A Comfy Kind Of Restless

Good Afternoon!

I squeezed most of my poem-writing time in before I was needed. It is a school holiday today, and it is equal parts lovely and tricky having the boys home 🙂

Busy busy

I set up a half-hour-with-you-half-hour-pottering-with-my-stuff schedule with the kids throughout the morning, and of course it all went swimmingly while I was actually with them…but at least I got to have a 1-2-1 breakfast with each of them, and we’ve played for over an hour together.

The small one has a lovely lingering cough that kept him awake most of the night, so he is extra grumpy/sooky.  Our eldest is obsessed with track building, so has been trying to persuade his brother that we need to do that at every opportunity.  Youngest wanted to play with the alphabet floor mats and the cars. 

from Random Word Generator

So our playroom has been a sea of lurid letters, various vehicles and intricate patterns of railway all morning.  I have been enlisted to help the construction process many times, but the boys have mostly told me they have better ideas when I comply!

I suppose my thoughts turning to toddler-watching for this poem was not really that surprising!

Chimney   Palm   Poem   Treatment   Deny   Socialist   Module   Rice   Dribble

The birds danced upon the chimney

As her small palm

Thumped against the glass,

As if beating time

To some inner poem.

My new window treatment

Bounced to her rhythm;

And, although mildly annoyed,

I could not deny her cuteness.

The T.V banged on about socialist ideals.

Bored, suddenly, she took her toddler self

And returned to her untouched plates.

(One soon launched –

A brief space module,

Throwing off rice)

And cool drops began to dribble down the panes,

Interesting in their twisty paths.

Notebook scribbling

I have been watching the BBC’s NHS Health Check  reports on the news channel all week, and immediately thought of it when I read ‘socialist’ in the word list (apparently Tony Benn has thought something along these lines, too).  I was glad to see that Jeremy Hunt deems the scenes broadcast as ridiculous as my husband and I do.  Let’s hope patients in England start getting a much better experience by 2018.  So glad we live north of the border…!

[The speaker seems to be dismissive of the broadcasts’ stance, but that is just the use of banged in that line, I think. I used it to fit with bounced, beating, thumped and danced but maybe I should have had the reporters hammering home their points instead?!]

I like this poem, and I can see curls on the little girl’s head, and a paisley patterned red dress.

How would you have fitted ‘Socialist’ in with the other words? What would your poem have been about?

I have managed to get us all lunch, and the boys were comfy sharing the tablet for a while (after clearing away all the cuddly toys that were getting in on the vehicle action) but now I have a lil snuffly guy flaked out on my knee! Better get this posted and try for some housework sorting, I suppose…

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