poem
No one can act unknowingly
Winter
A poem is a life lit between
I can barely read the
Some days, I am young, rave
In a world where birth is a time for grief, soon as she knows
My CCTV
“We’ll see the world through your eyes,
monitor your wellbeing,
for your own safety
and security,” they told me,
“and as an added bonus,
we’ll send you health advice.”
They’ll be monitoring this.
When clapped tongues of bells
lessons end,
end of play,
schools out,
scream and shout,
and run about,
gossiprattle,
vitalprattle,
playground,
ideasground
to be young.
Old wants “Quiet!”
Summoned by bells,
clang of tongue a monastery
meme, a call to prayer
is a call to latest competency tests,
how to fail better,
head down and wish
you had the answer
to your mother’s needs,
your father’s wants,
“We just want you to be happy!”
Bairns bring themselves up too sharpish
I NEED, not want, a babby in me arms.
Allus.
Summat to rock to sleep.
Depend only on me,
nowt and nubdy else.
First steps when it starts.
They abandon thee. Gone,
soft sup on thee tit. Only tha fellas
grubby gob and hands like shovels.
Give me a pramchild.
Every lad I’ve been with,
I’ve had a child by
to say you love them.
Gis thee summat to look after,
while theys bugger off to pub,
or footy or out fishing.
And babbies don’t answer back.
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The Wombwell Rainbow 