My uncle, the actor
I had an uncle who was an actor
My mother took me to see him perform
At "Folkets Park", the people's place
He played a detective. I spoiled his scene
By the audience, he was my uncle Lars
My mother had to take me outside
The acting bug stayed with me, and I wanted
To be an actor, too, I read a lot back then
and made up scenes in my head, of course
I had the best lines
When I was almost 40 years old, and ill
I was sick often in those years, mainly because
I didn't like the way my life was
I saw in the local paper the theatre in Chester
needed someone to help on stage ( I lived
in England at the time)
I rang, a young woman answered, she was
not impressed with my English and said I had
to speak perfectly before getting a job
She had poured cold water over my dream
But it was a dream inspired by my uncle
His wife was a woman with red hair; she
laughed a lot
I like to go visit them, one of the few
places, I felt at ease, could talk, and not
be told to shut up
But for the life of me, I can't remember
her name, I will put this article aside and
wait until her name appears in my dreams
RANDI was her name
Here comes AI actor Tilly Norwood
(Who looks for a career in Hollywood),
Made of flesh nor yet blood,
She’s caused still virtual flood
Of backlash from Guilds actors in dark mood:
Despite her surreal smile,
Protests against her pile--
‘Alive in time nor space,
She can’t humans replace’--
A product of tech art
Whilst acting comes from heart,
Bogged are the movie makers so to brood.
__________________________
Happenings | 03.10. 2025 | actor, art, blood, heart,
The day I met an actor
Father Brown sat in my garden drinking beer
with fellow actors and producers.
Father Brown remembered me he had seen
Me watching him every weekday on Tv.
The actor profession is strictly hierarchical
I could not sit at his table but be placed
among the actor, like the one coming out
of the post office walking up the road and
has no speaking role.
I had a watering can and when watering
A rose bush near him, he spoke to me.
“So, you like to watch Father Brown?
“Yes, sir, I love the program.”
“Thank you,” he said, with that, he turned
to the other casts by the table
The moon hangs in the night sky
Like a beacon for a child at bedtime
There's time to have bedtime stories read to you
There's time to recite prayers to You
She wanted to be that music box ballerina
If only daddy could have seen ya
Pirouetting and forgetting in moments of.....
Frozen prances and unfurling action
In the store front window, blink and continue
There's no time to stand still
When Fred Astaire wants to dance
No time to check makeup
When Cary Grant wants romance
In a Holden crush, or Cooper embrace
That is where Audrey Hepburn stands
i feel so stupid
i actually believed you loved me
i believed every lie
how could i know it wasn't true?
it all seemed so real
the smiles, the laughs
every time you were there for me
how much of it was fake?
i forget you're an actor
and you're really good at it too
you can easily play any role you're given
it makes sense you could pretend to love me
you have me on your strings
they're on my limbs
controlling my every move
holding on so tight
i can't break free
i'm like your puppet in a way
i do what you want me to do
i act how you want me to act
it's like i'm wearing a mask but
i'm hiding all your truths underneath it
i know you so well
better than you know
yet it's like i don't know you at all
i would've never expected this from you
i changed when i found out the lies
i've never been able to look at you the same
i question everything you say and do
but i didn't change to you
i stayed the same
pretended i didn't know
because i think you forget
i'm an actor too
The actor I knew
Mikael Elphick, a talented actor
I admired
he liked to read my poems and said they were like stories
and therefore, easy to read
He understood I was trying to find a space between
poetry and prose, that is why I dislike calling
what I write poetry, vignettes seem in order
Mikael was a kind man who liked that I was not
hanger faking friendship and being agreeable to his
political opinions, which I found eccentric
The last time I spoke to him was outside a café, he
was struggling to walk home, I gave him a lift
a reporter from the Sun newspaper sat in a tree
it might have been Pierce Morgan, as we know
has bullied his way on X
a few weeks later, Mickael was dead, killed by
his alcoholism
You applause the actor
Her harmonious tone
Her play of words
Her triumphs heard
But do you love the stage after the song
The leftover footprints from where it sang along
Atoning for every step that was missed
Retrieving the dust from her accomplishments
The dust from the skill she used to win
The dirt from the shoes that store talent within
She takes a bow and stifles her breath
For love won’t come if she shows weakness next
But no one applauds the stage after the show
For being there, for laying low
For setting a platform all but their own
The cleaners perceive them as one last chore
The light flicks off, and what is love?
The stage hadn’t known, from being alone
And it will never know, until the lights flick on
And the cleaner applauds it for all it has done
Let us take a road trip,
now off with bags and zip.
Snow covers the wide road,
no grass here to be mowed.
Cow riding the tractor,
is it a huge actor?
the thief is the best actor,
even outside the theater,
but in the show of life
he steals the spotlight !
Dramatic pause
Stage diminished
Alcohol influence
Living on the streets
Nickel and Dimes survival
Actor being once a striving Actor
Contract revoked
His final curtain pulled down
Had big dreams
Wanted to be in the movie streams
No Movie Star
No longer owns a car
Could have gone far
Inspiration being just a word
Closed door
Fallen to Alcohol
Stage presence forgotten.
a cure for the chill winter blues....jason momoa in
a loincloth
Born to perfom
In the camera's guide
To the peffect life
My short story continues with this insightful excerpt:
The One Actor That I Did Not Know
Most of my guests are corporate leads,
and my first was none other than, The Jackson Five.
I was one week new on the job, then--still 18--handled a few guests, as I was learning the ropes of the hotel's various department functions and their contribution to the hotel. Tom Hanks, bellhoping at age 20. As I'm keeping my jaw tightened, a kid about my age with a nice afro that is in style. "I'm Michael Jackson." Pleasantries were exchanged as my assistant dropped the room key, and as I maintained eye contact, "My assistant is briefly detained (to sway his watch from behind my back making hand gestures to the clerk), our bellhop there will take you and your luggage to your suite.
Raj Kapoor, A Bollywood immortal film star,
His movies had a deep impact on audience,
Nargis, was his favorite heroin,
I thought she was his wife.
There once was a man from Bombay,
Who danced in a silly and wild way.
With a wig on his head,
And a grin so widespread,
He made everyone laugh
He created a film industry dynasty,
Even now, his grandson and granddaughters dominate the film industry,
There was a myth, if your last name is not Kapoor,
You cannot become a heart throb film star.
I’m Mz Mortenson, if you please.
I dispensed with the charade
when I went to my grave.
Life can be tricky
if you’re pretty.
My life was a role,
I couldn’t always control.
How unaware the dumb bombshell seemed.
Still, I was labeled the obscene Norma Jeane.
in reel life’s small doses,
the role was emotionally corrosive,
merely etching away my fragile identity.
In real life it proved erotically explosive
destroying my privacy, serenity, and sanity.
I thrilled in some 29 films, I took a few pills,
was a plaything for mobsters and tabloid mills.
When I started a fling with the president,
did I have any idea what I was up against?
Some free advice - beware of counterintelligence.
Homicide, suicide - what does it matter
- which one is sadder?
I knew I’d always be there for you, sensuously beckoning,
at 24 frames per second, like an eternal flame - flickering.
.
.
Of course, Norma Jeane Mortenson’s stage name was Marylin Monroe
Written for the 'Lost Poetry from History Challenge' contest.
Where you write a poem in the voice of an historical figure.
16:00.06-17
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