Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nico Reznick Jan 2017
Not real people,
just characters,
defamiliarized,
playacting through
the stage dressing
of their
unconvincing, plywood
lives.
In one small spotlight,
one character
is deciding
not to call
the other character,
and a
second spotlight
picks out a
telephone
not ringing, and
the second character,
who could
call the first,
but doesn't.
Between them,
the few metres of
darkened stage
represent the cold,
separating sea, or
their emotional
estrangement, or
the shadowy uknowability of
the inner self, or
something.
They don't elicit sympathy,
these characters, only perhaps
an intellectual empathy,
critical and objective.
They are devices
by which we might learn
some abstract lesson about
the human condition.
They cry, or don't,
soliloquise about their fears,
their guilts and their woundings,
or are silent;
they damage each other,
themselves, and seem
incapable of learning
from pain.
But they are not
real people,
only symbols,
only the roles
they occupy:
Father,
Daughter.
It might be heartbreaking,
if it wasn't all so
far away.
A hatred fiend,
Playacting a votary
Of democracy and federalism
To a gluttonous end,
“Unless we grip
The rein of power
Driving a divisive wedge
Along religious and
Ethnic lines, also
Orchestrating terror
Every hour,
See to every evil
We shall
Till the wind of change
Blowing over the nation
Suffers reversal.”

“On the world-acclaimed
Change drive
We shall inflict
Every possible harm
So that flouted it runs
Out of charm!

Using a Facebook army
On par with Tsunami
We shall trigger
And foment conflicts
And make
This and that ethnic groups
Arch enemy.

Slaying toddlers,
Senior citizens
And women, with
The bun in the oven,
Shock we shall
Create often!”

"Also with
'We are victims' clamor
Seeking for a stalemate,
Global-pity a door
We intend to continue
A  victor.

To deflect attention
From a government-junta
Crackdown
To neighboring country’s town
Firing rockets far
Dragging it into war
We shall internationalize
The fight
Conveying our diabolic move
Is right!
Though unheard of in history
We shall splice
In unholy marriage
With any enemy
Of the country.
Also from its back
The national defense force,
Guarding the boundary
And us
Its forehead
In the crosshair mark,
Revoltingly
We shall attack!
Though this makes us
Selfish, our ethnic
Groups we shall use
As a human shield
A daunting influence
On citizens-cherishing
Government to wield."////
(What the TPlF Junta is doing.The true picture of TPLF now being vanquished )
A crackdown on a junta outperforming Satan

The TPLF Junta that is using the peace-loving Tigrian people as a human shield to carry on its evil intent of wrecking down a nation had been milking the country’s economy dry, making citizens shed red tears and perpetrating atrocities of every brand.
While it was in power for over 27 years, with crocodile tears, the Junta was playacting a vanguard of the constitution. It was claiming a votary of the supremacy of law while in reality it was trampling on the constitution in a broad daylight and displaying a mockery of justice to the dismay of citizens.
As an elixir, the junta, which has got one leg in the grave, was using divide and rule as a tactic to make people see one another as preys and predators as well as oppressors and the oppressed. In so doing, it was planting deep the seed of mistrust among people. That is why extirpating the problem has proved demanding despite the nation’s time-old chemistry.
Also TPLF had labored ceaselessly to loosen national unity.
Under the smokescreen of a make-believe federalism, states’ wealth and natural resources were siphoned hardheartedly by finger-counted despots running the Front. During its heyday this junta never gave the slightest attention to the people of Tigray, who paid a lot to the unity and sovereignty of Ethiopia. It is now making a frantic bid to click with them to save its neck. It is dinning into their ears “because of your ethnic identity you are under siege and your life is under threat.”
Acting the wrong way it had practically underplayed the price Tigrian people played for the birth of democracy fighting against Dergue.
TPLF is a lecher junta which always aims at optimizing its political benefits at any cost. Here, it suffices to raise one issue. Once it did steal drought aid extended to people of Tigray , heavily hit by famine.
As pillage is its characteristic feature this lecher junta has pressed ahead with its thievery. As PM said, to stash away abroad the money it looted, it uses different ways of sending money.  Receiving remittance money from Ethiopians living abroad, here, it had been offering exorbitant price as it had already unduly amassed wealth. It as well let fly FOREX abroad.
Vexed by the larceny, atavism and human rights violation of this Junta Ethiopians had shrugged it off their shoulders as they have embraced the change drive the nation kick started with a forward-looking stance.
Though the crimes the Junta committed don’t let it go scot-free, it was given a chance for introspection and repentance. It was allowed time to mend its ways.
Though the government exercised patience taking into consideration the need for national peace and reconciliation, the heinous bent of the lecher’s junta couldn’t be exorcised from it.
Ever since the onset of the change marches, the junta has been busy at wrecking and destabilizing the nation as well as rendering the life of citizens miserable by the day.
In the statement it had been issuing the incumbent has made clear the invisible hand of TPLF is behind all atrocities being committed throughout the country.
Recently TPLF had attacked the Defense force out to maintain the territorial integrity and sovergeinity of the country.
In so doing TPLF officials have showcased their being traitors. This unheard of impish act has portrayed the lecher Junta spares no effort to meet its evil ends. In engaging in the diabolic attract of the national defense force, writing history with its blood , TPLF has passed the point of no return thereby spelling its own destruction. Attracting a defense force is tantamount to making the country vulnerable to foreign enemies.
Hammering out the antipathy deeply entrenched in the psyche of ethnic groups due to the evil bent of TPLF must be made a point.
Holding criminals culpable is a must do.
TPLF officials’ hands are smeared with the blood of the innocent and they still want to buy time to further spill blood.
Before checking the revolting track-record of the junta trying to broker peace between the sagacious government and this junta is fatuous. Therefore those made a dupe must abstain to ask a chance of negotiation for TPLF.
There are some that say the country is on the brink of destruction and civil war. This wrong mentality is one that emanates from not knowing Ethiopians who love their country and show chemistry in the face of adversity.
Tranquility will ensue when the crackdown on TPLF officials comes to end soon.//
vircapio gale Oct 2015
started the day hearing jokes about clitorectomies and other female bodyparts being mutilated. at lunch i learned that the bible predicts that a 'dark-skinned leader' signals the end times. the other morning i was the shouted subject of various ****** accusations while i went to **** in the woods, and called a "******* hippie-tree-hugger-******"... as a joke, .. test.. target of overspilling hate and ignorance.. i think.  i've witnessed extreme homophobia combined with a disarmingly authentic homosexual playacting --a moment of hand-holding or flirtatious banter that almost convinces one of a sincere, sensitive fondness or even a vulnerable sexuality beneath the surface of these men..  yet alongside such blatant racism to drain the hope in humanity from any listener: "Ferguson hasn't made people crazy--it's made black people crazy... And people wonder why there are stereotypes... IT'S BECAUSE THEY'RE TRUE!!!" and comments like, "it's all about the Jews..." and "I think Obama is a ****" randomly dot the conversational landscape of each day
i want to ***** from this...  been unable to share anything along these lines for a long time... Fear of spreading fear... Fear of fear itself... Fear of my True experience working as a utility line clearance arborist trainee for 5 months... Fear of being hunted down by my ballistics-loving boss... Fear that because i live in the Same house I did when I worked there... He may show up with his weapons and other bigoted cronies... I don't work there anymore....  Please accept an apology if I've caused pain by sharing....  unfortunately this rhetoric has become commonplace again... Let us hope history's repetition doesn't leave the world blind ...  it felt awful trying to turn this into verse... please know I mean no harm.. Si vales, valeo
1/4/15
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
This time it’s me, leaving.
Not begging you to stay.
Not sitting alone, grieving.
This time, I’m the one
Who is going away.

I’m not fooling myself
That you even care.
We lost who we were
Along the way somewhere.
It used to be about love
Now it’s just paying rent.
I had a lot of love, but,
I don’t know where it went.

It’s an old love story
I never wanted it to end
But now it’s too hard
To continue to pretend.
I see in your eyes that
You don’t care anymore.
So what is this last bit
Of playacting even for?

This time it’s me, leaving.
Not begging you to stay.
Not sitting alone, grieving.
This time, I’m the one
Who is going away.
This time, I’m the one
Who is going away.
Cognizant that to
Crosschecking, the credulous
May not pay serious attention,
WHO’s Director General
Abusing your position,
As a hoodwinking trick
Tears trickling down
Each of your cheek
I saw you expressing
A cooked up idea,
An interviewee,
On a so called
Reputed media.
A reputed media
Ironically and terribly
A probing knack
That does lack.
To media weak
Unwilling
To cross examine
Whether the whole
Truth you speak.
“Why your likes—
Terrorists TPLF juntas—
Fired rockets
To a neighboring state
Intent a terror to create?
Why you did the same
On Eritrea
To create
In East Africa hysteria?

“Why in Mia kadra
Your likes
—Genocide perpetrators—
Massacring the feeble
And unarmed civilians
With a machete
Expressed to what extent
The Amhara race
You hate.”
“Why your likes
—traitors—at
The Ethio-Eriteria border
You stabbed in the back many
A national army member
In the back,
Worse waiting till
It gets pitch dark?
Salivating for arsenals
Must you
Your siblings attack?
Is it to invite
Self-defending soldiers
From the border’s other side?
Or is it running amok
To enjoy in Eretria a free ride?
Now playacting a victim
Why you try the truth
To hide?”

“Why the likes of you
—lechers—
For about 3 decades
You bled
The country dry,
Forcing millions
Lamenting their fate
With empty stomach die?
Why including those who
Hail from your ethnic
Background, on safetynet
Leaned for existence to date?

I wonder how now
You dare
To show affectation
Humanitarian issue
In Tigray is in
Your radar of care?

With
Laundered dollars,
Abroad, stashed away
Lavishly dishonest journalists
You buy as it isn’t hard
To get such guys today.
A spoiled brat
Mercenaries you hunt.

Now, barefacedly
Must you cry?
“ ‘Doves are my
Likes and I
How failed you
To pity us? Why?’
Akin a crocodile
Loud you cry?”

“Why atavism of
All-brand
The likes of you—
Mafias— spread
Throughout the land.
While the blood
Of the innocent is
Fresh on your hand,
You dream how
For reinstating
The despotic regime
Another chance
You could stand?

“Why mentally sick
The likes of you—
Colonial legacy mongers,
Vanguards of common wealth
White supremacists –
Disgustingly ingratiate
In a way
Unheard of to date
Ready to receive
And A to Z execute
What they dictate?
And to historic enemies
A hand you lend
A sign moral-wise
You are clinically dead.

“Why the likes of you—
Political thugs—
**** was your
Characteristic feature?
Mr. Director General
To spice the interview
Leave not
Your ****** exploits
That you most remember.
Of course, tell us you can,
While in power
How many
**** victims’ demonstration
In Mekle
You and your friends
Conspired to ban.
Yes **** is a
Worst crime
But registered weres
Many such offences
In your time.

Yours ,sham media
And dishonest lobbyists
Unholy marriage
Provokes the
Innocents’ rage! ///
Crocodile tears
I once met a man made out of steel;- but he was too afraid
To disclose all the hearts he stole, instead pointing out
All the love he had bought, as one constantly waiting for
What’s in store. The wise con artist selling out dreams
Only to lonely fools, who buy into flightless ideas-
Such tall ideas, with the promise of giving them wings

And to those he came to meet;- his very eyes carved up
Their bodies, to offer as fresh sushi; a bloodlust fishman,
Holding a charm with such impeccable practice
He spoke love’s language, with words sharp as knives
Cutting all costs, to make any love feel exorbitantly priced;

Alas I present myself to you- the author of such dreams
I am a halibut; playacting to have tough flesh underneath,
Drowning in the endless submerging feeling, of love
Swimming an entire life; sinking deeper by a heart of steel,
Still, anything that must breathe, must certainly bleed.

As when I bought a taste of love, it indeed
Tasted like my very own blood!
Schmucker Oct 2013
Keeping it short and sweet no kids by choice.
So tired of little kids specially teens
playacting at being grown ups.
That's end of poem
Not a poet and know it
but don't want kids and maybe never
after reading some of the poems
written by them
In the political arena
Playacting one's
Ethnic group's vanguard
Head to toe  they
Indulge in corruption grand
Spawning many of
Their brand
Eager to seize
Every advantage off hand.
Politics in my native land nowadays
JB Claywell Oct 2020
Where have we gone wrong?
Is this wrong?

We can hardly stand to speak to
one another anymore.

Does anyone remember how to
actually use the telephone feature
of the device that they carry
in their pockets?

Is this the future?
Am I living in the past?

How does one stay grounded, centered,
in the moment, these days, these months,
this godforsaken year?

Everything,
every conversation,
even my plate of biscuits & gravy
has been politicized, polarized,
punctuated, with the pugilism of
keystroke pundits.

On most Sunday afternoons,
I sit and compose.

My own musings;
the oatmeal of my mind.
Waiting for Goldilocks,
maybe a bear or three.

Come Monday,
I’m incarcerated for the day,
playfully playing the role
of Counselor
to men with addiction-issues;
an outright aversion to following
the norms of our less-than-gracious
Golden Age.

I might say that I’m playacting,
but I take it all very seriously.
(Not myself, mind you,
the work done inside those iron-gates.)

I refuse to perform with an angry eye,
heart or mind.
Seeking
clarity.
Showing
concern.

Are you a help or a hindrance?

This might be the question
we all could answer,
especially now,
on the downward *****
of
The 21st year
of the 3rd Millienia.

We’ve elected an inept celebrity.

Several of us love that facist fact,
loading out in our flag-adorned F-150s.

(Yee-haw!)

What a shame.
What a sham.
What a shambles our humanity
is in.

Our souls scream for something
that feels like success,
security, surety.

Even those whom are seen
as the least of us;
who vote against their own
self-interests,
they deserve better than
The Beast of Us.

Our faces hidden behind masks,
tearful eyes,
our fellow citizens have died,
our leaders lied,
we rioted, protested,
looted,
in response to jack-booted oppressors.

Confessors?
None.

This battle,
this race of inequity
may never be won.

Still,
we run.

*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublicarions 2020
The play times were the best times
times ten
and I remember when
it was playtime all the time
and then the bell rang time
and playtime ended

hair short and grey
but back in the day
it was sunshine on hay,
now
a bit of playacting
tracked in
like mud on my shoes

old and easier now to confuse me
where was I?

Water divining or wine in
a glass for my lady,
baby
we have it all.
Kassiani Mar 2023
I will keep crossing out
The tender lines
And the soft words
And all the evidence of how badly
I just want to be seen
So that I can keep lying to myself
I am playacting a version of me
Whose heart doesn't jump for anyone
And doesn't ache to be gathered close
And if I can just keep on pretending
Maybe one day
It will be true
most feared most needed too velvet to define
sun rose world exploded sentience fell like shrapnel
best colors invisible which floor is your life now
no one stays forever be your own round trip memory
playacting sage fools the mirror
gleefully awaiting new chance of suffering
meteorite flames over sonogram star fields
arc of history bends toward dada
drawing cabaret voltaires from deepest wells
the attic is the desert where all stairs lead
clouds weeping bon appetite
binary keys locking layers of doors to the river
glad to have journeyed but never again
replacing the bell tower with gaia's echo
alternative hades ruling shadows and ashes
just down the street from the holy grail
euclidian tea leaves photosynthesizing archimedes
speaking ions across emerald deserts trapezoidal pop music
contagious future infecting tone poem multiverse samsara
surfing with psychosis across long lists of oceans
rolling out underwater carpets
juggling arrows on jugular veins of streets
no one in the forest hears one hand clapping
north star appears in eyes within eyes basement chin
gold buried rising water deep end dividing into silver portals
by Howard Gipstein
Copyright © 2024 by Howard Gipstein

— The End —