Who run the world… girls!

It's kinda placid down on land
just this sussering bee-like breeze
a peace rarely felt by humans
except in silent deep-sleep dreams.
The dust dims the glare of sun-beams
but the twinkle of ancient stars
at night, here, bright as silvered steel
we are privileged to be here, on Mars...

But in our Habs, our own tin cans,
the noise of bedlam reigns supreme
squawking DSN's from Maven
and various rovers compete
with the LSS, and my team,
and gurgles from the hydroponic farms
creating soya meat'n greens,
we are privileged to be here, on Mars...

Mars named by men for war-like men
by Rome, all worlds so named it seems,
'cept for Venus this ours " Woman "
and all moons, female, in male dreams
satellites... men up front, the van.
Perhaps I'll hand my guys a cigar
in celebration, a small treat,
we're privileged to be here, on Mars...

From my first breath,
I was guided by women

My introduction to this world
in the arms of a mother,
followed by nurses
scrambling about
to quiet my confusion

The awareness of fear
a baby's cry
only to be calmed
by the feminine instinct

That respect,
starts with a mother
and branches out
to include the daughters
and sisters of  Eve
if one is fortunate
to be nurtured
by the loving, maternal variety

On record came Blondie
On cassette, Joan Jett
and I was again mystified
by the multi-faceted talents
of powerful, influential women

When I grew up to be of working age
I worked in the VHS store,
owned and operated,
by a woman

And my mother always worked,
and the teachers at school
were of both genders

Of course, a child growing up in the eighties
knew no different
and I never would have considered
that their wasn't equal pay
or there had been a time
when opinions were suppressed

I learned of it,
later

Certainly I clued in
that our shapes were different
and felt a pull
to be in the physical presence
of them at times,
which became amplified
from that shift from child to teenager

And there were those strange pads
around the house
that I had no idea
what they were for years,
but I eventually learned
there was a cycle
to being a woman,
and a secret blood pact
with life-bearing consequences

Through books, film, music
and eventually real life,
I became alerted to an injustice
that never made sense to me
for my initial vision
that we were all the same
until people tried to say otherwise

Sure, I heard my fair share
of derogatory jokes in time,
but again, I thought we were all on equal footing

Boy, did I learn.

Eventually, came dating
and fumbling to places of intrigue
and physical discovery
but again,
it was a collaborative effort
in fitting bodies together
and discovering a whole new world
of excitement

But in that excitement,
I also found out about
the underlying horrors

All my lovers,
at some point,
manipulated
by others
and forced into situations,
or frequently harassed
for simply being
a woman

How can I not respect
the levels of endurance
it takes to be an International Woman?

Or experience a pang of disgust
knowing the mistreatment
that has been allowed
to continue for centuries?

I find no greater comfort
than being in the presence
of their minds and bodies,
their talents and heartbreaks
(even if I don't always understand)

Outside influences
will try and tell you many things,
but my reverence for womanhood
was born into me
and shall die with me.

I heard the glass door-panel,  
her young head backwards through it
fragments worn like beads
abstract footprints patterned  
red on blue linoleum.
 
I turned down the pandemonium  
and looked into his slow motion face,
expecting the trail to be blazed  
but the rabbit was frozen by traffic,  
robotic arms caught on a loop
repeating motions that did nothing.
 
It was then I saw her, stride into the room,
one hand on a tea towel, eyes on the child,
rebooting the robot with basic commands,
calm cascading from her palms,
pure controlled power compressing
every open vessel in the room.
 
I had studied her face many times
but I had never really seen it before.