The darkened room is full of it, oestrogen, I mean
It wafts around us like pungent perfume,
And lingers on our glowing skin, our hair and everywhere;
On strappy bras and miniskirts, high heels and tight jeans,
Wine glasses chink, chink, with swigged beer bottles.
Mobile phones light up feminine faces; a laugh, a cheeky grin
For partners or babysitters left alone at home.
We’ve claimed our space between bar and stage.
Handbags arranged like prayer books around our feet
The all male band, don’t miss a trick as they play
Hard and fast, with our reptilian hips
But time skips a beat and all I can hear are the
Drums of our ancestors, dancing round tribal fires,
Naked and defiant, in their oily midnight skins!
Women! We were once like dinosaurs. We roared
Like giants, needing nothing from men but their sperm,
To affirm the fecundity of our sacred blood, Jesus,
We were gods, back then.
But men found the strength to turn away from us.
Covered and silenced us with Original Sin.
Some, made up shame full rumours about Eve’s insatiable desire
For more apples than poor Adam could possibly sire!
Never mind about losing face, we were busy, guys
Creating the human race! So we called a truce
And shrunk ourselves, bound our feet, became whalebone thin.
Served ourselves up on silken sheets and prayed to
A masculine god, oh yes, we knew how to please and
Men liked us better when we were on our knees!
Smaller, softer, almost invisible, like rare birds; we
Became trapped by nets of romantic love and sold,
With a single band of foolish gold that wound and bound us
By zealous laws; designed, to keep our claws in and
Drown out the battle cries of our warrior queens
Who lived and died, on their own terms
This isn’t the end!
There’s Cleopatra and Boudicca in the corner
(Pulling the cork out of their third bottle)
Putting the world to rights and reminiscing over battle scars
They’re soon joined by Joan of Arc, who has also
Brought the first female pope which could get confusing
Because she’s also called Joan, sometimes John
But hey, that’s another untold story that probably didn’t end in glory!
They both accept a large glass of wine and
Join in the dissing of Julius and Mark Anthony
Who could never agree on domestic policy, the kids
Or world domination, which, the girls think
Was really achieved through religious assimilation
(And some really dodgy taxation)
Sound familiar? It should! What would the girls
Think of us now; how far we have come
Work, family and sexual freedom but I think there is
Still something missing, the option to just do nothing
But be ourselves.
We think we have changed, become more humane
And we’re not to blame for what happened, back then!
When, witches were burnt or drown and even our crowned
Queens were ceremonially wedded, bedded and then
Legally beheaded all in the name of Patriarchy.
Today, our children are still sold into slavery
Possessed by gangs; drugged, raped, stabbed, and shot
As if life had such little meaning or worth!
Women should be wailing in the streets, grabbing their hair
And tearing it out in great handfuls of pain while
Chanting the names of those they have lost;
Showing the world the horrendous cost of such senseless loss
But we hide our grief behind greedy cameras and allow
Others to tell our stories and sell them on global media markets
For just one day, then they are swept clean away, under
The saddest man made carpet, the world has even seen.
No wonder lessons are never learnt!
This is the End!
It’s World Poetry Day today so I thought I’d send this rant poem out into the world in the hope it survives! It started out as a fun, celebration of female friendships but the news of all the gang related murders that have happened recently in the UK bled into my words.