Peteskibreen's Blog

The place was full of durries,

Awash with bits of beer

A thousand smells of hashish 

Had been alive just here.

The bins were full of stubbies

The loos had overflowed

The tagging on the dunny walls

Put graffiti back in vogue.

The air was still and clear today,

A reminder fading fast

of what had been

a night of art

and tattoo artists’ hearts. 

A fine outline in Roarke

and colour fills in pink

and blue and orange, secret codes

of love for quiet men

whose art kills street scapes, ink.

The colours of the rainbow,

not gay or only gay,

the love of this small army 

the passion of this tribe.

A sharp outline, a wicked smile,

A skull entrenched on skin

Adorns these walls

And all the halls

Where no-one calls it sin.

Peter Breen ©2014