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    Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 192

    Categories: Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

    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.

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    About Robert Lee Brewer

    Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

    134 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 192

    1. JRSimmang says:

      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.

    2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

      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

    3. sjmcken says:

      I’ll Ask

      I’ll ask you no questions,
      you’ll tell me no lies.
      More is conveyed by osmosis
      than interrogation.

    4. DanielAri says:

      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.

    5. Marcella Franseen says:

      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.”

    6. priyajane says:


      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


      “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.

    8. 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.

    9. zevd2001 says:


      The Far Out People


      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.

    10. tunesmiff says:

      (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.

    11. 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.

    12. claudsy says:

      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?”

    13. Jane Shlensky says:


      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?

    14. cstewart says:


      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

    15. 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)

    16. PowerUnit says:

      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.

    17. 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,

      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.”

    18. 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.

    19. PKP says:

      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!

    20. seingraham says:

      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?

    21. PKP says:

      Be back later to read folks… :)

    22. PKP says:

      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


      do you still the sound
      of screams?

    23. PKP says:

      At the Pearly

      I did not believe
      not really that there
      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

    24. PKP says:

      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”

    25. PKP says:

      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

    26. PKP says:

      High Powered Interview

      so you say that
      you created it
      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

    27. pmwanken says:

      (a shadorma)

      A woman’s
      highest calling is
      some are called
      naturally to parenthood,
      some are interviewed.

      P. Wanken

    28. Mike Bayles says:

      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.

    29. 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.

    30. SharoninDallas says:

      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

    31. cemartin2 says:

      I wanted a job.
      I sent in my resume.
      Where’s my interview?!


      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.

    33. addi22 says:

      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

    34. Domino says:

      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
      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

    35. 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!

    36. 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.

    37. claudsy says:

      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..

    38. “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.

    39. 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.


      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.

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