Benjamin Zephaniah

Politricks 

satire and humour

you taught me that behind clever rhymes 

is the life played on repeat 

even if it’s on the rong radio station 

you lived your life as a warrior poet

with your black belt 

and heart felt verse

you spoke words not to fill your purse or wallet

but because you wanted to make a change 

in this world of racism and drama 

you wanted better karma for us all

though your words have been graffitied onto walls

and written in our minds for all time

Rasta master poet 

the man with the flow don’t we know it

a dread degree in ghettology

but a man of philosophy and psychology with 

eloquence who spoke to us all

and with a tear in remembrance 

I celebrate your life 

may you walk in heavens fields

and may we never yield to injustice 

like you taught us 

because you taught us life’s value 

and the value of all people 

anarchy and self determinism 

we choose our fate 

to fight for what’s right 

like you’d say is never too late!

Like a football manager

I look to myself for management

like a football team

who’s fans scream for their cup dream

I am in the depths of relegation instead

fans dreams are dead.

I fight disturbed sleep

waking up from bad dreams

screaming booing my own game

and the shame of losing

I am bruising

going into battle like a worn out team of veteran players

I am in need of better management and encouragement and prayers

not a self talk that swears

schizophrenia and autism a toxic mix

and sometimes I cannot help but feel like a dick

another penalty going against me

I withdraw to the stands

the best laid plans

of a team with high hopes and dreams

but I keep screwing up my own team.

I am too inconsistent

Middle table in the conference is too high an expectation

when I meet my friends like fans they don’t understand

and give me a frosty reception.

Give me back my dreams

of being a winning football team

putting four past the opposition

That’s my metaphor and my disposition.

Mr Bluesman

Mr bluesman

Strum those chords

croon that tune

Mr bluesman

you understand the blues

even if in life you didn’t choose

to live those sad times

Life chimes

some times it burns out

like a bouncing fag end

sometimes you can’t pretend

that it’ll work out for the better

we write those letters

those songs

for it’s this life that sometimes goes wrong.

Mr bluesman

play your songs

in pubs and in high street bars

look to the stars

be inspired by your scars

this life plays the blues

just like you

so play your chords

with your fingers

love doesn’t linger

but it burns

all the way down like strong neat whiskey

It’s intoxicating

mr bluesman

sing with confidence and conviction

Singing songs is your addiction.

Man Kind?

Man kind?

I have a hard exterior

I feel inferior

I have never heard of unconditional love

conditions have always existed

behave

be good

do what you should.

If only I could

be the person you’d love all the time

and my thoughts were no crime

I am a man

I maybe kind

but suffering is why

because I know I cry

behind the mask

and tasks

are hard if you don’t why you’re different

and love is the only answer but it’s frightening

because it won’t be offered if your strange or different

and this is evident

from what I have experienced.

so I look to myself

for my own mental health

and kindness

to be a loving friend to myself…

My last act

Cut off my sellotaped glasses

staring at asses

of girls I can’t have or marry

carry the child I am into the sham

bury all I am

did I give a damn.

yes yes yes I did…

amid tragic transformation

and a pure imagination

spoilt only by being a man

who cannot understand

the state of this world

So throw my body to the flames

a heart who can’t be tamed

full of tearful shame

and guilt ridden blame

I am the anger inside a coke bottle

shaken with mentos falling inside

afterwards fizzy fallout

I will be spent and full of doubt.

In the end of time

In the fire

the end of time burns

I was the last messenger

I pray that I will hold you when the fire comes.

We slumbered,

out numbered

by those who are asleep

so deep they couldn’t hear

and left over fears

from the last explosion

which began with an emotion

love which burns with hope

I fear the end

but lover time has to bend

and be refashioned

A twisting entity

that eventually brings change

rearrange

the memories.

I can’t be the man you want

No matter how you change the font

words stay the same

I know I am not your type, am I to blame?

I could be made of muscles with six pack and broad shoulder and arms of Steel

but I am not

I could be a scientist with a silver tongue eloquent or just very well hung

I am me there is only one version of myself

I can’t change

or rearrange

I realise my limitations

I won’t be able to perform and act as an imitation

I am who I am

Love me or let me go

for its you I love I know you know!

Boy in the corner

Boy in the corner
stares into space
boy in the corner
falls asleep what a disgrace
it’s school, lesson time
learning about life
Boy in the corner
Don’t you want a job and a wife?

teacher makes fun
boy in the corner
why are you a daydreamer?
or are you just dumb?
everyday there stare through you
you feel numb
sadness is the only way
to live your parents blame you
they blame each other
boy in the corner
you will soon have a sister and brother

Boy in the corner
its time for college
aren’t you glad
boy in the corner you lost your temper are you mad?
The question hangs in the air
boy in the corner
with hell in your head
Boy in the corner
you identify with Jesus but he’s dead

Boy in the corner
Now you’re in handcuffs
You told the police your him
in a police cell causing a din
they gave you your sins
told your sectioned
and need correction

Boy in the corner
taken to psychiatric hospital
in police wagon
facing the dragon that is insanity of life
you don’t want to eat
For fear of the devil inside your mind
Hated by yourself and unkind

The only way out is not believe your own lies
Boy in the corner
You will your right your wrongs
Boy in the corner you are strong
Stay strong in the character you have chosen
your heart is hot not frozen

Boy in the corner you will climb that mountain
Experience that kiss
Love that woman
you will come through this
boy in the corner
Your heart is fierce
boy in the corner
You are man
you will make the haters understand.

The ghost child of the man in the asylum

In side the beaten white walls of an mental institution

where people go to be uprooted from their delusions

Sat a man his hand outstretched as if holding hands with the dark

No spark to light his way, only the tragic marks his way

he used to play childish games by himself

look they say where is his mental health?

has it left him altogether why does his play childish games

he would call a name on the wind

for the child he lost unbeknown to them

Tilly or Matilda the ghost of a child of six

who he held in his arms before he was sick

she swallowed her tongue in an epileptic fit

but before then were eye spy and guessing games

before then were pin the tale on the donkey and blind mans buff

I guess we are all in a way sheltering memories like ghosts

In the places in the heart we hide

which we can never move away from no matter how we stride

or how many steps we take

life is sometimes an evil fate.