Poetry, a man's job?

Despite the tiredness, struggled out to an open mic session last night in the Feile bar in Wexford street. Was a great night, Uiscebot inspired more of his pin dropping silences. Various rocked and brought the house down - particular appreciation for the donkey schlong references... (sorry Various!). The other poets there were excellent, I really enjoyed their performances. But Various did notice after a while that she was the only reader of the female kind. So, I felt inspired. Below is my vitriolic response to the gender imbalance, written in the style of the majority of last nights offerings.

Wednesday, Wexford Street.

Shaggy hair, greasy mop
performance poets know what's what
monochrome, monotone, frenzied drone,
tell it like it is,
Damn it, its dramatic. Get it?
hold the mic, tight, bend over double
trouble us with your point of view
Who? us, the adoring rabble,
scrabble to hear how it is.
fifty verses, no A4's, rewrite the laws
of what's acceptable.
its prose this poem that doesn't rhyme
tarnish the shine of iambics cause
pause in all the right places -
have us in the palm of your hand
pace and prowl,
scowl.

But its a bit xy round here, why?
Where are the women, in the kitchen
flinching?
As their men declaim.
it takes a man to really scan
The only one who
can tell the message?
Spell it out, idea tout,
anyone buying or selling
yelling.
whispering into the phallic prop
non-stop for five minutes flat.
Got it all down pat.
slap and clap the messianic poet
Doesn't he just know it.

but I've got a thing or two to say
if i was bothered to unleash it
on my brothers.
Shudders at the thought
its not all fluffy kittens, pretty mittens
Fixtures and fittin's.
listen here, I'm not a militant,
a touch paper filament looking for sparks.
But you ignite my ire,
Inspire my spite, stiffen the sinew for the fight.
When we're silent and you're complicit.

A remedy, a plan of action
Next week i'll stand, face to the man
paper in hand

and scream -

Sod the lot of you, swaggering apes
throwing your shapes.
Crusaders in your capes, don't
Make me laugh.
You've got your big ideas, free as the birds.
Change the world, you're deep and profound
Return to lost and found,
I'll tell you
what's what, me and my synaptic melting pot

breath in breath out,
repeat,
replete,
then stop.

Oh, and by the way, I do actually really like blokes, not their fault if they disappear up their own arse every now and then... :o)