Aleesa Dahl Apr 2015

I am up on top
am I going to die today?
Will this hurt more that I think?
Do I have to do this?

That was not hard!
HEY I did it!
wow!
Amazed!

ouch
help I think its broken
crash, smash, boom
uh my head

did I just do that
OMG
That was awesome
LOL

does it look bad?
is it broken?
that was very painful
am I going to be okay?

that was so fun
dude you should try that
Okay i’m done
i’m not doing it again

JR Rhine Nov 2015

The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see

Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.

And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath

Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.

In a world between
Real and imaginary.

For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push

That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed

And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath

And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream

As I press on
In the concrete jungle.

Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.

And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen

Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.

I am alive
In the concrete jungle.

I love skateboarding.
JR Rhine Mar 2016

Flip flip slide slide
grind grind pop pop
concentration.

hours and hours
sweat pours
bruised ankles bruised kneecaps
scraped shinbones scraped elbows
scabs and scars.

shirts and jeans torn, worn;
shoes a tattered mess--
laces shredded to bits tied desperately
clinging on to lapping tongues.

hair matted to skull sweating within damp skullcaps,
whether be it helmets (by choice or restriction),
or fitted baseball hats turned backwards,
or cuffed beanies in the dead of winter.
(father says the latter choices work well to soak all the blood up, I always roll my eyes in naivete.)

The paved driveway, where on my eighth birthday
a shining basketball goal sat at its full height
towering in the mountain sky--

stood forlorn in place as wide eyes glued to the pavement--

where shoes stood atop the gritty surface of a wooden board
with wheels attached to gleaming metal axles
rolled smoothly excitedly across the pavement in perpetuity.

destiny.

Ron Nov 2016

It's strange
How much an object can take you away
From the stress and the pain
When I put that board down
It's like everything fades away
All that is left is the wind in my face
And the feeling in my chest
Like a weight has been lifted
A veil pulled from my eyes
On my board I feel confident
Like I'm on top of the world
It's a liberating feeling and it never grows old

rusty shacks Dec 2013

the first day i spent in

Venice, CA

i bought the 2 most

ster e o typical

things

Number 1

was my medical marijuana license

Number 2 was my skateboard

I’m not very good

at skateboarding

but when you shred

on the boardwalk

people get out of your way faster

and thats really all i wanted

I wore a wristwatch once to cover something from my Mother.

Even if she saw it, she'd probably believe it was from skateboarding.

I don't skateboard.

Kitty Parson Mar 2012

It could be

little things

like climbing a tree

in a business suit

or skateboarding

in a wedding

dress.

Dallas Phoenix Mar 2015

Jackal in his church pants,
Bad kid with punk jams,
Cramming nonsense in his conscience,
Skateboarding prophets,
Dividing light into chambers,
Bag of shit for his neighbors,
Turned into a living demon bleeding thru the paper,
Applesauce in the inside,
A coconut shell for the front,
Pineapple knives for the slaughtering,
Right into a strawberry's gut,

He was not a normal scorned, occulting youth,
But the lore of a regretful teen plaguing the afternoons,
Till that strawberry gut cracked his coconut noggin,
And shall he rest in bygones and Hanna-Babara monsters,

Fiona Guest Jun 2011

And sometimes when
My heart has sung
It's tune of unleashed joy,
I know that free
Is on the move
Like that skateboarding boy.

..and talking of snow which you know I adore
I went out snowboarding
with the old lady next door.
She came out all dressed in a parka and trews
and wore green spangled stockings with six inch heel shoes.

We raced along alleyways which we made into trackways,
then she turns and says,
'where are the brakes?'
I said,I don't know
and so we carried on skateboarding the snow.

Anna Stockel Jul 2015

He was great at skateboarding,
and he tried to teach me.
I was worse than a two-year-old child,
and he laughed because I wouldn't give up.
Then he put his arm on my back,
and his support made it easy.
I looked at him and smiled,
and he leaned in for a kiss.
It felt like I fell on the skateboard,
but since I was standing I just fell for him.

Next door neighbor son
Amanda Mary Rose Mar 2010
He

He
Would like this poem
Its short and clean and simple
Nothing frilly or bright or extravagant

He
Is the reason for so many smiles

He
Protects me like a taco on a cold hard floor

He
Encourages me and eats pasta with me

He
Judges tattoos, analyzes photographs, listens to my qualms

He
Shows me skateboarding

He
Is wonderful

He
Is taken

I
Have no idea what to do.

I'm over
Him
now.

still like the poem though.
Coop Lee Jul 2014

in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms
will talk in ancient tongues
& sway the tribes of men to eternal love,
& endless ammunition
of the soul.

spiritus.
kin, galactic
& the golden fire.
throb the saga of man,
into hip thrust illusions and combustive color schematas.
we bury our dead in flower clippings
or skull bits.

        [skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport]

thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon.
hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland,
her lips ruinous.
cement slabs and coils of fault with
vast artistic possibilities.
these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting
& rattling bone masks
grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics
& death.
their teeth are yellowy awoken.

this is all seen globally,
via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech.
or video.

dreams impact reality
impact dreams
in such
that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222,
evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge.
& it mutates the psychosphere  of our mainstream public mind
with countless projected memories.
        [streamed alternate realities]
fills the belly and the brain,
but all those unhooked are skating.
sweet meat market.
ghost harddrives.

poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men
& their poolside parties.
they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons,
their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit.
they hang chains from their necks
& spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click
lickings.
they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled
on old flowers
& worship archaic cassettes.

cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions
carve wooden planks from
groves of great oaks.
great oaken powers.
their creators chew gummies and bend time
to uphold
a proposed history of perfection.
they master pong from their crystalline towers,
& hire mathematicians to write
conceptual skate-deck algorithms,
solely for fun.
non-profit.

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