“Are you complaining, darling?” she gently said,
A calming hand upon my head,
Given a moment to gather instead,
I’d been “whispered,” relaxed, ready for bed.
A comforting, authoritative look to her eye,
Just enough strength to quash my belie,
Tact and resolve, a confidence I’d buy,
She that day, barely a knot awry.
It was a solemn moment as I was whispered down,
Hardly a thought, I simply dipped the crown,
So willingly did I do this I nearly fell down,
Amongst the steadfast drill but certainly not a frown.
An instant in time under the gun,
Certainly special barring none,
A driving heart, hers to be won,
Yep, she’ll be mine till the day life’s done!
Man whispering’s definitely an art,
Adjust the will and then just start,
A comedy moment as funny as a fart,
Reminiscent of the wedding cart!
Apparently not everyone thinks farts are funny! Women find them less humorous I’m “reliably” told (?). Notwithstanding, man whispering is a golden age-respected art, just the same as woman whispering is. They exist equally and in good, healthy tension with each other.
It’s the convolution of humour, humility, good sense and mutual submission. It’s the spice of married life.
Being ‘whispered down’ is a concept made famous by an unmentioned beer advertisement; it’s a play on horse whispering (or taming) legendary in equine circles. Brumbies aside, the nature of taming is not exclusive to horses or the animal kingdom. In reality being whispered down is about submitting to the common sense moment; finding the mirth in laughter in the seriousness of tempting emotional pride.
The partner who whispers down their mate holds the moment beautifully, but the response is all-important too. Both in partnership need to be at one—synchronised—for it to truly work.
This, of course, is a light-hearted dig at myself as much as it is about anything else.
The moment made “famous” by this poem was a true event. My wife and I both learned something very profound in it.
© 2010 S. J. Wickham.