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.