Under our skin


Lifes obscene
It always has been
For better or worse
Here we’re still standin’
There are many many others
Always flirting with sin
I’m really only here for the thrill of the win
So when you all come in
Place your tongues in the bin
I’m not even kiddin’ here’s a knife to begin
I’ll even get a phone ‘n’ get an ambulance ready
I always feel so nervous when I sound this unsteady
Already one grins
Blood drips from their chin
It’s obvious such problems
Haunt us under our skin


Poem from restored blisses


A voice oscillating so melodically
How have I never heard its call before?
Seeping over me so intrinsically
Eagerly hankering for its encore
Oh sweet sweet symphony
Instills me with a sense of sense
A catalyst for my epiphony
How could I ever recompense?
Bewitched by the notes they charm
My fears and frets disarm
Here I lay blissfully limp
Taken away into nostalgias palm

Good Men

Really enjoyed reading this poem today from paulwelsh27 blog.

Paul Welsh - Poetry

Summer’s Stately Home
bell ringing Fordism for carters and nags
past sounds sipped by male moustached lips
brazen beer breath hawkers
pulling equine straight-on
gallops are the death
Victorians without clean drinking water
drunken socialists are red lava over wealth redistribution
Locksmithery struck from the Plebian curriculum
hot tracing sunshine blazing trails towards tour guides eyes
hallelujah for Marx’s opium
Exocet missile rays of distraction
cracked elbows on cracked glass
mongrel mania
great house and greater leader
Volk love, scalped, handled hearts

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