Gender Studies [poem]
Whatever happened to the way things used to be
when boys were unafraid to feel their manhood
bristlingly and girls could wear their curls without
the cries of others wailing “traitor to the cause”
with voices shrill & mocking sisterlove insistently?
For man just loves the gallant ardour of the chase
and woman loves his wholesome breath in haste
behind her yielding neck as winsomely that ladye
turns this way then that; a teasing always aim to
please him swear she’ll never leave him acrobat.
And when surrender sweetly understands the lily
splendour of its precious place then neither prim
nor prying eyes or thoughts can scornfully invade
the gracious haven manandlady space exclusively
retained for all who love to meld in nature’s way.
Ruefully fadely jaded by every reactionary social
engineering crudesome manufacturing effected
for the purposes of gender-bendering and thusly
rendering the gorgeous wavy but distinctive line
between a truly she-and-he to be of no efficacy.
Manspreading happens naturally when men have
confidence in their manhood and are truly free
from needing to defer to what the mob deems as
correct (in effect, castrating what a man, in all his
pioneering on behalf of ladylove, was meant to be).
When women dry their juiciness, disguising their
fragility and nurture-nature claiming it is merely
just a social construct, that’s because they’re in
denial that humanity consists of more than skin
and that there is the God-made spiritsoul within.
If men and women do not (like a dovetail joint)
amalgamate, homogenise and meld their selves
into a wholesome one (a state for which all sane
& simple people long), then huge will be the cost
& our divinely-given life’s foundation will be lost.
I spit in the eye of fashion’s foply faddishness and
bowly holding open every door for you infers no
weakness on your part but rather my deferring to
the warm receiving nature of your heart which —
though you may resist — is who you truly inly are.
No one needs to ‘tough it out’. Neither girl nor
boy has any need to imitate a surly lout but each
must find that shape within which dovetails with
the pattern of the other’s call thus bridging all the
gendervides devised by darkness through the Fall.
© Alan Morrison, 2019
The Naked Troubadour 