The Secret Stead is the pen name of a UK-based writer and
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Benjamin Lay is a dwarf
made of stern stuff
with high moral standards; a Quaker
no fucking faker
a muthafucka of a trouble maker;
from the area of Colchester
Lay finds himself in trouble
with his Quaker community
because he feels the need to speak out
for his high morality;
the man won't do drugs,
he stands up to thugs in the street,
a hunchback only about four feet,
he stands on a mountain of decency:
his spirit unbent and ten foot high
he'll tell it like it is, he won't lie,
sticking two fingers up to any authority
except his belief in God's Mercy;
have you heard of him?
my man was alive in the eighteenth century,
we all know that line
we excuse cruel men
for being of their time
what about the good men out of their time?
do we speak of them?
well then, let's speak:
do you think he considered his form a disability?
he was a sailor,
saw inhumanity and spoke out
not with a whisper, but a motherfucking roar,
he'd wipe the floor in protest;
he wouldn't desist;
he moved to Barbados with his wife, to open up shop,
saw the strife of the slaves
in the leading slave society of the world,
he saw people not of his colour
starved to death
beaten to death,
tortured to death,
and what did Lay do?
he fucking laid the slave owners out in a single breath,
not with a whisper, but a motherfucking roar,
he'd wipe the floor in protest;
he wouldn't desist; he knew God was on his side,
a Joshua leading his pride
through the desert of inhumanity
he was one of the first
to speak out against slavery
in the eighteenth century;
his moral certainty
made him a man out of time,
forward for his times
and ours;
that little Quaker spoke out against plantation owners
he challenged the slavers
denounced the fuckers to their faces,
flew into rages;
they ridiculed him
they heckled this Ajax the Great,
this committed vegetarian
who made his own clothes from flax
to avoid the exploitation of animals,
this shepherd wouldn't even use
the wool of sheep;
but his flock
said he was mentally deficient,
because he refused
to shut his eyes
to the big sleep,
he wouldn't keep communion
with the common thought of his time;
but his iron will was just fine,
it always kept him still,
then my man went to a British territory;
we all know it now
as the united states of liberty;
and what did he do?
this freaking feminist,
raging abolitionist
radical protester of the death penalty?
values not even given a name
so early was he in the game,
so many centuries ahead
of his so called contemporaries,
and what did this hunchback
of the grand slam do?
saw inhumanity and spoke out
not with a whisper, but a motherfucking roar,
his moral courage was stronger
than the broader culture;
so he made the fuckers go spare,
my man was a rare dessert,
he had flair,
this tree of Joshua was alone
in the deserts of America,
but he didn't care,
he knew all living creatures share
life's divine song
not just the strong;
he knew to separate
violence for violence's sake
to every living thing
even against the wrong
of his heckling human mate,
he told it like God knew it, he didn't lie,
said fuck you to any authority
that didn't follow His Mercy;
yet during his long life,
he was disowned by the Quakers
in America and England,
for he walked the path
others would only later understand
to be the just one:
he was the beginning word
of the final say to human slavery
even though it only took
his last year on this earth for him to see
his brethren of any worth to agree
to take up his rage against slavery,
even though it only took
a hundred years further
to abolish slavery in America,
it took three hundred years
for the Quakers to recognise their wrong
and put right the historical injustice
in the treatment of their brother;
he died in Philadelphia,
we all know it
as the city of brotherly love
yet none was shown
before my man
went to his main man above,
because he wouldn't give up the fight
for his vision of a better world
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refused to envision basic injustices
society saw as normal and right
and dragged their darkness
screaming into the light
benjamin lay was a dwarf
but that isn't a slight
made of stern stuff
with standards higher than a Quaker,
no fucking faker
a mofo trouble maker;
probably one of the chosen few
to have shaken hands with his Maker
Published 5 May, 2026
