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The following may seem kind of 'blah blah blah' and/or the rhymes extremely predictable, but we had to write a poem for English based on the style of Benjamin Zephaniah who bases a lot of his work on the prejudice in society among other things. I'll let you make up your own mind up on what you think of it. So here it is:
‘Spare Time?’
The house, all comfortable and secure,
A stranger outside, waiting to lure?
But remain behind your shutters,
The media the only connection with reality,
The ‘real world’ in their eyes: ‘a tragedy’.
But what if it was inverted?
Now our attentions diverted.
We would like to help, but where’s the time,
Just wait and maybe someone will aid.
But at the moment we’ll remain behind our blockade.
We’ll make the money, you work for us,
Now you’re just another ‘stranger on the bus’.
We have the power now, you without warmth.
The cold blanket of injustice is wrapped around,
You now appear a lot closer to the ground.
Maybe we’d forgive and forget,
But would you, and live in regret?
Reality now slips back into its routine,
We return to the shadows, not a thing rearranged,
You stood on your hill, moral high-ground.
Yet you turn in disgust when we enquire:
“Spare change?”
‘Spare Time?’
The house, all comfortable and secure,
A stranger outside, waiting to lure?
But remain behind your shutters,
The media the only connection with reality,
The ‘real world’ in their eyes: ‘a tragedy’.
But what if it was inverted?
Now our attentions diverted.
We would like to help, but where’s the time,
Just wait and maybe someone will aid.
But at the moment we’ll remain behind our blockade.
We’ll make the money, you work for us,
Now you’re just another ‘stranger on the bus’.
We have the power now, you without warmth.
The cold blanket of injustice is wrapped around,
You now appear a lot closer to the ground.
Maybe we’d forgive and forget,
But would you, and live in regret?
Reality now slips back into its routine,
We return to the shadows, not a thing rearranged,
You stood on your hill, moral high-ground.
Yet you turn in disgust when we enquire:
“Spare change?”
If you have, or ever, read his work you'll see it's not in his style at all, just the thoughts that had to go behind the poem were based on his and even that isn't very similiar to his. Thanks for the comments though. :)
Sounds a bit like a rap, if you say it right, but I liked it. You shouldn't have said you were trying to copy someone's style.
The following may seem kind of 'blah blah blah' and/or the rhymes extremely predictable, but we had to write a poem for English based on the style of Benjamin Zephaniah who bases a lot of his work on the prejudice in society among other things. I'll let you make up your own mind up on what you think of it. So here it is:
‘Spare Time?’
The house, all comfortable and secure,
A stranger outside, waiting to lure?
But remain behind your shutters,
The media the only connection with reality,
The ‘real world’ in their eyes: ‘a tragedy’.
But what if it was inverted?
Now our attentions diverted.
We would like to help, but where’s the time,
Just wait and maybe someone will aid.
But at the moment we’ll remain behind our blockade.
We’ll make the money, you work for us,
Now you’re just another ‘stranger on the bus’.
We have the power now, you without warmth.
The cold blanket of injustice is wrapped around,
You now appear a lot closer to the ground.
Maybe we’d forgive and forget,
But would you, and live in regret?
Reality now slips back into its routine,
We return to the shadows, not a thing rearranged,
You stood on your hill, moral high-ground.
Yet you turn in disgust when we enquire:
“Spare change?”
‘Spare Time?’
The house, all comfortable and secure,
A stranger outside, waiting to lure?
But remain behind your shutters,
The media the only connection with reality,
The ‘real world’ in their eyes: ‘a tragedy’.
But what if it was inverted?
Now our attentions diverted.
We would like to help, but where’s the time,
Just wait and maybe someone will aid.
But at the moment we’ll remain behind our blockade.
We’ll make the money, you work for us,
Now you’re just another ‘stranger on the bus’.
We have the power now, you without warmth.
The cold blanket of injustice is wrapped around,
You now appear a lot closer to the ground.
Maybe we’d forgive and forget,
But would you, and live in regret?
Reality now slips back into its routine,
We return to the shadows, not a thing rearranged,
You stood on your hill, moral high-ground.
Yet you turn in disgust when we enquire:
“Spare change?”