I’ve given up for the night on attempting to write any more school reports. I have weans on the brain. Those I’ve been writing about, my own, my nieces and nephews, friends of my kids, you name it, I’m surrounded!
And they amaze me. They fill me. They are up to the mark on so many things I wasn’t even thinking about at their age. They’re so on the ball. Sharing their thoughts and feelings with a passion that leaves me speechless. OK, nearly. I have to have my say. And they come back at me, and they listen and they question and they share.
Gawd, how they share! Do weans these days have no embarrassment?!
Seriously, I won’t tell you what ‘inappropriate’ stuff filters through my poor lugs. I’m scandalised half the time and, fortunately, honest enough to acknowledge that the only thing that stopped me from sharing so much for so long was fear. They don’t seem to have that. Well, they do, in some ways, for things I can’t believe they fear. Then they go and say or do something that leaves me gasping WTF!
They are tremendous. Truly tremendous.
Young minds engaging in absolutely everything and with passion and a sense of truth and justice I am proud to say must have had something to do with their parenting. Even a little.
As for the rest, the times they live in, we live in, guarantee easy engagement.
I could go on forever as to why this matters to me, to us, but I won’t, hoping instead that my poem says it more succinctly. If it doesn’t, I have a cohort of youth at your disposal to enlighten you to their feelings and thoughts.
You’ll find them near an almost empty fridge. Do they ever stop eating? No wonder they’re all towering above me. In more ways than one.
We’d better laugh just now,
The kids are crying,
They’ve taken all they’re gonna
And that’s sad,
Sad they ever had to
Deal with lying,
Keep on trying
To oppress,
The kids are mad,
Mad as hell,
Just like their mental mothers,
Sanity in fathers
Gone for good,
Pressure boils the cauldron,
Can’t contain it,
Watch out folks,
For kids misunderstood,
Understanding new,
Where once was absence,
Absent fathers,
Mothers gone to pot,
Bubble, bubble,
Here comes trouble,
Children,
Raised without
Deserved, so
They’ve got
Passion in their veins,
The kids can’t help it,
Fires in bellies
Where there should be food,
Listen to their grumbles
And you’ll see it,
Won’t take much more,
The kids don’t need the ‘hood.
Courage on their foreheads
Like a tattoo,
Raising merry hell in politics,
Ask them,
Go on, ask them
Can you take it,
Up to all the spin
And dirty tricks.
Child from streets
Not talkin’ ’bout the ghettoes,
Kids like yours,
Like mine,
They see it all,
Festering, they burst it
Then anoint it,
Blessed be,
The kids won’t take the fall.
Savvy on the streets
And in the parlours,
Talkin’ jigsaws,
Piecing all the bits,
Whoopdedoo,
Some arse is due for whipping,
Generation 20′ need their fix.
Rocking chairs we ride on
Are now seizing
Little bits of pasture gone if dealt
On the pain of children,
That’s called justice,
Not too late yet
If we feel what’s felt.
Riding with the kids,
No need for Harley,
Hair to air on horsepower from inside,
Comin’ at you,
Watch the film now screening,
No place to run to,
Braves are running wild.
Wild and free,
We know that we were there once,
Difference being,
Not a bit afraid,
Everything’s been shared on social media,
Not got a secret left,
They’ve all been played.
Free from fear,
The kids are on the rampage,
Some misdirected,
That’s just par for course,
But watch the wonders,
Surging all around us,
Youth with yearning,
Action and discourse.
Gawd, excited! Can’t you feel their movement!
Battalions brave, bevy beautiful,
Lads and lassies,
More than hopeful, fired up,
Subtled to astute
‘Tween ruled and rule.
scottishmomus 