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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
The Day Mr Zephaniah Died<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n after Frank O\u2019Hara<\/p>\n by Jenny Mitchell<\/em><\/p>\n On the seventh day of the twelfth month We fill the break with Is it true? Perhaps Now the class must share a poem \u2013 The Day Mr Zephaniah Died after Frank O\u2019Hara by Jenny Mitchell On the seventh day of the twelfth month 2023, at the National Maritime Museum, a minute…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":575,"featured_media":15933,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1660],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15936","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15936","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/575"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15936"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15936\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15933"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15936"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15936"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15936"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
2023, at the National Maritime Museum, a minute
since the break began, I wish the woman in my class
would not look at her phone, tell us you are gone,
leaving this behind \u2013 a chill that traps
the room when freedom is our aim \u2013 to write
that poetry can open prison doors. Your voice was key
to that great task, Brummie to your core
with a prophet\u2019s force, labelled worthless by police
when only a young man, growing strong enough
with words to decline an OBE, your stated aim
to bring empire down \u2013 rhythm and not guns,
rhymes instead of bombs.<\/p>\n
a dreadful hoax,<\/em> checking every phone, the chill
ten minutes long \u2013 seeing it writ large,
your birth date and your death.<\/p>\n
Langston Hughes alive again \u2013 Freedom
will not come\u2026 through compromise and fear.<\/em>
But the man who reads this out in a gentle voice
has to stop, contain his tears the day that you are gone.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"