Skin In The Game
The old man's skin was parchment thin,
his eyes a watery blue.
On his left arm he bore the mark;
his Birkenau tattoo.
The letter 'B' and six numbers
would be with him to the grave.
A permanent reminder
of his time as Hitler's slave.
Two winters spent in Auschwitz-
What God would so design?
It left him gaunt and starving
with no faith in the Divine.
Yet he survived the worst and lived
when all his bunkmates died.
His first wife was dust on the wind
as was their little child.
Now his grandson bears that mark,
the one and very same.
To remind the world Of Hitler's crimes,
He has skin in the game.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When Hitler Came To Breakfast
When Hitler came to breakfast
He just sat quietly there
With that silly little moustache
And that dark and greasy hair.
He didn't really talk much
And he had a frightened look
We tried to jolly him along
By practising salutes.
I really hate that Brooks man
He finally exclaimed
With that awful movie
Now remind me what's its name?
We all sat stunned in silence
No one dared to speak
We'd got it from the video store
Only just last week.
Oh we've never seen THAT movie
We said in unison
But then we gave the game away
By humming that one song.
You know the one i mean i said
The best one on the score
I don't know that one at all he said
Can you sing a little more?
Can you imagine me and Hitler
Singing in our hall
Singing 'bout his regime
And his eventual fall.
'Springtime' warbled Hitler
Was the time i liked the best
In those freezing bunkered winters
I wore itchy woollen vests.
I might just like that movie
It shows a side of me
That Eva may just once have glimpsed
But others didn't see.
I suddenly was woken
And where this breakfast it had been
The room now was quite empty
And I awoke as from a dream.
poem by David Keig
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Tattoo
I am the criminal whose chest is tattooed with a poinard above which are graven the words 'mort aux bourgeois'. Let us each tattoo this on our hearts.
I am the soldier with a red mark on my nakedness-when in a frenzy of love the mark expands to spell Mad Queen. Let us each tattoo our Mad Queen on our heart.
I am the prophet from the land of the Sun whose back is tattooed in the design of a rising sun. Let us each tattoo a rising sun on our heart.
poem by Harry Crosby
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When Hitler came for the Jews... I was not a Jew, therefore, I was not concerned. And when Hitler attacked the Catholics, I was not a Catholic, and therefore, I was not concerned. And when Hitler attacked the unions and the industrialists, I was not a member of the unions and I was not concerned. Then, Hitler attacked me and the Protestant church
Martin Niemoller in Congressional Record, October 14, 1968
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Caught Between Two Opposing Angels
One glorious summer's evening,
Out drinking…
In O'Sheas Irish Bar in Manchester
I bought a round at last orders.
When the bell began to sound…
I thought it odd, people are leaving
In their droves; then the doorman
Said down your pint 'Mr and go'…
Or I'll take it now, bro.
I protested and made him wait…
I didn't anticipate his anger
Towards me or his unapologetic hate!
Outside, I complained face to face.
He got aggressive filled with rage
He wanted to kill me - seriously.
I then called him a little-Adolf-Hitler
My you should have seen his enrage.
'It wasn't the name Adolf Hitler
So much as the word little
That caused him offense'.
He raised his fists, I got the gist.
And wasn't about to back down…
But then an arm came around my waist
And these gentle words come with me
He isn't worth it… and so I calmly left.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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FleshEater
One night in bed, I took a vow
To live henceforth on V8 Juice
And California Roll. It seemed
The nobler thing to do, not quite the holy
But as pure as circumstances would allow
Based on my factual understanding
Of animal pain in industrial farming
And admonitions of sweet Lord Jesus
Gandhi, Buddha and McCartney.
Well, they'll say, what about Hitler
Hitler was a vegetarian too. But no
I will reply, he ate Gypsies, he ate Jews
And that's not what I have done. It's hard
To find support in these corporate realms
To change my own domesticated diet
Where I cannot run wild, and all
The valid choices are reviled.
Lying in darkness, I slowly came
To visualize the cages built
For sleepless tortured FleshEaters
As me. What now? A move to Canada?
To the Poor World, where chicken breast
Would have lived a happy life and died
A rapid death, perhaps before my eyes
At a full-grown age? The prospect left me
Short of breath. Without so many years,
I now assume, to settle my accounts
With all the creatures I've consumed.
poem by Frank Bana
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Face to Face with future on a late night train.
Caught an image of my future
one dead sky night.
It was fading before me
folding itself back into
its whip mark wrinkles-
compliments of unforgiving time.
Its life flowed in full view
watery red flowing through clear blue.
A river coming to its end.
Ancient banks crumblings into littered rivers.
skull stretching through paper thin skin
reaching out to me
No fresh grass finding sun here.
Future's fragile told me its eyes
Circled cinema screens
From black and white to colour
From daughter to mother
from one life to another.
Dignity neither seen nor felt
yet yearned for.
Future mocks old poems
as the past persues them,
and the present pens them.
Future sees death and smiles
Forever hungry
Thirsty for the fountains of youth.
It pains me to look at her
for her face reveals the truth.
poem by Not Long Left
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Erase
Bad move, baby I let you in
You're a tattoo under my skin
And I can't wash it off
It's a permanent mark
I try to let it go, I try to chill
But still I feel I'm under your spell
Oh why the hell can't I just move on?
Your memory stays with me
I can't escape, I'm running in place
I can't erase you
My mind won't let you just disappear
And I can't find any way out of here
Cause you're stuck in my brain
And it's a miserable pain
Chorus
Bridge
I'd give anything to be free from you and me
Me and you what can I do?
Oh what can I do?
Chorus
song performed by by Phil Vassar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Herr Hitler
Hitler, the Man Who Created Israel.
I have just looked at some picture of Hitler as a young soldier,
he wears a grey uniform walks in a grey street and buildings
are grey. It appears he and his contemporaries lived at a time
before colours were invented.
Looking at his youthful indistinct feature, there is absolutely
nothing about this man, the painter of pretty postcard, that
he had in him so much hate and a gift of oratory to go with it.
yes he brought colour ok, mostly blood red.
A movie about a stammering king has won an Oscar, I can’t
but think if Hitler had a bad stammer he would be laughed
off the stage and reduced to painting, say, houses; and Israel
would still be a Zionist’s dream.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Second Skin
The bullets deep, Im not dreaming,
The blood I keep, while youre healing.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Second skin.
Youre riding high, you wont be falling
Dont look behind, Im crawling.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Oh you could have been born to swim,
You could have been born to camouflage.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Does it pull ? a ring around your finger ?
Does it hurt ? and will it linger on ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you have you have you have you x5
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Make Me Smile
(steve harley)
You've done it all, you've broken every code
And pulled the rebel to the floor
You spoilt the game, no matter what you say
For only metal-what a bore!
Blue eyes, blue eyes, how come you tell so many lies?
Come up and see me, make me smile
Or do what you want, run on wild.
There's nothing left, all gone and run away
Maybe you'll tarry for a while
It's just a test, a game for us to play
Win or lose, it's hard to smile
Resist, resist, it's from yourself you have to hide.
(chorus)
There ain't no more, you've taken everthing
From my belief in mother earth
How can you ignore my faith in everything
When i know what faith is and what it's worth
Away, away, and don't say maybe you'll try.
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tattoo
Whatever you think of me
Im still your friend
So other than nothin whats new
The water s still flowin
Through the rose on my skin
This here tattoo is for you
The boys at the parlor downtown
Didnt waste anytime puttin it down
Time has been wastin away I can see it
Go sailin on by as it slips through my fingers
The bow and the wave never wait for tomorrow
They just keep on rollin as straight as an arrow
Good night
Girl of my dreams
You get better each day
I wish I could see you somehow
Girls that I love is there no other way
This here tattoo is for now
Id been out drinkin all day
I got carried away at the parlor last night
This summer rose is for you its no wonder
I bothered to wander back into the parlor
Its red and in bloom and its more than one color
It lives on forever for just a few dollars
Good night
Whatever you think of me
Im still your friend
So baby whatever you do
Now that its taken its permanent home
This here tattoo is for you
The boys at the parlor downtown
Didnt waste any time puttin it down
Time has been wastin away, you know time doesnt
Wait for nobody to find what theyre after
It just keeps on rolling on down the deep canyons
And through the green meadows into the broad ocean
Good night
Whatever you think of me
Im still your friend
So other than nothin whats new
The waters still flowing
Through the rose on my skin
This here tattoo is for you
The waters still flowin
Through the rose on my skin
This here tattoo is for you
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Skull Tattoo
Lord you know what makes a lonely man
All it takes is to be
Racing down where you never be found
Oh dont let me fall that low again
When youre gone that far
Only one things going to get you up
Chorus (2x):
She is the woman with the skull tattoo
Her skin is black and eyes are blue
Takes me to heaven when I think of you
She picked me up in a gutter downtown
Lord know I lost me faith in you
So it goes when you are
Racing down where youll never be found
Your dark angel spread her wing again
When youve gone that far
Only one thing is going to pick you up
Chorus
She is the woman with the skull tattoo
Her skin is black and her eyes are blue
Takes me to heaven when I think of you
She picked me up in a gutter downtown
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hitler at 75
So Hitler came to power
75 years ago today
so what of it, really?
new Hitlers turn up every day
only with smaller armies
and rather less publicity
Maybe there's a Hitler out there
somewhere close to you
get ready to defend your life -
your personal World War Two
poem by Frank Bana
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Vampire Suicide
She walks through the graves,
Passing them one by one,
They all passed like they should, but she couldn’t, she remained times slave,
Even though she whished she could.
She walked by the people,
She read the stones like a book,
She read them all she knew all the people,
She watched as she began to look.
She looked at their names, their stones,
She studied their bitrthdays,
She knew them, she knew they were only bones,
But still she feels their pain, and what happened in their last days
She watched in sorrow, in hate,
She knew she should be one of them, she should be under ground,
She knew that she was supposed to suffer the same fate,
But now she wanders through eternity, her fate never to be found
She stopped at the end of the row one stone catches her eye,
She knew this person, this child,
She looks at the birth only eighteen years from when she died,
Her eyes fill with tears, and her still heart goes wild.
She knows she has eternity but that’s not what she wants,
She is the being of forever, the vampire,
“you don’t have to die” her mind taunts,
Her heart so cold her mind so wild, her soul filled with fire.
She drops to her knees the stake in her hand,
She lays the teddy bear one the s grave, her grave,
She lays unable to stand,
Now its not time but that she craves.
She takes the stake to her throat,
She pulls it across her marble skin,
The blood appears but not from her throat,
She feels eternity fade from her skin.
She lays feeling holding onto its’ thought,
She takes the stake away feeling the burn of the wood,
She lowers it to her heart she feels her skin get hot,
The burning begins just with a touch of the wood.
She lays in front of her grave with the flowers,
And she presses the knife deeper into herself,
She feels her body drain of all power,
She watches her eternity slip away, as she gets what she wants for herself.
The she never had now came to her side,
She held to it like a child to the mother breast,
She lost the grip of light and her grip on life began to slide,
She let it slip away, away with all the rest.
She watched as it all left her as she died above her grave,
She Walked with, she walked by its’ side
But now She is no longer times slave,
For this is the vampires’ suicide.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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A Little Left Of Center
(steve dale jones/billy henderson)
I walk in the rain and whistle a tune
I talk to the man up there in the moon
I know I may sound like somebody gone insane
Im a fool about you baby but my heart cant explain
Its a little left of center
By heavenly design
Love gets carried away
And goes wild at times
When cupid aims his arrow
Its right on the mark
A little left of center
Just like my crazy heart
It leaps like a frog when you touch my hand
It means like a drum in a marching band
Cant help what it does I just follow where it leads
How my heart feels about you baby makes perfect sense to me
Its a little left of center
By heavenly design
Love gets carried away
And goes wild at times
When cupid aims his arrow
Its right on the mark
A little left of center
Just like my crazy heart
When cupid aims his arrow
Its right on the mark
A little left of center
Just like my crazy heart
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Behind Her Eyes
The pain she felt was behind her eyes
The eyes that were once the clear blue skys
Her face is clouded and dark
You can tell sorrow has left it's mark.
He left this pain in her face,
Left her clothed in faded lace,
He told her she wasn't worth it,
Wasn't worth the house he lit.
The pain was left with her, in her mind,
If you look past her eyes sorrows all you'll find.
She knew he'd do this, destroy her will to live,
She knew this would be all he would give.
The pain, she knows, will never pass,
It cuts through her like broken glass.
Her face is clouded and dark,
You can tell sorrow has left it's mark.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Splitting The Light
then I saw and we knew
a single light spark
buried unlit
a single breath mark
of a misfit
lighting a fire for two
then I heard and we tried
a single right word
shyly uttered
almost unheard
I frozen muttered
before it died
then I smelled ashes and we ran
a single step covered all dust
left the world living in a den
left each stammer rotten and rust
then there was the hand I raised
a left heart beat but the hand was right
my sunward eyes stood still amazed
at the horizons splitting the light
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Acting As Your Slave
My hand asleep for hours
Waiting for the needles to begin
I have no control
They proceed to penetrate my skin
Acting as your slave I drink for amber waves
I never have embraced
Acting as your slave I drink an open grave
An epitaph defaced
Killing with compassion
She hasnt heard a word that I have said
Swallowing your passion
I can see a thousand miles ahead
Acting as your slave I drink for barricades
That I have often raised
Acting as your slave I numb my head and rave
Of epitaphs defaced
Acting as your slave I drink while she forgave
With trials left unfaced
Acting as your slave I stumble to her grave
An epitaph defaced
song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Aunt Rose
Aunt Rose—now—might I see you
with your thin face and buck tooth smile and pain
of rheumatism—and a long black heavy shoe
for your bony left leg
limping down the long hall in Newark on the running carpet
past the black grand piano
in the day room
where the parties were
and I sang Spanish loyalist songs
in a high squeaky voice
(hysterical) the committee listening
while you limped around the room
collected the money—
Aunt Honey, Uncle Sam, a stranger with a cloth arm
in his pocket
and huge young bald head
of Abraham Lincoln Brigade
—your long sad face
your tears of sexual frustration
(what smothered sobs and bony hips
under the pillows of Osborne Terrace)
—the time I stood on the toilet seat naked
and you powdered my thighs with calamine
against the poison ivy—my tender
and shamed first black curled hairs
what were you thinking in secret heart then
knowing me a man already—
and I an ignorant girl of family silence on the thin pedestal
of my legs in the bathroom—Museum of Newark.
Aunt Rose
Hitler is dead, Hitler is in Eternity; Hitler is with
Tamburlane and Emily Brontë
Though I see you walking still, a ghost on Osborne Terrace
down the long dark hall to the front door
limping a little with a pinched smile
in what must have been a silken
flower dress
welcoming my father, the Poet, on his visit to Newark
—see you arriving in the living room
dancing on your crippled leg
and clapping hands his book
had been accepted by Liveright
Hitler is dead and Liveright’s gone out of business
The Attic of the Past and Everlasting Minute are out of print
Uncle Harry sold his last silk stocking
Claire quit interpretive dancing school
Buba sits a wrinkled monument in Old
Ladies Home blinking at new babies
last time I saw you was the hospital
pale skull protruding under ashen skin
blue veined unconscious girl
in an oxygen tent
the war in Spain has ended long ago
Aunt Rose
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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COLLEVILLE SUR MER (D Day + 50)
The day is hot, no hint of a breeze
As I kneel down on ancient knees
At the grave of you, most brave,
who died in Omaha’s first wave.
Our mother never did recover
from losing you. Like many mothers.
she, ever after, hid the scar.
Poor recompense is a gold star.
Rows of crosses on the plain
Each bears a date, a rank, a name.
Lives ended by the chance of war.
None will see their home once more.
Was your sacrifice in vain?
One tyrant fell, but more remain
The Reich that fell now better known
as the common market Euro zone.
Europe’s Jews gained a respite
From Hitler’s hate and krystalnacht
Yet soon the surging Moslem tide
May again erupt in genocide
My grandson helps me to my feet.
and steadies me with his strong arm.
The Medal of Honor on my chest
belongs, in truth, to these who rest.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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