A dash of movement
One by one
Then two by two,
ascertaining where to start,where to begin...where to play.
"She's not my friend,"
"I'm cold," "Look at me," "Can you zip my coat,"
"I'm the fastest runner,aren't I,"
Movement that never stops.
Chasing games,running games.
Its a whirl,its a twirl,
Its so very quick,
There is no steadiness to be found.
Its dynamic,its pushy.
Its exciting,its shovey
Full pelt freedom,taken at one hundred and fifty miles per hour,
By the young.
Their time.Their rules. Their play.
Trousers with holes in the knees and probably scuffed up shoes.
And as for shorts...have you got the plasters ready?
A whistle blows
And it all stops.
Children simply freeze on the spot.
Not a movement anywhere.
Still as still can be.
Then the second whistle blows and it's action stations
Everybody has a place to go and they dive there fast.
It's the race to be first,the most important person,the leader.
Jostling abounds and shouts of goodbye fill the air as friends part and go their separate ways.
And the playground returns to silence.
Just a big open space.
Until the children play again.
I'm lucky enough to see children at play every day and it fascinates me.
One day just before half term I stood watching them play and this is when this poem began to form...the dynamics of the playground and of four year olds who have only been on a big school playground for six weeks.
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