"skateboarder" poems - Hello Poetry

The winding never-ending road begins in the forest The root of all evil is an exchange of nature’s breath The root of all evil isn’t born in any sense The root of all evil begins with a death The carcass is driven to its’ after-life It’s given a new face and a new shade of green Most of it won’t make it to hell, every day it’s shredded There is no reminder that what it is, isn’t what it seems Each and every piece that makes it, starts in the same place In this place it is still meaningless until claimed It is then transferred for some purpose Could be violence, could be music, could be life…. It continues on this-never ending path The stock broker to get coffee The coffee worker to get burgers The burger griller to eat bread The baker to ride a skateboard The skateboarder to smoke *** The drug dealer to get a weapon The gun shop owner to have *** The ********** to keep living The pharmacist to play the market The stock broker to…. We’ve reached the beginning again. The root of all evil is our fuel to survive Our fuel to achieve, our fuel to happiness, our fuel to wrath So when does this stop and what happens when it dies The root of all evil begins with a death, it’s a never ending path

0

Nov 8, 2010

Nov 8, 2010 at 10:24 PM UTC

wesley-espinosa

Money

The winding never-ending road begins in the forest The root of all evil is an exchange of nature’s breath The root of all evil isn’t born in any sense The root of all evil begins with a death The carcass is driven to its’ after-life It’s given a new face and a new shade of green Most of it won’t make it to hell, every day it’s shredded There is no reminder that what it is, isn’t what it seems Each and every piece that makes it, starts in the same place In this place it is still meaningless until claimed It is then transferred for some purpose Could be violence, could be music, could be life…. It continues on this-never ending path The stock broker to get coffee The coffee worker to get burgers The burger griller to eat bread The baker to ride a skateboard The skateboarder to smoke *** The drug dealer to get a weapon The gun shop owner to have *** The ********** to keep living The pharmacist to play the market The stock broker to…. We’ve reached the beginning again. The root of all evil is our fuel to survive Our fuel to achieve, our fuel to happiness, our fuel to wrath So when does this stop and what happens when it dies The root of all evil begins with a death, it’s a never ending path

28

Vast, empty, midnight hour, hunchbacked lampposts glaring over parasitic black earth choking its host. A parking lot, an ecosystem’s blemish— hot tar seeping into the pores of the earth like a stubborn blackhead in a lip line. When no cars burrow into the blackened hide like lice the great absence of life is an atrocity. I imagine myself skateboarding across the tier as the small town cops watch languidly with vague interest— A skateboarder’s paradise where wheels and accomplice minds roll across celestial barriers blasting infinite pulses into the microcosm. What greasy punks have their mother’s van parked here, huddling by the heat vents and jerking off into a Pringle’s can? Empty parking lot looks like a cemetery filled to the brim where headstones meld over a mass grave— delineated by white lines, the apparitions of vehicles and their hosts haunt the frozen space. Another horrible excuse to waste land, a wasteland in and of itself where Tom Eliot saunters aimlessly and buries the dead. The saddest sight to behold, this vacuous parking lot littered with stray shopping carts, phantasmal plastic bags, gum splotches, ***** stains, candy wrappers, cigarette butts, used condoms, lonely cops and patient drug dealers, ambulant skaters, tired punks, bored teenagers, somnambulists, stumbling drunks, hunchbacked ***** lights prying for life beneath its sallow gaze— The air encapsulated within the perdition stifling, the pavement below stifling, a constriction only visible when emptied of its contents. A cop wakes from their choking nightmare gasping to find themselves trapped, ****** in this parking lot where the walkie-talkie buzzes with the weeping and gnashing of teeth. The warehouse store looming above the waiting room lifeless, silent, dark countenance— Big Brother sees all in the gaping maw. Cascading before me, stretching towards the highway passing by, waiting for the panorama to finish scrolling, the treadmill to cease its cycle— all the while lamenting life’s absence and reveling in the potentiality it possesses.

0

Dec 28, 2016

Dec 28, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC

jarjarrhine

Parking Lot Lament

Vast, empty, midnight hour, hunchbacked lampposts glaring over parasitic black earth choking its host. A parking lot, an ecosystem’s blemish— hot tar seeping into the pores of the earth like a stubborn blackhead in a lip line. When no cars burrow into the blackened hide like lice the great absence of life is an atrocity. I imagine myself skateboarding across the tier as the small town cops watch languidly with vague interest— A skateboarder’s paradise where wheels and accomplice minds roll across celestial barriers blasting infinite pulses into the microcosm. What greasy punks have their mother’s van parked here, huddling by the heat vents and jerking off into a Pringle’s can? Empty parking lot looks like a cemetery filled to the brim where headstones meld over a mass grave— delineated by white lines, the apparitions of vehicles and their hosts haunt the frozen space. Another horrible excuse to waste land, a wasteland in and of itself where Tom Eliot saunters aimlessly and buries the dead. The saddest sight to behold, this vacuous parking lot littered with stray shopping carts, phantasmal plastic bags, gum splotches, ***** stains, candy wrappers, cigarette butts, used condoms, lonely cops and patient drug dealers, ambulant skaters, tired punks, bored teenagers, somnambulists, stumbling drunks, hunchbacked ***** lights prying for life beneath its sallow gaze— The air encapsulated within the perdition stifling, the pavement below stifling, a constriction only visible when emptied of its contents. A cop wakes from their choking nightmare gasping to find themselves trapped, ****** in this parking lot where the walkie-talkie buzzes with the weeping and gnashing of teeth. The warehouse store looming above the waiting room lifeless, silent, dark countenance— Big Brother sees all in the gaping maw. Cascading before me, stretching towards the highway passing by, waiting for the panorama to finish scrolling, the treadmill to cease its cycle— all the while lamenting life’s absence and reveling in the potentiality it possesses.

72

BOY #1 his eyes were as blue as the deepest sea his touch exciting his voice as beautiful as Beethoven's symphony 5 the things he said could make any girl believe that he loved them only thing is he didn't give a ******* **** about me BOY #2 his hair was as puffy and soft as a baby bunny's fur his words touched me in ways only hands should be able to his lips fixed wounds I thought only doctors can fix a moment with him was never dull the stories he told me made me want him more "i had to jump the wooden gate the cops were after me" I couldn't help but smile I gave you me and you gave me you but did you give yourself to me like how I gave myself to you BOY #3 the height of Mt Rushmore the style of Skateboarder's new model your jokes were funny but the way you treated me after you got what you wanted wasn't we laid in your bed and you held my hand I rested my head on your shoulders I trusted you but I wasn't anything important to you BOY #4 skin dark as night innocence like a child you were different I wasn't attracted to you but you liked me so I let you give yourself to me and before I knew it you told your mama I was "a mistake" we were the talk of the school BOY #5 his hair was as puffy and soft as a baby bunny's fur his words touched me in ways only hands should be able to his lips fixed wounds I thought only doctors can fix and by now you would assume I would've learned already but this boy like no other this boy excites me I cant help but want his attention ****** allure maybe whatever it is I need him (not done)

0

Sep 2, 2014

Sep 2, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC

luci-yang

boys

BOY #1 his eyes were as blue as the deepest sea his touch exciting his voice as beautiful as Beethoven's symphony 5 the things he said could make any girl believe that he loved them only thing is he didn't give a ******* **** about me BOY #2 his hair was as puffy and soft as a baby bunny's fur his words touched me in ways only hands should be able to his lips fixed wounds I thought only doctors can fix a moment with him was never dull the stories he told me made me want him more "i had to jump the wooden gate the cops were after me" I couldn't help but smile I gave you me and you gave me you but did you give yourself to me like how I gave myself to you BOY #3 the height of Mt Rushmore the style of Skateboarder's new model your jokes were funny but the way you treated me after you got what you wanted wasn't we laid in your bed and you held my hand I rested my head on your shoulders I trusted you but I wasn't anything important to you BOY #4 skin dark as night innocence like a child you were different I wasn't attracted to you but you liked me so I let you give yourself to me and before I knew it you told your mama I was "a mistake" we were the talk of the school BOY #5 his hair was as puffy and soft as a baby bunny's fur his words touched me in ways only hands should be able to his lips fixed wounds I thought only doctors can fix and by now you would assume I would've learned already but this boy like no other this boy excites me I cant help but want his attention ****** allure maybe whatever it is I need him (not done)

68

She wore a windbreaker as red as her parents voting habits, and smoked American Spirits as rough as the next-door skateboarder's hands. At 18, she was bored by teen-aged touch, and looked towards the thirty-five year-old avant-garde painter, who meandered in his sun room, like a soul pretending to be lost. At 20, her parents told her to go to college, to go to 'some place other than here'. So, she went and had skinny, Greek fingers with chipped nail-polish, dip down and inside of her, without judgement, without thought, and, with this touch, she felt free. At 24, she was an undergrad with an apartment and a guy named 'Blake', and Blake said Brown and she said State. And when Blake left, she felt complete despite losing something meaningful. And when her story started to go on forever, her body spread across the pavement like seeded jam on burnt toast, scraped thin, without image and without future, lost inside crevices and cracks, a memory or thought, wandering nothingness.

0

Mar 17, 2017

Mar 17, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC

joshua-haines

4. She; Degenerates

She wore a windbreaker as red as her parents voting habits, and smoked American Spirits as rough as the next-door skateboarder's hands. At 18, she was bored by teen-aged touch, and looked towards the thirty-five year-old avant-garde painter, who meandered in his sun room, like a soul pretending to be lost. At 20, her parents told her to go to college, to go to 'some place other than here'. So, she went and had skinny, Greek fingers with chipped nail-polish, dip down and inside of her, without judgement, without thought, and, with this touch, she felt free. At 24, she was an undergrad with an apartment and a guy named 'Blake', and Blake said Brown and she said State. And when Blake left, she felt complete despite losing something meaningful. And when her story started to go on forever, her body spread across the pavement like seeded jam on burnt toast, scraped thin, without image and without future, lost inside crevices and cracks, a memory or thought, wandering nothingness.

31

Waitress carrying Table in from sidewalk smiles At a skateboarder

0

Dec 29, 2013

Dec 29, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC

john-macayeal

Toil meets leisure

Waitress carrying Table in from sidewalk smiles At a skateboarder

3

I open my window and let strangers' breath flow through the screen just hoping your exhale would be carried from miles away through my window and onto my neck. But I already know, I'm going to be cold in the morning. I leave my door open so I can watch the shadows on the wall across the hallway smear back and forth past my room, just hoping your silhouette would walk into my doorway But I already know, the door will be closed in the morning. I turn my music on to drown out the quiet to block the sound of plastic wheels on the pavement of the late-night-skateboarder to slur the punctual tick of the clock to wipe away the sounds of tears upon my cheeks. But I already know, the same sad song will be repeating in the morning. I turn out my light and pale in the absence, hoping that when the sun rises in the morning and its blinding blaze slips through the slits of the curtains that your smile with be the brightest thing I see. But I already know, you wont be here to have your back turned to me. I pull up my blankets all the way up to my chin and past my forehead baking myself in the smells of the sheets trying to find the scent of you left in my fuzzy blanket from the night in the field. But I already know, I lost that months ago. But I also know, that I haven't lost you yet. And I don't plan on it.

0

Jul 31, 2013

Jul 31, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC

emelia-ruth

But I already know

I open my window and let strangers' breath flow through the screen just hoping your exhale would be carried from miles away through my window and onto my neck. But I already know, I'm going to be cold in the morning. I leave my door open so I can watch the shadows on the wall across the hallway smear back and forth past my room, just hoping your silhouette would walk into my doorway But I already know, the door will be closed in the morning. I turn my music on to drown out the quiet to block the sound of plastic wheels on the pavement of the late-night-skateboarder to slur the punctual tick of the clock to wipe away the sounds of tears upon my cheeks. But I already know, the same sad song will be repeating in the morning. I turn out my light and pale in the absence, hoping that when the sun rises in the morning and its blinding blaze slips through the slits of the curtains that your smile with be the brightest thing I see. But I already know, you wont be here to have your back turned to me. I pull up my blankets all the way up to my chin and past my forehead baking myself in the smells of the sheets trying to find the scent of you left in my fuzzy blanket from the night in the field. But I already know, I lost that months ago. But I also know, that I haven't lost you yet. And I don't plan on it.

35

I realised too late That I should not have Tidied us into separate picture frames When we could Perhaps Have shared one between us Like those other lovers Who sit together on swings And giddy themselves And that I should not have Scribbled over every thought And possibility And guess I should not have hemmed back The inch of romance I once set aside for you Because the only thing that stopped me Was fear You remain my one love story The sole great un-requited affair The unspoken words Between each conversation line The coffee stains on the pages of my novel That will forever anticipate a you that is past And you remain my one love story You are the love story that I told myself Was not love And we were never anything other than silence And holes in the conversation Like dropped stitches When we were twelve You asked me out via someone else And I stamped hard on your offered palm Never stopping to learn Whether you meant it And I hope now that you did Because then it is not so foolish to call you a love affair And I still do not quite believe that I love you Only I saw you today And my chest Ceased to be that glacier it chooses to be Pinned under the lining of every coat I own And you said Hey! And I hoped I wasn't imaging it That you were pleased to see me Because I know that the Global Warming Of my world had to be worth something to you And I have always been something of an Introvert And you have always been something of a skateboarder But you are immortal In my Sort-of Maybe-not Half-way Down-trodden Hold-back Confused melting As I paint the pavement With the contents of my Ribcage.

0

Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC

merecat

Global Melting

I realised too late That I should not have Tidied us into separate picture frames When we could Perhaps Have shared one between us Like those other lovers Who sit together on swings And giddy themselves And that I should not have Scribbled over every thought And possibility And guess I should not have hemmed back The inch of romance I once set aside for you Because the only thing that stopped me Was fear You remain my one love story The sole great un-requited affair The unspoken words Between each conversation line The coffee stains on the pages of my novel That will forever anticipate a you that is past And you remain my one love story You are the love story that I told myself Was not love And we were never anything other than silence And holes in the conversation Like dropped stitches When we were twelve You asked me out via someone else And I stamped hard on your offered palm Never stopping to learn Whether you meant it And I hope now that you did Because then it is not so foolish to call you a love affair And I still do not quite believe that I love you Only I saw you today And my chest Ceased to be that glacier it chooses to be Pinned under the lining of every coat I own And you said Hey! And I hoped I wasn't imaging it That you were pleased to see me Because I know that the Global Warming Of my world had to be worth something to you And I have always been something of an Introvert And you have always been something of a skateboarder But you are immortal In my Sort-of Maybe-not Half-way Down-trodden Hold-back Confused melting As I paint the pavement With the contents of my Ribcage.

65

be dumb if you dare stare into the center of a career, be smart but not wise, fall into the abyss and call it a life. today will be the same as tommorow a business suit and tie to strangle yourself with if you cant wait to die. never did i stop to see the point, always above this position lookin down and sayin **** this aint right. stop killing your soul with such a torture, society is no ******* use havent you heard chi pig's slaughter. So look at it like a skateboarder in a concrete jungle, no right way to move only obstacles to ponder, or better yet, dont even bother, do yourself a favour and keep your energy free to wonder.

0

Jan 15, 2013

Jan 15, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC

jrg

The Societal Trap

be dumb if you dare stare into the center of a career, be smart but not wise, fall into the abyss and call it a life. today will be the same as tommorow a business suit and tie to strangle yourself with if you cant wait to die. never did i stop to see the point, always above this position lookin down and sayin **** this aint right. stop killing your soul with such a torture, society is no ******* use havent you heard chi pig's slaughter. So look at it like a skateboarder in a concrete jungle, no right way to move only obstacles to ponder, or better yet, dont even bother, do yourself a favour and keep your energy free to wonder.

1

The Children With Dreams, Once So Ambitious. He Had A Dream. He Wanted To Become An Artist. They Said No, So He Lay Upon The Torn Canvas And Secretly Caresses The Broken Brushes And Bathes With The Paint Once So Vibrant - One That Once Spoke With A Voice Ringing. She Wanted To Become A Pilot, They Said No. She Breaks The Model Aeroplanes And Puts The Splinters Upon Her Lips And Kisses Them Softly, Never To Be Seen Again - To Be Spoken Of. She Wanted To Become A Professional Skateboarder, But They Said No. So She Sleeps With The Shattered Wood And Bruised Wheels And Hides Them Under Her Bed When The World Comes And Checks On Her. We Had Dreams, They Said No. So We Ran. We Ran Towards Our Own Ambitions, Our Own Plan. We Slept On The Bus And Bathed In The Rain. We Hold On To Our Perfect Ideas Because No One Is Wrong When It Comes To Perfection. Our Plan Is Perfect. Your Plan Is Perfect. Don't Shatter It Upon The Rocks Of Society Just Because They Say So. Be Free, Because You Are.

0

Aug 31, 2014

Aug 31, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC

by-her-literature

The Children With Dreams x

The Children With Dreams, Once So Ambitious. He Had A Dream. He Wanted To Become An Artist. They Said No, So He Lay Upon The Torn Canvas And Secretly Caresses The Broken Brushes And Bathes With The Paint Once So Vibrant - One That Once Spoke With A Voice Ringing. She Wanted To Become A Pilot, They Said No. She Breaks The Model Aeroplanes And Puts The Splinters Upon Her Lips And Kisses Them Softly, Never To Be Seen Again - To Be Spoken Of. She Wanted To Become A Professional Skateboarder, But They Said No. So She Sleeps With The Shattered Wood And Bruised Wheels And Hides Them Under Her Bed When The World Comes And Checks On Her. We Had Dreams, They Said No. So We Ran. We Ran Towards Our Own Ambitions, Our Own Plan. We Slept On The Bus And Bathed In The Rain. We Hold On To Our Perfect Ideas Because No One Is Wrong When It Comes To Perfection. Our Plan Is Perfect. Your Plan Is Perfect. Don't Shatter It Upon The Rocks Of Society Just Because They Say So. Be Free, Because You Are.

5

four years - it's been four years since I fell apart for the first time over just a boy.. i don't even remember how much I hurt. but I remember feeling I wasn't good enough. I remember hating my body and hating everything about myself. four years later I wouldn't say I love everything - but I would say I can look in the mirror and like what's looking back. because of you I fell in love with another skateboarder. because of you I took time to listen to the quiet ones. because of you I learned patience, and to keep fighting for what you love no matter the pain. I mean maybe I didn't need that last part- Considering I've been chasing the same young boy ever since I stopped chasing you. He called me one night - years ago.. after reading the poem about you , and a few I had written about him. Crying because he felt the love fading... it faded. Was that to welcome you back in? Do things happen for a reason? Maybe the boy I used to watch skateboard by the grocery store on clairmont is the one I've had in my heart all along... But I must warn you: My heart- its much colder now. There are thorns around it - and if I thought I couldn't get to yours all of those years ago, how would we get to eachothers? Your love is the strangest I've known. No one talks of me higher, but no one has so little to say... If that makes any sense at all. I'm excited to see you tomorrow. You're the one who got me writing these. You're the person who sparked Shauna's journey into herself. Thank you. Can't wait to see you.

0

Jul 11, 2017

Jul 11, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC

yangnoyin

I have no answers

four years - it's been four years since I fell apart for the first time over just a boy.. i don't even remember how much I hurt. but I remember feeling I wasn't good enough. I remember hating my body and hating everything about myself. four years later I wouldn't say I love everything - but I would say I can look in the mirror and like what's looking back. because of you I fell in love with another skateboarder. because of you I took time to listen to the quiet ones. because of you I learned patience, and to keep fighting for what you love no matter the pain. I mean maybe I didn't need that last part- Considering I've been chasing the same young boy ever since I stopped chasing you. He called me one night - years ago.. after reading the poem about you , and a few I had written about him. Crying because he felt the love fading... it faded. Was that to welcome you back in? Do things happen for a reason? Maybe the boy I used to watch skateboard by the grocery store on clairmont is the one I've had in my heart all along... But I must warn you: My heart- its much colder now. There are thorns around it - and if I thought I couldn't get to yours all of those years ago, how would we get to eachothers? Your love is the strangest I've known. No one talks of me higher, but no one has so little to say... If that makes any sense at all. I'm excited to see you tomorrow. You're the one who got me writing these. You're the person who sparked Shauna's journey into herself. Thank you. Can't wait to see you.

31