A Misogynist Declares Love

Be there any firmer base for a bastion,
than the love of a man?
Doubtful, for the muscular arms
love to construct the concrete.
Thus, the man’s love will most certainly,
and with legitimate warranty,
kneel in front of womanhood,
and promise fidelity.
Only in return, the modest man asks but
fertility, infinity, and certainty,
the three concrete bindings of the coital bed and loving harmony.
O woman, love the man,
for there be love in his kneeling posture,
and children in the glimmer of his boyish eyes.

Here: the wretched misogynist.
Be there no creature fouler for fair women?
Than this spiteful, awkward beast.
He might kneel in front of mighty womanhood,
and believe me, in due time he shall.
Only, as he kneels,
the ground shall scrape his bloodied knees.
He kneels for the weight of his agony
that the presence of femininity unleashes endlessly.
For the poor misogynist, he loathes not,
but loves.
Loves womanhood faintly, and intangibly.
Loves with a reverence abstract at best.
With the weight of this love, the misogynist kneels.
Speaking of no promises, no future, not a word,
except at his last moment, the depth of the awe he feels.

So, be true to your creation, O woman, and be kind.
In the fortress of good man’s love, become marital bliss.
Love every regulated kiss, for the lips of the man are sincere.
But be kind, be intuitive and listen to the sea.
Listen and hear the misogynist.
For across minor obstacles like oceans,
and white walls of brown, smoky bedrooms,
the sentence of routine and the end of the world,
the kneeling misogynist might finally belt out a whimper.
That horizon of the end times, oh woman, attend and mend.
And construct the love song the misogynist poorly arranged:
“I’ll be yours, if you’ll have me true,
I’ll be yours and I’ll be like your heart,
whimsical and full of rage.
If you will it, I’ll be yours”

By JPV

Copyright September 2005