I am very lucky to have three wonderful sisters. We are all grown up ladies now with our own families and I also have two special sons, two incredible nephews and two beautiful nieces. The people in my life are a source of a lot of my poetic inspiration and the very first poem I wrote as an adult was inspired by the interesting differences between boy and girl children and the way they approach life and art. This poem entitled, My son, features in my first book Sir Chocolate and the strawberry cream berries story and cookbook.
The metaphorical poem below was inspired by two different ideas and thoughts. Firstly, my older son was learning about metaphorical poems, a concept I had never heard of before but thought was immensely interesting, and secondly, by my reflections on the interesting and amazing relationship between sisters. Sibling relationships are an interesting mix of joy and pleasure in each others achievements, tinged with a good dose of sibling rivalry as you all via to get attention from other family members. Sisters inspire you to excel [you aren’t going to play second fiddle to your sister, are you?], they are your greatest critics but they are also your greatest fans and a stalwart support when the winds of change blow in your life.
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The good, the bad and the ugly
A sister is …
|a thief, stealing attention that is rightfully yours;||a port in a storm, when your house of cards falls;|
|a fountain of knowledge – your problems, not hers;||a megaphone whose voice is louder than yours;|
|an expert on everything you try for the first time;||a comedian who’ll dance and make you laugh till you cry;|
|a cloths horse, specially when she’s borrowed your clothes;||a home where your children are always welcome;|
|a confidant with whom you share secrets and hopes;||a purse to help you out of a bind;|
|a competitor who always shines brighter than you;||an advisor when your spirit’s battered and bruised;|
|a shoulder to cry on when life lets you down;||a beauty queen, who’s face is fairer than yours;|
|a diary of shared memories, the old and the new;||a voice of reason, when yours has taken a day off;|
|a provider of wine, in good times and bad;||an embarrassment who recalls your drunken antics;|
|an artist, who’ll make up your face, if you beg;||the best thing anyone could ask for.|
By Robbie Cheadle