Whybro - Dinosaur Bones

Dinosaur BonesbyElaine Whybro



Dinosaur Bones Elaine Whybro 2011
The right of Elaine Whybro to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
Print ISBN 978-1-905916-30-6 eBook ISBN 978-1-905916-36-8
Published by Fledgling Press 2011 www.fledglingpress.co.uk
eBook Cover Design by Annette Nimmo






To all my family and friends

I would like to thank Zander Wedderburn and everyone at Fledgling Press for giving me an outlet for my scribblings on CanYouWrite. Thanks to Sue, Harry, Marm, Bethan and all the other contributors who have reviewed my work over the years and whose own poetry I have so enjoyed reading. A big thank you is saved until last for my family especially my three little girls who are such a huge influence on my poems!

Parenthood
dedicated to Kath Jones MBE She entered this scene all new and pristine greeted by laughter, a slippery character. Your calming demeanour a rock in a storm helped quell my fever until she was born. 'Midwife' does no justice to the skills you possess, spiritual, magical God-given no less. Nine whole months since she was born at home in our front room, I've fed and bathed and sung to her, we call her baby boom! And now it's time for me to sleep a whole night through till morning, to open up my eyes to see a brand new day is dawning. Nine whole months since she was born at home in our front room, I've fed and bathed and sung to her, we call her baby boom! And now it's time for me to sleep a whole night through till morning, to open up my eyes to see a brand new day is dawning.

She looks at me with knowing eyes lasers beaming guilt, how dare I jeopardize the trust on which our bond is built. I lay her in the cot awake, a first for both of us, kiss goodnight and leave the room wait to hear the fuss. Puzzled sounds turn into cries "Don't leave me here alone!" I wait two minutes, go to her a kiss and then I'm gone. It seems so cruel to hear her cry, who's controlling who? If I'm to mother properly I need to sleep right through. And now she's sleeping soundly and I will do the same, we'll both be much more rested now we've finished off this game.

Little Miss Chief gathers her thoughts, a brand new packet of Liquorice Allsorts sits on a shelf incredibly high, might as well be up in the sky. "I'll delegate this to those other two, the ones who are always saying poo-poo, the big one she climbs like a real mountain goat, the other one's stealthy, a slithery stoat" Miss Chief sits and points and commands and when she's happy she claps her hands. "I'll delegate this to those other two, the ones who are always saying poo-poo, the big one she climbs like a real mountain goat, the other one's stealthy, a slithery stoat" Miss Chief sits and points and commands and when she's happy she claps her hands.

The other two girls do as she says; which silly sausage said crime never pays? At last the confectionery thieves are all done, the sweets in the hands of the chosen one. A sixteen month old bundle of crime, mischievous little villain of mine!

Lord Kitchener pointed he pointed quite a lot "Your country needs you! Yes it does what, what, what!" But alas his skills were nothing, they really don't compare to my little daughters finger as it points right though the air. She points right at the window, she points right at the sky, she points right at the joggers as they go running by. God does pointing very well on the Sistine Chapel ceiling but one year old points expertly no matter how she's feeling. If pointing were a new degree I know she'd get a first, her pointing would be worth much more than a skull by Damien Hurst! Which came first, the chicken or the pox? Spots as big as rocks like 'War & Peace' in braille leaves a dotty trail, a scabby dot-to-dot upon my little tot. Little itchy thing feels the poxy sting of chicken claws dug deep makes my baby weep.

Pecked by beaky hens stabbed by red felt pens, stop her painful howl you horrid poxy fowl!

Molly is a princess she told me so herself, she must have been abducted from her castle by an elf. She landed on our doorstep well, our local hospital, and since that day I'm glad to say she's our own little girl. Pink is her best colour blue is just for boys, funny how Buzz Lightyear is the favourite of her toys. And take her to the park you'll find her climbing skills amazing, the North Face of the climbing frame she'll climb all guns ablazing! She gazes down and shouts that of this castle she is king, rascals dirty all of us yucky, smelly things. Later on the princess gives a royal pardon to bigger, older sister who pushed her in the garden. As her chief mum-in-waiting I ready her for bed, kiss goodnight, turn out the light and hope to keep my head! My eldest daughter doesn't know what she wants to be, which career path should she take which university? Should she be a doctor for the NHS? Volunteer to work abroad, help those in a mess? She'd like to be a firefighter like her dear old dad, she loves to hear the stories of adventures he has had.

I want her to be happy, that is my main mission, though I would be heartbroken if she became a politician. I've told her not to worry, don't get in a fix, life can seem confusing when you are only six!

Why do my children like to play with stones? Must be something primitive, a substitute for dinosaur bones. They scrutinize them carefully feel their texture, hold their weight, line them up in perfect rows like houses on a new estate. Gravel by the handfuls, an isolated rock, comparing size and shape and hue, what happens when you knock two stones together forcefully, a satisfying clash of mineral upon mineral, a momentary flash. A time will come when they will ask for brand new mobile phones, so I am not complaining that my children play with stones. Can I be a tiger please? Stripy, bright and fierce, then I'll go and bite my friends, nip them on their ears! I would like a butterfly beautiful and pink, or should I be a princess which is best d'you fink? Please make me a dragon 'cause I'm a Welsh boy see? Do you like my rugby top? My mam bought it for me! Can I be a dinosaur? They are my favourite things.

A pterodactyl so you'd better paint some massive wings! Have you got a tissue? I've got a snotty nose. Can you paint a bumblebee sitting on a rose? Have you got a little paint left for little me? It won't take much, I only want to be a tiny flea! My bottoms numb and aching, fingers stiff and sore, a hundred little faces done and now I'm out the door!

And yea so my daughters head has become a terrorised axis of weevil, as a headlouse jumps from hair to hair like a miniature Evil Knievel! Chemical warfare will have to begin to rid her of these little pests, imposing sanctions will have no effect on these unwanted, unhealthy guests. War crime or not I really don't care I'll sex up my argument for a full-blown attack so they won't come back and make her all itchy and sore. A nit comb, some lotion and plenty of time will ensure a victorious end, an inquiry to check the legality, my actions I'll seek to defend! Headlice are evil and nasty they suck all your blood just for fun, invaders of little girls' hairstyles won't stop till the battles been won! Next page