Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Gender

"What are little boys made of?

What are little boys made of?
  Snips and snails

  And puppy-dogs' tails

That's what little boys are made of

What are little girls made of?

What are little girls made of?

  Sugar and spice

  And everything nice [or "all things nice"]

That's what little girls are made of

         Nursery Rhyme (@1820) 

“…gender is not sane. It's not sane to call a rainbow black and white.” 

― Kate Bornstein

Transgender Pride flag

“Moving heavy objects allowed me to feel manly in the eyes of other men." 
― David Sedaris, Me Talk Pretty One Day

"I’d much rather be a woman than a man. Women can cry, they can wear cute clothes, and they’re the first to be rescued off sinking ships." ―Gilda Radner

“If we don't place the straitjacket of gender roles on young children, 

we give them space to reach their full potential.” 
― Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Dear Ijeawele,

"I'm A  Man" Muddy Waters, Bo, and Little Walter

Midweek Motif ~ Gender

When Maya Angelou wrote her wonderful praise poem "Phenomenal Women," it was revolutionary ~ both defiant and fun. Has a praise poem erupted of similar strength for men and other gender identities? If not, why not? 

On the one hand, I suspect that men have not had to assert themselves against prevailing mis-definition and oppression. And transgendered and nonbinary persons have just begun to find their voices of praise. Those who have spoken mention great difficulties, pain and fear for life and safety.

On the other hand, I suspect these praise poems exist and I don't know where to find them.

The times are a'changing.  

Your Challenge:  Write a new praise poem on the experience of gender.  

"I'm a Woman" Koko Taylor

Phenomenal Woman

Related Poem Content Details

BY MAYA ANGELOU

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. 

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   

But when I start to tell them, 

They think I’m telling lies. 

I say, 

It’s in the reach of my arms, 

The span of my hips,   

The stride of my step,   

The curl of my lips.   

I’m a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman,   

That’s me. 

I walk into a room 

Just as cool as you please,   

And to a man, 

The fellows stand or 

Fall down on their knees.   

Then they swarm around me, 

A hive of honey bees.   

I say, 

It’s the fire in my eyes,   

And the flash of my teeth,   

The swing in my waist,   

And the joy in my feet.   

I’m a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That’s me. 

Men themselves have wondered   

What they see in me. 

They try so much 

But they can’t touch 

My inner mystery. 

When I try to show them,   

They say they still can’t see.   

I say, 

It’s in the arch of my back,   

The sun of my smile, 

The ride of my breasts, 

The grace of my style. 

I’m a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That’s me. 

Now you understand 

Just why my head’s not bowed.   

I don’t shout or jump about 

Or have to talk real loud.   

When you see me passing, 

It ought to make you proud. 

I say, 

It’s in the click of my heels,   

The bend of my hair,   

the palm of my hand,   

The need for my care.   

’Cause I’m a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That’s me.

(Maya Angelou, “Phenomenal Woman” from And Still I Rise. Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou.)

I Hear America Singing

Related Poem Content Details

BY WALT WHITMAN

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, 

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, 

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, 

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, 

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, 

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, 

The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, 

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, 

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, 

The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, 

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

 Page from A Guide to Gender by Sam Killermann

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—

               

                       (Next week Susan’s Midweek Motif will be ~ April )