"bmx" poems
On the south side of kelso if it's there that ya choose to go
Well if its there ya go then ya just gotta know bout a man named tweaker joe
Now tweaker, he's a scrapper and if ya go down on his door
Don't you worry about wakin him up. He aint slept since 74
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than a five eared dog
Now tweaker hes a scrapper and he likes his shiny things
And he likes to see what fun he has by the chaos that he brings
He got a custom BMX bike with a flashlight on the grill. He got 32 lb of brass in his pack, he got a dope bag in his shoe.
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
NOW Friday bout a week ago Tweaker scrappin cars. But at the end of the alley sat a cop named Thurman and ooh dat cop looked ******
Well he cast his light upon joe cuz Thurman had a plan
Tweaker joe learned a lesson bout messin with a future Sherriff man
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
Well the 2 men took to runnin and hes dragged down to the jail
Joey looked like a wrung out tweaker with a couple of teeth left
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 9:04 AM UTC
ghosts of slumber parties past.
just a haunted betamax & a stack of oreo sandwiches.
sisters braiding eachother’s hair far past the witching hour,
contemplating life without supervision.
blue house. yellow lawn.
silverback gorilla in one garage.
two garage: empty.
three garage: a woman entombed in exhaust.
[her bloated tongue]
a gang of bmx boys pizza-fed and friday-high,
hopped up on mountain dew and trading card collectible rituals ‘n rhythmics.
they conjure a demon just to **** and dismember it.
for funsies.
for keepsies.
a fang for the shrine at the foot of the old oak tree.
history on the skin, long history, long thoughts, long in the nod like a calm dead frog.
bubbled, boiled, toiled, and troubled.
the woods aren’t haunted.
you are haunted.
you are the conduit through which the darkness displays its vivid colors.
[treefort aflame]
the seasons furrow/
/ the leaves fall.
little plots of land etched out – subdivision and sprawl.
on the avenue, heaven
& hell made tame and tangible.
built, re-built, and refurbished – a lawn and a lantern.
a mortgaged glory of sparkle and decay.
[dead cat is a new cat is the old cat ran away]
pictograms of morning light display on mom’s face
as she instructs us on the gusts of love [scrambed eggs]
& teaches us the truth of nettles sprung
from violent pine.
[toast with raspberry jam]
the television.
the microwave.
the blender beverages.
hymnals of an electric kingdom.
one mom dances, the other expires.
[restless armless girls in orange sunsets]
girl with a gun at the edge of her lawn and selling lemonade.
girl in an old wicker chair.
save her horror story for another day.
boy with a bent frame bicycle limps his way home
from one end of the avenue to the other.
his pockets full of sparkly rocks found in the lime quarry pit.
one boy in a long line of lost planets.
the driveway.
the refrigerator.
the hum of a saturday night commercial-free cassette.
where’s dad?
the glow of an eerie crystal
(continued…)
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
Who knew
Loverboy can dance
*****
So wrong
We'll never be right
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
shapeshifter, son drunk
& changing skins.
he digs up skeletons of a spanish battalion
buried
by tigers on the garden key.
suncresent
spray of blood & oranges.
new-fangled sailors once soaked
in madness.
now just starvation.
the viking speaks:
in limericks of new world poise.
his antler woven mask,
set nicely upon the shore.
seod, turtle lord
of space & time, appears only once
every lunar eclipse. bound by treatise
to the jellyfish triumvirate.
his acolyte,
bolivar t. shagnasty,
wanders the mainland in search of water
or meat of trees.
kindness
of men turns to dust & belly worms.
forgotten, the plants mutate
into root-rich empires
of fish & figurine.
million year armistice.
dr. samuel mudd,
shackled years to tide-slab &
fort jefferson. he
purifies the island of its yellow
shivering death.
hospital key.
fastforward hundred plus years
through mudd lifeline:
battle weary sneakers,
spokes sung by strum of card, the bmx
stridden boy & his
teenage mutant ninja turtle mask.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
coming up autumn you were a loving playful tyke,just to lose your 12 year old life last year,to two brothers from the neighborhood who lied and stole your BMX bike.and if that wasn't enough for your DADDY and family to stand,i remember the case unfolding on tv news and I your DADDY recently kneeling on a football field next to your initials in a park that will be dedicated in your memory and tears came to my eyes ,and the daily news informed me about the anger in that town,which I can understand with you AUTUMN no longer around.a waitness at
barbar
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
Packed away
fr fr from a speeding bullet
a night time bmx ride to the beach and back again
and again
she's in here
too far too fearless for you to survive this warmth
i'm not souless, just a girl in love
i made me own way here
there is no taxi cab awaiting my drunken ramblin
i am good in bed
i am happy for you
i fell apart a long time ago, ago, ago
i hear YOU scream
i am not that person long ago
you all fell in love with me
and it really it was not me
i decieved you with the cut of my jib
with the line of my skin
deep beauty within
ha hahaha hahahaaaaaa
i will have you
i won't want you
i won't want you
you drunk too much
you take far too much speed to be a queen
la la laaaa la alaaaa
you don't know this but it was not me
whisper me sweet nothings
i've been hurt before,
**** it,
they are nothing compared to you
my bittersweet tears were cried when i left you there
i left myself in your bed
and i knew you would hear me
and dream of me calling your name
i am a pill you hate to swallow
some nidnight ****
you begged and borrowed
to be happy....
are you such a thing?
no methinks not
and you know i know this
and i am in love with you
so deep, so hard i have fallen
2 hours was all it took
2 months was all it took
my world exploded in your hands
you couldn;t handle me
you could not handle this....
i am a cyclone of astute proportions
too much for your shallow heart to bear
and yet i am here
too much far gone
i am her shadow
the beat of her drum
the second glance of her dance moves
she looks at me...
and i can not look away
i knew before i met her
i knew when she got in the car
i knew before i met her
and **** me....
thats all i have to say
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Salt crystals, de-icing road spray, sand, that grit,
Crow minstrels, squirrels play, coyotes sprint
all
along
the
boulevard,
tear drops fall,
angry voices call,
a hand with rough knuckles and a L O V E tattoo
caresses a naked shoulder in tight jeans,
even though it is minus six
unless
the transport
trucks speed,
down the main
drag,
ups the wind chill,
the city of green spaces,
upturned faces shine with hope?
or looking for the the thirty plus
BMX rider with their dope,
'round here
a hit can be three things,
drug related,
gang related,
or another pedestrian
defenestrated
from a cross walk framed pane,
wrong place in time,
because the reaper
behind the wheel will
chill the reality of how
winter
kills
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
In an instant
The vulnerable confidence within escaped...
Thud - As I cracked my head against the concrete.
For the first time
in a long time, I thought
It was all over. I reached to the back
Expecting the fragile shell split;
The shell that holds my brain
But nothing.
Suddenly my left side went numb, tingled
And returned to leave only what I can describe
As pins n' needled heated to 100 degrees
Prior to their attack.
They ran from shoulder to my 3 middle fingers.
5 minutes now I sit cross legged on the concrete.
With fire in my fingers I press to push myself up,
I'm dizzy. I sit again for a while.
Nerve damage. Should heal? I hope...
******* BMX
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
_(for my brother, Jason)_
I couldn't ride a bike until I was eleven.
It was then my little brother hijacked
my dusty BMX, racing down the hill.
Not to be out done, I learned to ride
soon after.
I've been able to ride a bike
since I was eleven. Seeing my brother
race down the hill like effortless lightning, gave me the courage to ride
like him...like wind.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
My car tyres are going bald,
most probably cancer.
That would just be my luck.
I once had a bike that got AIDS.
Please don't ask.
Seeing it just fall about, a nut here,
a bolt there, the broken
spokes, the clunking chain that
would turn no more.
It's rusty revolutions.
Disintegrating in front of my eyes,
like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia.
Seeing a BMX brings it all back.
Once at a car boot sale, I bought 3 car boots
only to find they were broken but
on a positive, someone bought my shoes,
even though they weren't for sale.
I walked home, socks on feet, the rain
seeping through,
the car boots on my back clunking,
I was thinking
life really isn't so bad
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
What is math?
Or, what is understanding math?
It is a process of working with establishing information, which is much like finding the keys of a piano when blind.
Once the key is played, I remember, however faintly, the steps I needed to find the key.
When there are many ways this key is found, it becomes trivial like learning to ride a bicycle or learning to walk.
Thus, math understanding truly is a way of making truth less meaningful, almost insignificant.
Thus, a branch of knowledge loses its glory, its child-like wonder.
How few of us ride a bicycle today out of fascination for the ride?
Yet, just as BMX stars compete globally, so too must a creative mind find tools which will allow me to create.
Is math doomed to fate, or will I resurrect it in creative destiny?
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 12:48 AM UTC
I want to slip
Into Oasis
Become pixelated
Back in the 80s
Watch as all my fandoms
Come to life
I can have coffee
With Molly Ringwald
At The Peach Pit
Before hitting the beaches
Of Costa del Sol
Later check into the Overlook Hotel
To slow dance with Casper
As listen to theme music
Of Castlevania
To pedal a bmx bike
And touch the stars
To hang in detention
With the brat pack
To have my entire life soundtrack
Badly synthesized 80s tunes
I guess I am saying
I want my 2020
A little more Oasis
And a lot less
Black Mirror
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 11:14 PM UTC
My son goes to prison in 5 days... everyone sees the man who steals and uses ****** I see the sweet, gentle, loving boy I raised. When I visit him in jail, behind the glass is not that man you see. To me it's that 10 year old boy who sang "beautiful" by eminem to me when I was having a bad day. I see the 5 year old who started climbing cliffs on camping trips while I held my breath, I see the 12 year old who loved to bmx and was an amazing parkour, I see the 9 year old who was filled with excitement when he got to meet mike row from ***** jobs and be behind the scenes. I see the 7 year old sledding down the hill with a huge grin whose picture was on the front page of the steamboat pilot. I see the teenager who tried so hard to help me and his brother survive on the streets and find food in dumpsters. I see the 15 year old who came and took his brother from me off the streets to give him a better life. I see my beautiful newborn as he is being placed in my arms for the first time. I see Brandon Scott Mustagog one of the most amazing talented human beings I have ever met. I see my son whom I love with everything in me. I know you can not see these things. I know you only see ****** and crime. But please when you speak of my son keep all of these things in mind.
L. Mack
2/2/19
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
You’ve traded insults with him from the time he could return them.
If he offered you which hairy arm to pick, you’d Chinese burn them.
His annoying level neediness would see you waste YOUR time
Just to see him stand, silver in hand, on the Space Invaders line.
But HE was always there to help you put the chain back on
When the rest of the BMX Bandits had thrown up dust and gone!
And he was there to corroborate when your day in court arrived.
You were braver because you had him there and TOGETHER you’d survived.
Then the day when words escaped your lips and you just needed someone to save you?
No questions asked; jumped on a train; no hesitation gave you.
Coz pesky brothers grow into men, somewhere along the way.
Rough them up but love them well for you’ll need them there some day.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
We would all love an easy life,
Wallowing away on a beach in the sand,
Not a worry in the world, cocktail in hand,
Lying back, shades on, what else: Dolce and Gabana
A light breeze, a click of wrist, someone to fan you
But you paid for nothing as its a part of her deal,
Being back home, worked to the bone, this is where I now feel
I may not love her but its worth it for the ride,
As that is a just a word to those who can easily hide
Having the looks, the chiseled chin and charm is a God send for some,
A workout in the morning, pump some weights and a quick run,
Then onto the lady of my life for false kisses and fun
You pay her in kind as she knows the score,
A fair bit older where plastic now covers the raw
But if its paid for and shes good for the laugh,
Then whats the big deal as this is my hollow craft
I'll use this body as this is what I was given,
BMX to a Harley, this body was made to be ridden
And I know that people just see me as shallow,
But jealousy is human and only hides in your shadow
Because life is short and its best to see it as funny,
Hell, if you had the chance you'd soon have what I have,
Love you babe,
Sugarmummy
JJB
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:41 AM UTC
I am bleeding broken teeth
Out on the driveway
My BMX buckled beside me
And the whole world in front of me
I am typing up scripts
To sell consumer goods
My empty lunch tin beside me
And a deadline in front of me
I am watching the curtain breath
Through the balcony door
My dog sits beside me
And the weekend in front of me
I am memory pushed through a straw
Into the shape of a man
My dreams beside me
As with the whole world around me
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
Do not fret beautiful one..
You are not alone in your sadness, in your "missing"..
I miss them too. The profound emptiness that I sometimes feel directly inside my chest...Like now, is proof of that.
I often mourne the loss of being able to call them, or to hold them..or laugh with them, or to tell them how much they meant to me..Or,..Or...
"Hey ma..You remember that time you asked me if I would give my bike (my cherished, beloved, midnight blue, big-boy bmx bike ) to the struggling mother you had befriended, so she could give it to her son for Christmas?
I do.
I was six..Or seven, and it was the moment my young mind was first introduced to selflessness..To kindness, to compassion...to love. WHAT...a moment indeed.
Sometimes I play the "I should've game"..or "if only"..."if only"..
If only.
******* hindsight.
I know the missing of them will never go...And I don't want it to.
They..."the missing"..are the gifts of our life. The main characters to every chapter of every story that has made us......"us". The moments we shared with them, were like little seeds..
Seeds Planted by their friendship, by their love.. by our togetherness. And I find, when i nourish those seeds, sometimes with sadness, sometimes with happiness. Sometimes with anger....always with love..
Then those seeds, Those "times"..Those "gifts" they left in us in the form of memories..of moments...
They begin to sprout, and with the sprouting, the sadness, The loss, Starts to turn...into a deeply profound sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the truth.
Because the truth is....
We were so incredibly lucky, to have loved them, and to have been loved by them..in the first place.
Because those moments, well...They Made us.
Every single time I am kind, or make someone laugh..Or think..Or feel. Everytime I struggle, and am beat down, and have no ******* idea how to go on..
In those moments....i remember.
I remember their smile..Their comfort, their strength..
I remember the bike.
I remember everything. And they.."the missing"..give me what I need.
In our memories, in those "seeds", they are alive and well. Within us they're essence thrives, and in that place..They are free. And we, we are grateful. Because to dwell in the sadness, is to dishonor the very gifts they left Within us.
No beautiful one, the truth is...They never really left.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
My BMX was department store,
black and yellow
like a bumblebee,
and weighed a ton
compared to their
alloy framed bikes.
They made fun of the kickstand
and the chain guard.
I was the class runt
and wore hand me downs
and rolled up jeans
sometimes with patches,
more fodder for jokes.
In the summer we camped
in the Adirondacks,
and in the fall
at the bus stop
or in school
they talked about trips
to France or Spain.
I had a fist fight
with an older kid
down the block
who lived in a house
with a swimming pool
when he said my house
looked like a barn.
I think I still see the world
through the tint
of those dollar green glasses
they made me wear.
And I shout down
the echoes of those voices
that condemn others with less,
and me with them.
But I got tough taking beatings
from bigger older boys.
And my legs got strong
pedaling that heavy bike uphill.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC