Not he,
but she.
Fashioned by God
in some image God only knows.
Whether from rib or Mind or torso,
all the moreso she was made.

And so the Hand descended,
upending all that came before
and now hereafter.

And with little help
brought she forth humankind;
"x"s and "y"s to learn their ABCs
in whatever tongue was spoken
where they were birthed,
her tend'rest token.

And this progeny grew,
and became the sons
and daughters of the world,
responsible or irresponsible,
but always watched over by woman,
in front of or behind the scenes,
eyeing her mixtures of genes.

So now, watching in life's dark shadows,
lies the female mystique,
for all to seek and think upon.

Not he but she she is.
Man's Mecca,
lover of fashion,
impassioned lover,
watchoverer, yes,
but, above all, the caregiver,
the bonding one in ev'ry weather,
helping to hold the world together.
No matter its frequent foibles,
troubles, wars and pestilence,
still here she stands
in sometimes silent but stalwart strength,
while men and millions of their minions,
movers and shakers and their following flocks
hurtle through time and space,
war and peace,
cancer, catastrophe and cures,
while she, always there,
and endures.

Jack (



Watch these pages for more poems by Jack.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.



Summer Storm

Dream Place

Rosebush On A Hill



And.......for many others, click the index image.

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