General Poetry posted October 16, 2019

This work has reached the exceptional level
Coming home to find myself.

Mother's Heart, Wilful Child

by LisaMay

A motherless child, I’d grown up wild, 
and never expected much. I missed a tender touch.
Trapped in a box with rusty locks was how it felt, you see –
if I looked left or I looked right, ’twas all the same to me.
I needed a change to know life’s range; 
I felt I had to flee, to see some variety.

In day or night my only sight was endless shades of grey,
for I’d overlooked a precious Book and all it had to say.
My wilful heart went walkabout – to new dawns I was drawn.
But I left behind a love devout when I turned my back one morn.

I packed my car and went too far, beyond the reach of friends,
struggling along a twisty road, o’er rocks and rutted bends.
I travelled light but still I felt so heavily weighed down.
I carried such a mental load, my smile was a crooked frown.
What would become of me? Despair I could not shake free.
My food was boring, bland; my wilderness was sand.

I’d had enough – such living was tough;
I turned my life around and headed home.
Once through that door I never more would roam.
 But I saw again that all was dull and grey.
Then a shaft of light sent a bolt so bright my way on that day.
A Recipe Book lit up on the shelf – I grabbed it and did read.
And there I saw that, by myself, I still could well succeed.

To leaven my life, mix with spoon and knife; 
add spice, some rice, and something nice
to fish on a dish, stirring in some love,
with a pinch of this, and a dash of that. 
Then serve it up with a prayer above; 
break bread, enjoy some chat.

I now can whip up a tasty treat – one that a king could eat.
But celebrity I will not meet, my crowd will be ones like me –
the sad, the bad, the slightly mad; 
I want to make them glad, and set their sadness free.
For I’ve seen a bit of life and know that it’s chance and fate;
there’s no future in hate or moods of blue – now I can relate.

I took my skill to the street, to feed the ones with nothing to eat.
It’s simple fare, I am not rich, but I can play my part.
I will not let them die in a ditch – I have my mother’s heart.

My mum’s Bible was her Recipe Book and now it is mine too. 
Into it daily I now do look – it helps me know what to do.
To keep me on track, and fill what I lack,
the recipes are clear to see: ingredients are laid out for me.
I take their measure – some pain, some pleasure,
and now my life is fine. I found my own sunshine. 
Plain water turned to wine.


Share A Story In A Poem contest entry

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Save to Bookcase Promote This Share or Bookmark
Print It View Reviews

You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.

© Copyright 2020. LisaMay All rights reserved.
LisaMay has granted, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.