“Are you complaining, honey?” she softly said,

A soothing hand upon my head,

Given a moment to meet in place,

They had “whispered” me, relaxed, ready for bed.

A comforting, authoritative look in his eyes,

Just strong enough to override my belief,

Tact and resolution, a confidence I would buy,

She that day, just a twisted knot.

It was a solemn moment when they whispered to me,

Barely a thought, I just dipped the crown,

I did this so willingly that I nearly fell,

Among the constant exercise, but certainly not frown.

An instant in time under the gun,

Certainly special except none,

A driving heart, yours to be won,

Yes, she will be mine until the day life ends!

Man whispering is definitely an art,

Adjust the will and then start,

A moment of comedy as funny as a fart,

Reminiscent of the wedding carriage!

Apparently not everyone thinks farting is funny! Women find them less funny, they tell me “reliably” (?). However, the whisper of the man is a respected art in the golden age, just like the whisper of the woman. They exist equally and in good and healthy tension with each other.

It is the convolution of humor, humility, good sense and mutual submission. It is the spice of married life.

Being ‘whispered’ is a concept made famous by an unmentioned beer advertisement; is a legendary horse whispering (or dressage) game in equine circles. Brumbies aside, the nature of dressage is not exclusive to horses or the animal kingdom. Actually, being whispered about is about submitting to the moment of common sense; find joy in laughter in the seriousness of tempting emotional pride.

The partner who whispers to their partner keeps the moment going beautifully, but the response is also very important. Both in association must be in one, in sync, for it to really work.

This, of course, is a joyous dig at myself as much as anything else.

The moment that this poem made “famous” was a real event. My wife and I learned something very profound from him.

© 2010 SJ Wickham.