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Passions in Poetry

A Skinhead Summer

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Senior Member
since 12-07-2008
Posts 500

0 posted 12-26-2008 12:21 PM       View Profile for Marc-Andre   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to Submit your Poem to Passions  View IP for Marc-Andre

We had just heard the last school bells,
One afternoon in June;
We hailed the sunny summer days
Out of the barracoon.

A glorious summer for the gang,
T’was time for girls and beer;
And on the streets of Winnipeg
We all would share good cheer.

We shaved our heads, we got tattoos,
We polished our new boots;
To be united we took oath,
In parks we’d hold our moots.

We all were of the working class,
Our nation was our pride;
We were no punks, we took no drugs,
Subhumans wouldn’t bide.

But most of all we hunted fun,
Not playing barracat;
We were too old, too young for cards,
We wanted some good ska.

We went to bars to dance at night,
In parks we’d spend our days;
And everyday we had good sport,
And stayed away from frays.

One July night, it all did change
When our fanfaronade            
The cops would halt to take us all
In for a bastinade.

With what they charged us, we’d soon know
Once we were thrown in cells;
For murder, trial we would face,
Then yes, we missed school bells.

A black man bludgeoned to his death
In downtown alley found;
A skinhead gang had been seen there,
And now we were stormbound.

From cops, whatever we would say,
All that we met was jeer;
Some screamed at us, some our skulls thumped,
And some would even fleer.

To jail we’d now be junketeers,
The chief would bawl at us;
We’d get no lawyer, make no call,
We were in such a muss.

First they took Ron for questioning,
Then we were called in turns;
The boys came back in blood and tears,
On Betty’s cheeks, cig burns.

They spoke no word, yet I could tell
They’d suffered much aggression;
What I next saw, beyond belief,
They’d all signed their confession.

He offered me to do the same
And thus avoid his truncheon;
I had a minute to decide
Or he would miss his luncheon.

I didn’t sign, he went berserk,
His punches thumped my ears;
His truncheon fell and ended my
Piano-playing years.

They threw me back in iron cage,
We had new company;
A pride of elder skins arraigned,
Here for same felony.

One told us how they’d killed the man,
Said he had raped his sister;
They talked of white supremacy
And worshiped Adolf Hitler.

The cops they heard, yet left us there
At least another hour;
They fed us tales, said old inmates
Our arses would deflower.

Then to the street we were sent back
Without apology;
Of how we’d soon be thrown in jail
Got much tautology.

We shan’t be there for fall school bells,
No we shan’t be around;
We’re northward bound, we shan’t be back
Forever we’re stormbound.
© Copyright 2008 Marc-Andre Germain - All Rights Reserved
Senior Member
since 12-26-2008
Posts 549

1 posted 12-26-2008 12:33 PM       View Profile for Anniepimm   Email Anniepimm   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Anniepimm's Home Page   View IP for Anniepimm

A most stunning write,
It kept my attention from beginning to end,
And sadly rings true,
Many young people were accused of things they did not do just because they dared to look different,
Well penned
Member Ascendant
since 03-12-2008
Posts 5028
by the sea

2 posted 12-26-2008 01:26 PM       View Profile for 2islander2   Email 2islander2   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for 2islander2

enjoyed the read.I have always been distant with skin heads, don't really know them.
Member Patricius
since 05-14-2000
Posts 11545
New Brunswick Canada

3 posted 12-26-2008 02:31 PM       View Profile for ethome   Email ethome   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit ethome's Home Page   View IP for ethome

I'm thinking there's much truth in this write......Sad but flows nicely and rhymes very well.....A tale well told.

Senior Member
since 12-07-2008
Posts 500

4 posted 12-27-2008 02:57 AM       View Profile for Marc-Andre   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Marc-Andre

Thanks for reading and the supporting comments       Yep, unfortunately this tale is as true as it is rife. It matters not whether you know about skinheads (you could always watch the movie This Is England), that's not what this ballad is about anyway. I think the story is universal; just go on the streets and listen to those ostracized teens: rappers, emo, white, black, hispanic, etc. "Listen" is the key word here; I will always remember what Marilyn Manson replied when Micheal Moore asked him what he would tell those kids in his film Bowling for Columbine; he said he wouldn't tell them anything, but rather LISTEN to them. That was really touching. The deeper you delve into it, the more you'll realise that they really are variations on one theme. Our youth is our future; too often they find themselves stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, and too often they feel they have nowhere to go.
Senior Member
since 10-02-2007
Posts 870
The US,

5 posted 01-07-2009 04:49 PM       View Profile for chopsticks   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for chopsticks

Mark, I enjoyed this one. I didn’t know there were skinheads in Canada  I though they were all in


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