POEM: Clever Kids


Clever Kids
EMMA SEASMAN·SUNDAY, 10 JULY 2016
I’m proud to have two clever kids, but they cause me such confusion
I have to Google search their words for conversational inclusion

They’ve got brilliant researched knowledge and analytical insight
I’m trying hard to to get a word in as they attempt to be polite

See, they mean well and respect me, but I’m still here feeling daft
When they have to stop, and show me how to use my iPhone apps

With meticulous verbosity, beyond average teenaged patter
They argue over human rights and things that really matter

Even when we talk of music, my most confident chat of choice
They can’t help but overthrow me with their Wikipedic voice

The verbal spillage of their knowledge is like reading NME
They’re music experts at the level of a doctorate degree

My son is playing strings like Clapton, he knew his chords within a week
He was playing lead within 9 months and he’s only just turned fourteen

My daughter wants to be a teacher, her first placement’s taken flight
‘cause she’s been teaching me since prim’ry age, coz my maths is proper shite

So, what do I have to teach them, that they don’t already know?
How can I influence their expertise and help my kids to grow?

I can teach them that their knowledge is a precious tool to hone
To share their words help the world is a true talent to own

Coz there are many academics who are blind to social skills
Who use their brain to shape a world infused with selfish ills

I’ll teach them, life is full of wonder and accidental learning
I’ll push for them to fight for love in their ambition and their yearning

I can teach them that they’re precious, that they’re always on my mind
I can let them know that kids like them are proper hard to find

I can teach them that I’m always here when they’re tired or stressed or glum
‘cause when they leave for University, they’ll still need hugs from mum

By Emma Seasman © 11/07/2016

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mother Country

“Go back to where you come from, ‘cause we haven’t got the room!” Well if “they” should, so should you ye tit,  I see no ancient Britons in my view We’re stood in Liverpool you gobshite, once the gateway to the world We welcomed travellers from lands afar, and shipped slaves to yield our wealth Half of us are Irish bred, from the Emerald Isle they fled Victim to famine caused by rotten spuds and no wheat or seeds for bread That migration caused hostility, and they were accused of stealing jobs Then we focused on opposing sides of Catholics versus “proddy dogs” We did the same shit during Windrush, and put signs in window panes Aligning dogs savaging for scraps with nationality and race Now we criticise all non Christians for the actions of a few We forget our country’s religious terror past in this blinkered point of view “But they’re terrorists and rapists, they’re all abusing little girls” Check statistics mate, you’ll see all faiths and races share that worl...
Read more

POEM: Liverpool’s First Language (Eleanor Rathbone)

Liverpool’s a hot bed for protest and for change. Politics is ‘r first language debate’s how we engage. Our only Blue’s in Goodison Red’s ‘r governing flag. Yellow is for bellies who’s left is middle class. There was one of independence she shunned those primary hues, she fought for hidden voices, brought breadlines into view. She studied noble Dockers held spotlights on their cause, questioned unfair acts from bosses who paid crumbs for those on board. She questioned why our women who had equal sweat on brow had to work for less than pittance with them in charge expecting bows. She took arms against oppression infuriated by our plight: didn’t condescend or pity she cleared our paths so we could fight. She craved for equal power, pushed for knowledge to be shared, created services to guide us, so our voices could be heard. She addressed the global challenge of how women where abhorred, subject to violence and repression, ignored and robbed of...
Read more