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Ben Devlin Poem
He sits in a room which is spacious and quiet. He stares at the wall, contemplating his diet.
He thinks way back to ten years prior, at the weight he once was, now he’s three weights higher.
It all seemed so easy, to eat properly and train.
It all seemed so worth it, the titles, the reign.
At thirty five years of age, the young man he’s old.
The young man’s been warned of the danger fate holds.
But he knows no different, it’s all he does know.
The training, press conferences. The weigh in for the show.
He never was the most skilled, the most technically gifted.
The wins became seldom as the hopes and dreams drifted.
Thinking long ago when he last held a belt, It wasnt a bad run, with the cards he was dealt.
He had a good spell for a couple of years.
Which soon faded away with all the chanting and cheers.
He remembers the days with his wife at ringside.
His sons at school, telling their friends with pride.
Though He wished that he’d had a better defence, as the beatings he took were nothing short of immense.
A special kind of fighter, they would say. ‘A warrior’ they would shout.
It’s okay he got beaten so bad,
And in the tenth got knocked out!
Hi sits in a room which is spacious and quiet.
He stairs at the wall, contemplating his diet. He’s scared and anxious, he knows he can’t win.
He knows it’s all over once he’s hit on that chin.
He paces about, he shivers and cries. He believes no one cares if he lives or he dies.
But the truth is they do, they’ve kept him away.
He was in no fit state to have his own say.
The damage had been done, that’s what they said.
As the fight he had trained for was all in his head.
He’s now in good hands, he’s now safe and sound.
He’s now in a place with few people around.
So he sits in a room which is spacious and quiet, as he stares at a wall, contemplating his diet.
Copyright © Ben Devlin | Year Posted 2021
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Ben Devlin Poem
Part One.
Bernie Frasier, a funny man, a brilliant man, a can do man, if Bernie can’t do it, no one can! Bernie Frasier, a kind and friendly man, a gentle man, a powerful man. But don’t forget ... a funny man!!
From the UK and here all week. Is the man they all love, the man they all seek. It’s seventy six and he’s thirty two. In the prime of his life and he’s here for you.
The gold watch, the bracelet. The five hundred pound shades. The suits were embroidered with a large ace of spades. There’s one kind of place he felt most at home, a strange kind of place he’d stand all alone.
Looking up looking down looking from side to side, an audience applauding, a great sense of pride. It’s effortless for Bernie. He was born for this life. Jokes about work about money and the wife.
Holding his mike with a grin on his face, executing each punchline, he’s killing this place. Time for a break, a moment to think. Peacefully sat alone he’s sipping his drink.
No knock at the door, it’s known he needs peace. No small talk no chit chat, distractions must cease. Only for a while but it helps keep him sane. A few minutes away from lifes fast lane.
Though not before long he’s back on the stage. With brand new materiel, a fresh and crisp page. The crowd can relate to the tales he tells. Some like to join in with a couple of yells.
You see this man, a different kind of comic. No dirty jokes, No racism, his mind is not sick. Bernie Frasier, has he transformed the game, revolutionised comedy, is this man to blame?
Bernie Frasier, the man raised the bar. Now he can sit back and smoke a cigar.
Part 2
A smokey room, the television flickers. An ashtray full to the brim. An armchair warmed by the presence of a man, a man ashamed to be him.
Empty Bottles by his side. He sits in such a state. The walls are covered with dusty shelves, filled with video tapes. Photos sat on television top, resembling fortune and fame. The cruel realisation within this room, that nothing ever stays the same.
Envelopes opened, scattered around. Bills are rarely out of sight. Addressed to this very lonely man; Mr Bernard Francis Wright. The crowds aren’t what they used to be, with only a few still taking pics. The poor man feeling so out of place and alone in ninety six.
“Where did it all go wrong? Was it the choices I made? Was it the company I kept, all of the women I laid? I never saw it coming, I never had a clue. I thought that all the friends I had were genuine and true!My demise has held me tightly and will not let me go. But I must not take this lightly, things need to change, I know!”
His head begins to lean as he starts to drift away. A place he visits often but can never really stay. A quiet nap is always welcome but this one short and sweet, The door bell chimes a startling noise which brings him to his feet.
He pauses for a little while, thinking of who it could be. “It’s been so long since the doorbell rang, who the hell would come to see me?” Again it rings, loud and clear. Slowly he walks on. “Bernie, it’s me. It’s time to show the world where you’ve gone!”
Part 3
It’s nineteen ninety seven, December the twelth. Bernie stands tall and proud with good health. Back stage he waits, he sweats and then shakes. Downs a quick whiskey then two more he takes.
He starts to calm down and thinks back to last year, Remembers the friend that he holds so dear. The man that got Bernie off from his arse is a man that lives in memory of past.
Bernie’s best friend,his one true mate, had to rescue the comic before too late. Facing a mirror, he sees an old man. Grey hair, crows feet with a hint of fake tan.
A new pair of glasses, a shorter hair style. Feeling some nerves, as it has been a while. But this Modern, fresh take on the legendary comic, is excited and ready, still cool and slick. Just seconds to go til he’s welcomed on stage, just seconds to go til he’s out of his cage.
The one place he talks and everybody listens. The one place he shines and everybody glistens. He gets the nod, his time has come. The man makes his way like a bullet from a gun.
He’s on the stage, the crowd goes wild. Bernie’s face lights up like a Christmas time child. The standing ovation, forever it seems. The welcome that Bernie had seen in his dreams.
He has a job to do so holds back the tears, though it shouldn’t be difficult, he’s been here for years. It’s obvious to everyone, they all can see, that tonight this man is finally free.
The End
Copyright © Ben Devlin | Year Posted 2019
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Details |
Ben Devlin Poem
The boy he came home, he'd just finished school.
He asked his mother 'can I go out and play'?
Mother said 'yes but don't be too long.
We can do all your homework as we sing a song'. The boy he was happy and ran out so fast, Smiling to all of the people he passed.
Mother said don't be too long.
I'm not sure I know how long really is.
I know not the rules for any other kids.
But for now I'll keep running deep into the woods.
When it starts to get dark I'll go back like I should
A year has gone by, from school he comes home.
A little bit wiser and lesser the fool.
No longer he asks to go out and play.
Nobody is at home at this time of day.
Upstairs he walks, dragging his bag.
He has tears in his eyes.The boy, he looks sad. The boy in his room, looks up to the wall. A photo of mother, each day he misses more.
I'm sorry I didn't do what I was told.
I'm sorry I didn't see you grow old.
I'm so sorry you were left all night out in the cold. It seems like just yesterday, when I last saw you. I wish you had stayed home that night back in June.
If granted a wish to do what I could.
I'd go back to that night and come home like I should.
Mother I'm sorry you tried to find me.
Mother I'm sorry you panicked and cried
Mother I still don't know who attacked you.
Mother I still can't believe that you died.
Mother said don't be too long
I'm not sure I know how long really is
I know not the rules for any other kids
But for now I'll keep running deep into the woods.
Copyright © Ben Devlin | Year Posted 2019
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