When I invited her to expand on that she said
No sugar, No milk, just lemon.
When I asked her how she got into this business,
She said it started with her elementary school
reading fetish.
I coaxed her to explain the reason she always wore
The color blue,
She said, the sky, the water, the moon, eyes
Of my family – ancestor worship, I guess.
I asked her to say which she liked better, art
Or the writing.
She did not talk, she made gestures that indicated
They were the same disparate story.
Cynthia Stewart
Robert, I just love yours!
What She Did Not Say (An interview poem)
I never wanted to work
on Wall Street, contaminate
myself with greed
and heed MBAs
twenty years younger
than me, who want to be
revered, obeyed,
and atop the ladder, fast,
forgetting the past
people they used to be,
ideals they held for free.
What are you doodling
on that pad as I sit
here talking too much,
out of fear, nervous
that you will actually
hire me. Oh, I see,
you are sketching me
to see how I compare
with other women
applicants. Who is fair-
est of them all,
to join your click,
and work for a dick.
(True Story)
Can you see your future
with us they ask.
Can we rely on you to make
the hard decisions.
Why good sir, I say
I slit the throats of my darlings
every single day.
Uh-huh … tough to do, to say the least. I have one that I know is not publishible, yet I have SUCH a hard time parting from the words I fell in love with. Ugh …
OH, and I meant to say this is a brilliant write, Power.
well done
Fun!
Love it!
Rub out and start again.
“You did what now?
How many people?
You are kidding me right?
Stop there for a moment while I take this in.
This is going to need some time for me to digest.”
The shimmering hologrammatic representation of the Great One
sitting quietly – hands steepled beneath chin,
eyes half-closed, lips unsmiling and down-turned.
The holy scientists waited. It had taken many years to reach this point
a combination of gene manipulation and spacio-time engineering,
they could wait longer.
Many hours passed.
Crowds gathered.
The image of the Great One was beamed
across the planet.
The biggest reality
on screen ever.
Eyes opened. Tears fell.
The lips parted.
The head thrown back.
And a scream –
across the universe,
across time,
across humanity,
“Noooooooooooooo!”
And everything folded in on itself
as the Great One said firmly,
“Let me try this again,
I think I can get it right this time.”
Amazing poem, Michele. You had me from word one through to the end. I applouded when the verdict came. EXCELLENT job! You this this so beautifully. Kudos.
If anyone feels like jumping, here’s one on my poetry blog about Lee Harvey Oswald. I wrote it some time ago, but it certainly fits the prompt. It’s a villanelle.
great poem, worth the trip (might I suggest you take word verification off tho’ – it took me 3 tries to post and this could discourage commenters from posting)
Sharon – Okay this moves to the top of the pile of my favorites of yours. I think you’ve teetered over the edge to genius with this one!
thank you Pearl, truly.
Sappho Speaks
Thank you, yes – this is quite comfortable, very nice thanks
Yes, I will be more than happy to talk about my work
What inspired me; how I went about creating much of it
No – I really do not know what happened to any of them
All , most, of my poems; it seems they have been lost
Destroyed? Well – I had heard something
To that effect but nothing definite
No – I am sure not – Aphrodite?
She was far too sweet and loving
To do anything so nefarious
The ones left? I believe you have
All that exist.
Explain them?
I am not sure I could
Or even could I
That I should…
Excuse me?
Why is it important
That you know
About my, our
Love life?
No
We were both inspired by the Greeks today. Nice piece.
Yes – and you picked one of my favourites and did a wonderful job as well Jane … the father doesn’t get much play after the event, does he?
Be back later to read folks…
Interview with the oft-pictured Nazi who bayonetted a baby
Now, in the fading light of your years
Now in long passed time of insanity passed
Now that infanthood has been returned
with your rationality and those soft creatures
deemed then unworthy of life, gurgle and coo
How?
do you still the sound
of screams?
Ah – indeed, This one will stay with me Pearl, a long, long time.
Oh my …
One of the most powerful poems I believe I’ve come upon in a long time.
That IS the question. Very powerful.
This made me gasp.
At the Pearly
I did not believe
not really that there
was
such an actual gate
but now here I
stand a once mortal pearl
in the light of luminescence
awaiting my fate
I lived by the credo
do unto others and each
day do something kind
if it all counts for something
I would not at all mind
if on the other hand
found my papers are lacking
I probably would not fit in without
unfair, unwanted, celestial backing
So I’ll just stand here and
soak up the sun
on the sheen of the pearls
on the gate wait long begun
Stand here and wait and not
weave words toward my behalf
my life my resume cannot be undone
I’ll pass through or be left here to linger
eternally listening to your chiding laugh
These are all lovely.
Very cool, Dr. P.
Interview with Hortense
It was more years than I’d like you to hear
when first you came into my life Elephant Dear
I need you to know, I need clearly to say
that your compassion informs “who” I am today
Now other girls and boys listen too
to the wisdom dispensed from the largest
to the smallest dignified “who”
Interview with a dandelion
How do you reconcile
the destruction of
your self
with the joy
of the child
who blows
you to fluttered
wisps on the wind
Oooo … love this one. What a spin!
Me too, Pearl. “fluttered wisps on the wind” hmmmm.
Such a good question! Let us knoe if you find the answer!
High Powered Interview
so you say that
you created it
all
not with a shred
of grandiosity
but with a simple
glowing statement
of fact
and I ask you but
one question
if so
why then did
you leave this
void of gaping
belief as grand
as the abyss
of that canyon
out US west
within my core
where you
believe you
should live
Oh, this is wonderful? So many have asked the same question. I just wish we would get the answer. This was nicely done. Thank you for sharing.
QUESTIONS IN LIFE
(a shadorma)
A woman’s
highest calling is
motherhood;
some are called
naturally to parenthood,
some are interviewed.
2012-09-12
P. Wanken
WOW!!! Paula – This is simply brilliant –
)))
Thank you, Pearl.
Interview to be a Saint
I know what you’re going to say,
that maybe I cuss a little too much,
and you’re going to mention
that night where I had
a few too many drinks.
But let me tell you
that I’ve lived a good life,
I’ve given to the poor,
although I’ve one of them,
and it’s not easy living with their quirks.
One leaves the outside door open
when it’s below zero,
and when sitting in my apartment
on days like these
I could freeze.
But I haven’t seen him in awhile.
Another plays his stereo too loud
and the middle of the night,
so loud that it shakes my walls,
and I fall out of bed.
I haven’t seen him in awhile, either.
I look at my interviewer in the eyes,
and he nods at me,
while a cold draft sweeps past me,
and a blast of music
shakes me off the chair.
I look with amazement
while the two neighbors walk past me,
and each offers a nod,
as each picks up their assignment,
the ones I had tried to ignore.
No, my interview says,
we don’t have any openings now,
not for anyone who forgets
to love their neighbors
in spite of it all,
and for this reason,
I’d say you’re not qualified
to help or to save,
but try, do try again,
and come back another day.
DE- LIGHT – FULL!!!!
Wow, leaves a heavy feeling in my soul. How will I do in that interview? Excellent.
Excellent one, Mike!
Love the Bartleby angle, Robert.
Position Posted: English Instructor
They must know they intimidate—
eight of them, one of you,–
seated around the oak table,
pens poised on legal pads,
the questions ready as they move
around them room, feigning
casual, impromptu query rather
than a planned interrogation.
With only two, you might decipher
good cop from bad cop,
but the panel more resembles
a jury—not twelve angry men,
not even peers. Not yet—
but deceptively mild-mannered
academic types, on the gray side
of tenure, more estrogen
than testosterone.
You field the standard questions,
the ones you googled–
What’s your teaching philosophy?
Tell us about your education, experience.
Why, indeed, should we hire you?
Then out of left field it comes,
the unanswerable question:
How do you handle the paper load?
Your feel your face become cliché—
deer in the headlights,
dog watching TV.
This question has no answer.
(File in folder with “When did you
stop beating your wife?
How many angels can dance
on the head of a pen?
Why did the chicken cross the road?)
You know you can make up
something vague or false.
You know better than to tell them
your wife watches the kids,
keeping them out of your hair
on weekends when you have piles
and piles and piles of essays to mark.
Instead, you take a deep breath
and tell the truth, tinged with humor,
with irony you’d mark with a red pen
if you read it in an essay:
I don’t know yet, but if I figure it out
before you do, I’ll be sure to let you know.
Wow! a wonderful narrative and real tension in the character … BRAVO!
I Agree!
I second Pearl’s bravo! Wow.
Oh, Nancita. I love this and wish simultaneously that I had never lived it. This is a great take! (ps. Will I see you this Saturday?)
Jane,
I might want to bunk with you after Poetry Spark on Saturday night, if you won’t be worn out from Bahama Day!
Yay! I’ll be a ragged mess, but that’s the way you love me
. Call me when you’re done in Raleigh and come on!
Very nice. At first the reader thinks that the poem is about the Spanish Inquisition, then is moved into the interview feeling then comes the perfect zinger at the end. Agree with comments about the tension. You can really sense the apprehension and stress of your character. Very well done.
BROTHERS
Her heart was gone
Her body weak
Her friends so shallow; she was bereft.
Her love, her soul, her adoring mate
Had early kept that final date.
The huge house, the quiet walls,
The constant alone. Don’t they see?
“Brother older, help me please?”
“What time have I for you?” he asked.
“Haven’t you had your fun? Isn’t your time passed?”
Brother younger, with perfect wife, perfect children, perfect life.
“The holiday is coming soon. Don’t you see?
Please remember, remember to include me.”
“My life always on the fly is so happily rushing by.
I know you live mere blocks away. I can’t possibly
Include you on that day.”
“Brother middle, will you be the one?”
“Just exercise. Eat right. Go run
Heart wrenching – genuine and a really good poem
Oh my. I read this several times, and each time the reality sinks further in. Hoping this isn’t true-to-life, Sharon. Well penned.
Thank you, RKP (Pearl?) and Marie. Yes, it is true. No, not for me, but for a very dear friend of mine. And how did I manage to post this without the final period and closed quotation mark? Oops!
This is lovely. I can’t say I enjoyed it because it was touching in a sad way. You succeeded in bringing across the emotion so simply and beautifully. The lilting flow helped to keep the story from sinking into depression. Truly wonderful poem. Thank you for sharing.
I wanted a job.
I sent in my resume.
Where’s my interview?!
haha … haiku… slipped in a gem of a slice of life! Bravo!
This Haiku is reflective of my current state of unemployment and it sums everything up nicely with a little bow. Love it!
WE TALK WITH THE HANDLER WHOSE DOG FOUND THE MISSING MAN
What’s it like, searching with a dog?
Boulder-hopping down Craven Creek.
Please explain.
I say “this way.” She unravels the currents with her nose.
Does your dog understand English?
She’s fluent in the languages of breath, water bubbles, the wind’s mantra.
How can you follow a dog in the dark?
Just one lightbulb in a forest where every fairytale princess gets lost.
A lightbulb in the woods?
Firefly, flashlight. The glow of “El Dorado!” in her eyes.
Can you trust your dog?
She’d show me a lost child in a nest of feral cats.
How do you control a dog ranging the far ridgeline?
Throw a line of sunlight around her neck.
this is lovely, original, made me smile – especially that last line …
Yes, Taylor as so usual with your wonderful writing – original and vivid images – and a great story to boot
Taylor, this is wonderful.
know some dog handlers and these enigmatic responses fit in with my image of them
Beautiful, Taylor.
Dream Interview
I keep dreaming this thing:
I’m reading and people listen to me,
So attracted and so mesmerize!
I’m happy to see it, but still, surprised.
Every time, the same event,
But a different crowd.
Excitement and joy are everywhere
And everything’s so loud.
And then, they question me,
For a magazine interview:
Again, the same old questions
But to the ones who ask it’s always new.
It’s always so fullfilling
To see your work appreciated!
So what if I’m only dreaming!
Let’s do this again!
Adriana Dascalu
A lovely dream – realized in part here as your work is appreciated
Hear, hear!
thanks! One step closer to fullfilling this dream!
Interview With a Human
Yes, yes, I am one of the rare,
the few;
a human.
In this world of supernatural beings,
I am a mere, weak
fleshly
mortal
being,
prized for my blood
and flesh
and yes
It is very difficult being me.
If only the vampires
had realized
how necessary we are
they wouldn’t have turned
so many, eaten so many.
But soon, you all
will be extinct,
at least as extinct
as my race,
because without us
to feed on,
you will all perish.
I know this sounds harsh, but…
Wait, what?
No, you need me…
Wait! No!
Diana Terrill Clark
Hahahaha … good one D. nice mix of horror and humor… Hmm did it ever occur to you that there are parts of “hunger, and horror” in the word humor?
This is a sick and twisted, wonderful poem! I loved it!
Hilarious, Diana!
AND SO SHE ASKS…
We chatted informally, when we would normally be “on the record”. But, she’s been adored from her first exchange. Sometimes the questions get strange a bit, but I must admit, she does it well. Or at least I can tell, by the answers she eeks out. Without a doubt, it is she who puts the bloom into the garden, and poets enhance there with the chance to bare all. There is no stall or hesitation, her interrogation is sweet and complete with poetic asides (sorry, WD). I am prompted to prompt and Marie to the query. And dearie, she does it well.
Friend I’ve never met
can get her answers, but she
hasn’t asked me yet!
good one! and you are so spot on – she is every bit the consummate interviewer you paint here!
LOL! Why thank you, dear friend I’ve never met. I think!
And don’t you worry. Your time’s a’comin.
And thanks so much, Sharon! *blush blush* As I’ve said many times, it is NOT me. It is the incredible folks I interview!
interview with a pen
My favorite job?
Well, I have worked for kings,
And presidents.
I’ve had the privilege of serving
As an instrument of peace,
Or wielded as a sword of war.
Teachers and parents have used me
To instruct in both love and hatred,
Sometimes not recognizing which
Is which.
My ink has bound contracts –
Some beneficial; others perilous at best.
My power has bought, and it has sold.
My favorite job? I dare not say, but
This I know:
My slender figure is most weighty
In the humble hand
Of a poet.
Wrote and posted too hastily. Planning a re-write later, if I can remember what I want to say after work today.
Have a great day, all!
So beautiful!
This is wonderful! So creative.
Yesssss….
Noooo do not rewrite IMHO – it is so fluid and authentic – A lovely poem!
Awww! Thanks, all! You made my day!
This was wonderfully crafted. I had no idea where this was going until the very last. Clever and witty. Very enjoyable. One of my favorites for this writing prompt. Thank you for sharing.
Wow. Thank you so much, Kim!!
Marie, this is unique. Great take on the prompt.
Thanks Sara!
I have a few comments, which is interesting because I finally got here before the crowd and have the time to actually post one. Sorry, Andrew, but I have to admit that your piece had me laughing so hard that I almost, but not quite mind you, lost what little breakfast I’d already consumed on this fine bright, but cold, autumn morning.
Walt, I have to admit that when the Dalai Lama comes to our part of the world, may it be soon, that at the ceremonies involved, no interview questions arise like the one you pointed out. One, of course, can only hope, for the world is sometimes a strange place with even stranger people in it.
And finally, Robert took me back with his Bartleby poem and reminded me of why Melville was an important writer, with his effective portrayal of the character.
Thank you, gentlemen, for giving me such an entertaining morning break. I pray that I might do as well on this prompt. Have a great and enjoyable day, all..
I must head to work, but want to add my AMEN, Clauds. Each poem, beginning with Robert’s AMAZING piece, is a true gift of art!
Off to work … can’t wait to return later to read more.
Claudette, see my above comment to Pearl. That Dalai Lama story is true.
Robert – your poem is genius. I love it!!
Ditto, Robert. You inspired me with our friend Bart.
“The Applicant”
Silent judgment as they assess
The smiling hopeful across the desk.
They glance at one another, then look back
As they toss the resume on the towering stack.
“Your education is good, your demeanor nice,
But I’m afraid you simply don’t suffice.
Yes, your work history is impressive
(although your work ethic seems excessive)
But you are rather old, so you must be slow,
We need young and energetic types, you know.
And you seem compassionate—what we need
Is someone who will do anything to succeed,
Crush the competition and make us money.
You’re simply too empathetic, honey.
And yes, you have good leadership skills,
But we need a drone, not someone with a will.
We don’t want you taking our jobs, right?
So thank you, no thank you. Have a good night.”
So the applicant left, even though He knew
He must forgive them, “for they know not what they do.”
So if you’re feeling rejected, don’t pout or sob,
Because even God right now can’t get a job.
Love this one. It’s so very true in so many ways. Good for you!
Love this! Yes, so true!
Great unique take! Wonderful poeming as well
I’m new to this blog and this writers prompt looks like it was fun for everyone. Honestly, your poem is my favorite thus far as I read through them all.
I’m not very good at rhyming myself, but love rhyming poems. This was well done. I am looking for work myself and this put a big smile on my face and laugh all over me.
Thank you for this.
With apologies to some of the very intelligent girls I know who do pageants.
The interview portion…
I really believe that the most important
cultural value of our educational system
is giving and taking, and giving – in my own
personal experience, I have had many mentors
who have shown me by their love of animals
and children, and geography, just how much
it means to be a citizen of this great country.
And organ donors, too. Which is why I support
livers, and the ability go shopping on Sunday,
though obviously not for liquor unless you
are a priest or something, although it’s fine
for people to believe whatever they want about
God because that’s what our country is about.
Which is the reason why I am so passionate
about the organization I founded last year
called Be Better Than You Used To Be
which is all about helping young girls become
women who know how lucky we are to have
qualities, and plenty of exercise too. And I
will continue to devote myself to the cause
of being better even when I am not being
watched, like when I am helping at the
orphanage I go to in Cambodia, or at night.
And I think that if every school child
in this amazing country of ours could just
know a bit more about Cambodia, and
healthy eating choices, we could reduce
ignorance and gun violence, although
I believe it is important to allow people to
have guns and I am currently learning to
shoot, but not at people, unless they are
attacking me and moving very slowly,
at least that’s what my instructor said
and he was a Navy SEAL. So you see
it’s not just for girls – all of us are
able to be completely amazing if we can
just have a focus and also dream a lot.
So in conclusion, I have a dream
and when the trumpet sounds I want
to say God Bless America. Thank you.
LOL, I could hear a Valley Girl voice in my head as I was reading this. And it’s still more intelligent than most of the answers given at Miss America competitions (no offense). I’m going to have to memorize this for a monolgue the next time I audition for theater.
This is hilarious! I love it! So well done. Yes, I did laugh. But we do have to remember that each of us draws on our own experience, and for some, like pageant girls, it may not be as intense as for others. But some of those girls have a lot more depth than you would ever imagine.
So like Andrew, I am just totally wondering, did you ever do this for real? Cuz – you so could have won- you are like so smart and know just what would totally would have worked as long as like your talent was baton or something totally cool too.
I was already laughing literally out loud – not an LOL … when I read Sharon’s comment… Absolutely spot on terrific – and a great follow-up comment … The “Street” doesn’t get any better than when it is like this – fabulous poem and great comments. I am still laughing! Thanks Andrew
So, like Sharon(?), this is just so like the totally like perfect response to this like really hilarious poem, Andrew.
I’m totally planning on doing a pageant, just as soon as I discover a talent,,,
As I said in my intro, in the past year I have gotten to know two amazingly talented and downright smart young women who take part in pageants – sort of blew up my stereotypes. Hats off to them… Maybe what I wrote is more a reflection of how I fear I would respond if faced with one of those dreadful interview questions!
Thanks all for your hilarious responses!
Thanks, Andrew, I needed that after a long day. As for talent, I think you’ve found it! (I always wanted to save the world or teach baton
really enjoyed this one too. You seemed to have a lot of fun with it too….
Let me join the chorus – this is very, very funny.
LOLOLOLOLOLOL, Andrew!
I am still laughing! Love it, Andrew.
Andrew, sorry not to have read this sooner. Needed the great laugh.
HELLO DALAI
You knew this couldn’t end well,
you could tell by the tact that he took.
The questions came of an ethereal bent,
that that would have sent everyone home blessed.
But, you should have guessed when
the stuttering Stern stooge was called
to pose his q-q-q-uery. “Hello Dalai”
he began. “H-h-h-ow did y-y-y-ou f-f-f-
f-f-eel w-w-when you f-f-found ow-ow-out
y-y-you w-w-were G-G-God?”
Richard Gere rolled his eyes, but
the Dalai Lama to his surprise
answered gladly off the top of his head.
“I felt happy!” is what he said.
This is a cute poem…and honestly, I hadn’t read it before I posted mine (some similar themes). Your poems always make me smile.
Love it, Walt. Great start to the day.
Hi Walt – I too am with “Imagine” guess great minds and all that… at any rate … absolutely adorable poem… and has an absolutely authentic ring to it….
It should, Pearl. Stern had a character called “Stuttering John” and that exchange actually happened. Gere tried to deflect the question but the Dalai Lama playfully retorted. I truly believe he WAS happy when he found out!
A recounting of a true story.
great one. enjoyed it very much.