"playacting" poems
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.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
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."////
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 8:07 AM UTC
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-faggot"... 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
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC
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.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
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!
Jul 11, 2024
Jul 11, 2024 at 9:47 AM UTC
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
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
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.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 5:16 AM UTC
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 slope
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
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 9:50 PM UTC
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.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC