Misogynists are not always full of machismo.
Sometimes they are placid, misguided souls.
Protective,
And maybe self-characterised as,
Gentlemen.
Even chivalrous.
No, they do no real harm,
So they think.
Yet their gender stereotypes are ingrained.
It is them,
To their very souls.
By their ineptitude they court,
A well-meaning,
Feminine guiding hand.
Who soon becomes a dogsbody.
Somehow we are duped,
By their charming hopelessness.
They are aggrieved that their,
Sensitive new age men's club,
Should be perceived as,
Unwelcome to female members.
Yet it is by its old boy, back scratching,
Laissez faire attitude,
Exclusive.
And heaven help,
The immodestly loud and persistent woman,
Who might challenge any one of them.
For she is a harridan.
Here's the challenge - compose a poem each day for one year, that reflects my agrarian life. On our hobby farm on the edge of the Monaro my husband Matthew and I raise children (I have eight, though only five remain at home), sheep, goats, chooks, piglets, a milking cow and her calf, fruit and vegies. To support this enterprise I teach in the remotest school in Victoria - if anywhere in Victoria is truly remote.
Showing posts with label Misogyny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Misogyny. Show all posts
Monday, 30 November 2015
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