Best Genders Poems
In a world where chains restrict,
my one wish would be for everyone to be free.
If I could alter the fate of those forced into silence -
I would unmute unheard voices.
My gift to the world would not be
the statue of liberty,
it would be to end patriarchy.
So everyone can walk unbound,
unshackled, and speak their truth,
spreading their gospel without ridicule.
Each person's story to unfold,
softly among appreciative ears.
In hearts and minds we can all
sing our forever freedom song,
echoing loud among universal waves.
No tyranny, no oppressive imperialists,
no political interference from ignorant minds -
only procreation of serene co-existence.
A birth of personalities of dignity,
blooming in an essence of evergreen spirits,
under sapphire skies of serenity.
In every hue we would be free like the sun,
bathing in the light of independence.
All genders shining, regardless of shade,
where shadows are as pure as our souls.
To exist without fear,
to have no separation,
to never be a tick box,
to never be placed in a category,
so we can actually find humanity,
in world where we share an air of freedom.
She asked for a pic
I went through the rules
No this and that
Bust and above
My best features
Only that
No hips and no arms
those aren't my charms
I went through the drill
My students knew it well
She came and whispered in my ear,
"Teacher, I love your figure
You're SO sexy."
I burst out laughing
Was this a joke?
No, she was dead serious
She loved how I moved
She loved how I danced
"Back home...
They'd love a woman like you
Your fullness is proportionate and sexy."
It seems a silly thing
But I did pose for the pic
I flicked back my hair
Had a smile on my face...
No, I'm not who I was...
But I'll get there somehow
I have to enjoy the here and now
A simple compliment
I'd heard like it before
from both genders...
Hard to accept
When you feel bad about yourself
But I never tire of hearing it
Beautiful and sexy...
Me?
It's all in the attitude
In the way that you move
in your smile and your eyes
Even with thunder thighs
A move and a shake
Will keep them awake
BUT....
I'm going to gain back my former glory
and watch out world....
That compliment is about to turn REAL!
Eileen
A transgender child
does not not exist
just because a white man
says that that is so
as two spirited
third genders
and others
(eight in the Talmud! that I didn’t know)
exist around the globe
as in the
hijra of India
fa’afafine of Samoa
burrnesha of Albania
quariwarmi of Peru
guevedoche of Dominican Republic
muxe of Oaxaca
sekrata of Madagascar
fakaleiti of Tonga
lhamana of Zuni
winkte of Lakota
bakla of Philippines
acault of Burma
xanith of Oman
and waria of Indonesia
just to name a few
gender is as binary
as is the world is flat
asserting so otherwise
is simply spewing scat
A dry habitat where sailing boats were invented
and the paper, pens, keys and toothpaste.
Also where beer was a national currency
and the last dress standing is preserved.
This dwelling offers worship to more than a thousand deities
and cats’ funerals are honoured with the shave of the eyebrows
The most numbered Arab citizenry
possessing the globally most spanned river course.
Eye painting is practiced by both genders
for healing ability and a cover against the sun.
Even with the myth of mummification and the awe of Giza
It is certainly true that one of its habitations
Was found to be swallowed by the sea
White horse
By Michelle Morris
27/12/2022
You always wanted
A knight on a white steed
You always hoped that he'd
Sweep you off your feet
But, then you became wiser
You realised your own strength
You didn't need a hero
You'd be your own instead
That image of the white horse
With a strong warrior mounted high
It is a reminder for both genders
That we have dreams to which we aspire
For men long to be heroes too
They want to feel strong and sure
They want their partner to accept them
For all the good things that they are
It doesn't really matter
How we learn our roles
It doesn't even matter
What beliefs in hearts were sown
What truly matters
Is that we achieve balance within
That we realise that we are strong
But can be vulnerable at times
Relationships don't need to be
About power and control
They should be about friendship
Compatibility and honour
Sprinkle in love and passion
Kindness and good sense
Wildness and freedom
A chance to be yourself
Whatever works for you
It's important to feel loved
To feel that you're supported
For who you truly are
May you be your own hero
May you find a love that's noble
May you experience enchantment
Like a white horse from Heaven's stable
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Dinner with friends while soft candlelight glows
We're dressed in formal attire, both genders
Goblets of wine while conversation flows,
what fond memories the moment renders.
Shared recollections from decades, gone by.
Good times of laughter and those when we cried.
Melancholy, it was a night spent without a dry eye,
happy tears and sad ones, we could not hide.
Round the damask draped table we remained.
Too quickly to us, it seemed the hours flew.
Reluctance to end the night was not feigned,
then, came the chimed hour to reckon adieu.
Hearth side, I sat... satisfied and alone.
Serene and reflective on friendships sown.
I
know He
walked the Earth
as a man when
He was God's own Son.
No matter if a He
or She, when all's said and done.
Love and Goodness have no genders,
though it's very hard to comprehend
that God is not a He or She but Friend.
Venture advances, the future ... occurs,
the White Willow trees, best found by rivers
edge. Salix alba, and 'Tristis' means sad,
hence, 'Weeping', yet the essence seems to add
a picturesque of a draped graceful scene,
nay gloomy but most tranquil, and serene.
The whitish tones of the leaf's undersides
evolved the tree's name. A meter trunk, wide's,
diameter, thirty-meter stretch that
leans caused by sloped limbs that bring its Top Hat
tilted downward. A bow ... accentuates,
or curtsey, being a deciduous
tree, where the flower's genders grow distinct,
genteel parade cascades in white trimmed linked.
****This poem was written for all the wonderful women out there and my appreciation of their lovely existence --- half the reason my pen becomes ablaze is to adore the superior of the genders. Everyday almost I get at least a memorable smile from a woman while commuting; this fills my soul....****
To look into the eyes of lovely itself,
and dream a thousand days of her smile,
and call the millenium barren without her,
tall, plush walk.....
strides in the naked night....
Moons waiting to delight, the feathered
silk of her waxen wings;
a million suns could not melt....
But her hero upon the hill,
and make sweet surrender her arms;
and wanting her touch to love,
in a midnight grove,
stroll the lush orchard,
with flowers in her hand.....
To music at home,
dancing into bedrooms....
and dreamy little love lands....
For all the mysteries of a woman
in her hand,
(she held)
"Women are traps
that lay for men
everywhere"
said Franz Kafka,
"in order to drag them into the infinite."
Maybe.
But why not,
Women are incense
that invites men and other women
and all genders everywhere
into the in-between infinite
EarthMother incense
invites
omnisciently enlightened
AnthroMind,
omnipotently empowered
EarthBody
CoPassioning
FatherSun
MotherEarth
integrity
Lighting fragrant dawn
powering fertile dusk.
My Fetish. I adore you.
Wedges. Pumps.
Stilettoes. Brown.
Baby Blue. Black.
Red. Pink are all so
beautiful. You make me
feel like a lady. Nikes.
Timberlands. A pair of
killer boots. Match with a
fedora or a fresh to death
leather coat. Uggs, Steven
DSW, oh my how I am grateful
for you. Loafers. Buckles. Straps.
Peek a boo toes. Strapbacks. ON SALE.
Played dress up with my mom's and the
love affair began. Leopard. Bows. Fashion.
Class. With leggings. Jeans. Skirts. Suits.
Bikini underwear with a special Boo. Bags
the same color, high heels assists with what
some say is my sex appeal. Pretty details draw
attention from all ages and genders. A little girl's
obssession grown into a woman. Closet packed sparkling
eyes, legs dancing, carrying me into the next life lesson.
I give you tribute and pay homage to you. I love you shoes.
Moon goddess in nocturnal flight,
When Luna’s rise at midnight breaks
One’s deepest breath of awe she takes.
Her wings are formed by silky light.
Silver shards beam through drifting clouds,
Curtains of light in misty shrouds;
Her hair billows radiant bright.
Her face a luminescent glow,
Captive of heaven’s indigo.
She whispers secrets to the night,
Twinkling stars light years away keep
Peaceful solitude in our sleep.
In dream state she relates her might.
Luna keeps vigil over night;
Genders poets compelled to write.
Emotions bared with-in her light;
Her mood through pen is oft’ displayed
In violence or love allayed.
A lovely view, her awesome sight.
Beauty remains beyond compare,
The gift of love she deigns to share.
Moon goddess in nocturnal flight,
Her wings are formed by silky light.
Her hair billows radiant bright.
She whispers secrets to the night,
In dream state she relates her might.
Emotions bared with-in her light;
A lovely view, her awesome sight.
December 18, 2013
The Hug
He is loving
caring
In love with the idea of hugging
Yet part of him
The scared part
Doesn't allow him to fully give himself
His hugs have the obligatory arms
The move forward
The joyful smile
The enthusiasm
Yet they lack believing
The feeling of deserving
After all there are scars
The names
The looks he's endured
His hugs are a safety check
A cry of please love me
A hint of I'm not sure I can trust you
Trying desperately to find his place in a world
The one he has never felt was or is his world
So he tries to carve a place for himself
One hug at a time
Until he can melt himself into it's arms
Until he believes he has a space
A place that is his
A place unconcerned with the bending of genders
Or wrapped in the cellophane of churchie staring people
He is not some preconceived idea
So he will hug them
Not fully, just a bit
Until they start to hug him back
Until he really feels it
Because he really
Truly is
And always has been
A loving person
A caring person
One who doesn't understand
Why?
why?
Why have so many chosen to hurt him!
I for one will gladly
Happily, lovingly
Reach out and embrace him
Because this wonderful
Gentle
Thoughtful young man
Desperately needs a hug!
Dedicated to Ryan.
This poem came after participating at "The inspired word cafe".
After reading my poems a young man gave me a hug.
As each performer performed he would give them a hug.
I watched both him and the reactions of those being hugged.
The experiece left a mark on my being that needed expression.
Therefore thanks to Ryan this poem came to life.
I cause one's self confidence to crumble away
Like a worn-down building left to decay
I infect the minds of the old and young
Trapping them in the isolated web I've strung
I force others to believe they aren't good enough
They must be tall, skinny, beautiful or buff
My name is body image
I am seen throughout education, employment, and social rights
Taking expectations to soaring heights
I make women assume that it's acceptable to be used as objects
Or men must be strong and can't ever cry in any prospect
I don't allow genders to be reassigned
You must be your birth gender defined
My name is gender roles and discrimination
I can cause impressions with just one glance
individual expression isn't given a chance
I create the illusion that one race defines all
Fabricating personas big or small
I seem to compel others to act
Solely based on a skin color abstract
My name is racial socialization
I am needed to have success
Until one obtains me they'll never rest
I drive individuals into the ground
Instruments of money don't make a sound
If money is power
Where is my crown?
My name is money obsession
Together
We are called society
I am sitting at the Arizona Memorial,
which shows how far my scruples have gone.
I lived in Hawaii for years, and
could almost claim to be a kamaaina.
without the least inclination
to visit this memorial to war.
I look at the line up of people, a
new group every forty minutes, and
wonder at the numbers and differences
in races and genders and ages,
and the irony of a Japanese American
tour guide and think, Manzanar. Yet,
could this be cause for real optimism?
Is this just a job for him like the guides
at Gettysburg or Agincourt ?
Has time healed the wounds so soon?
Are events now so remote, so rapidly?
Who leads the tours at Buchenwald, and
Cherry Ridge?
I sit in the midst of tour group twelve,
the eleven-forty bunch,
and wonder what I will hear.
Will it be fair?
Will we hear of scrape metal and crude oil
as well as military factions, Tojo and the Diet?
Will we hear of honest people
on both sides
that try to avert a tragedy?
Will we hear of the millions
held in thrall
to the follies of a few?