“Noah Throws”


It was Noah’s birthday. He was now three.

He was as cute as a button nose. He was smart as could be.

Noah blew out the candles. Flames gone with one blow.

He then picked up some cake. He then started to throw.

The cake hit the wall. The cake hit Daddy’s face.

With Noah’s next throw, cake covered the place.

The cream flew at friend Harry’s head with a splat.

It dropped to the floor. The dog thought: ‘I’ll have that.’

Grandad had jam on his specs and more on his shirt.

Gran had sponge in her hair and more on her skirt.

Noah picked up more cake and pulled his arm back.

Mummy shouted: “Noah! That’s quite enough of that!”

Birthday party done, Noah was sent for his bath.

His bottom lip was going. He was in no mood to laugh.

But he was smiling again when he saw his rubber duck,

The water, boat and bubbles – there was so much to chuck.

Noah scooped up the soapy suds and flung them at Dad.

It gave him a Santa beard, but still Dad looked mad.

The cat had to move fast as the boat was thrown high.

Noah filled it with water first so no one stayed dry.

Daddy stood before him, his trousers soaking wet.

“That’s quite enough of that young man. Time to get to bed.”

Noah toddled to his room and tried to work things out.

Surely big heave-ho’s and throws shouldn’t make them shout.

The morning came and Noah sat eating his soldiers and egg.

Mummy still looked cross, saying: “Noah – tell me, I beg.

You are a big boy now. You are now three.

So why all the throwing at Daddy and me?”

Noah picked up his egg and put it under his chin.

He then shot-putt it across the room and started to grin.

“I’m copying you, Mummy,” Noah said with a smile.

“I’ve been watching you throw for a quite a long while.”

His Mummy stopped eating her toast mid-bite.

In her head flicked a switch and on went a light.

“You threw things,” said Noah. “It got you on Team GB.”

“If I practise a lot, that can happen to me.”

Mummy hugged little Noah with all of her might.

She gathered him up and said: “Noah, you’re right.”

Hearing such approval he picked up a cup.

But he put it down fast because Mum had that look.

She took him to a place she had loved for years.

A field of grass, a running track and memories so dear.

“You’ve seen me here many times, giving things a throw.

Here’s a spongy shot putt. Go on – have a go.”

Noah did as Mummy showed, throwing things for sport.

He learned flinging was allowed, just of the right sort.

Mummy looked on with joy and with pride.

A tiny athlete was growing right in front of her eyes.

Copyright: Phil Jones 2018