"skating" poems
For my cousin, Chris Goldrick
Lacing my skates
after walking two miles
in girl-strictured delight
Mom's stories of Sonja Henie--
No, not ever
Lacing my skates
with snow-ball pompoms
felt skirt
and nylon tights
Cute little hat with matching scarf
My thighs and fingers
already freezing
icy burn
from miles on foot
to get there
the lake where--
I must get out
I must get OUT!
Knowing what
to expect from my body
the quick-twitch of muscle
Could always sense
specific--
gravity of water
at 22 degrees
Desiring to feel
the motion between ice and steel
Read speed's vibrations through my body
The brain registers relation
to weather's effect
Tell of velocity
possibility of fall
Feel the slash of the blades beneath me
Throw my weight sideways, sudden
to hear that furious hiss
An object in motion tending, dire
to stay in motion
Threatening to stay there
always
in its heights-- of speed
away--
from the crowds of skaters
swirling distant in the lights
Seeking instead
the farthest reaches of Porter Lake
speed and speed and more
to overcome
inertia
of what it is to become
undone
at the outer edges, of humanity
A force
centrifugal unto myself
Avoiding
Pregnant and slow
with years and babes....
The best
must be broken and tamed
of what it takes to stay free
catching the edges with every stride
catching my toe in the quick
180
spray of frost
to the sudden still
Listen to the frigid chill
and the heave of my breath
tumbling into evidence
Gliding
Once
Forever--
on, into darkness
of woods on frozen water
The wildness of it all
So infatuated with flight
so full of grace
I forgot Sonja
The moon rose
from her seat in the treetops
and applauded
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
i walked the boulevard
i saw a ***** child
skating on noisy wheels of joy
pathetic dress fluttering
behind her a mothermonster
with red grumbling face
cluttered in pursuit
pleasantly elephantine
while nearby the father
a thick cheerful man
with majestic bulbous lips
and forlorn piggish hands
joked to a girlish *****
with busy rhythmic mouth
and sily purple eyelids
of how she was with child
14k
in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at ****** ******
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
falling through the sky
firing squads
that's the best
thinking of India
looking at popcorn stands
watching the bull get the matador
that's the best
boxed lightbulbs
an old dog scratching
peanuts in a celluloid bag
that's the best
spraying roaches
a clean pair of stockings
natural guts defeating natural talent
that's the best
in front of firing squads
throwing crusts to seagulls
slicing tomatoes
that's the best
rugs with cigarette burns
cracks in sidewalks
waitresses still sane
that's the best
my hands dead
my heart dead
silence
adagio of rocks
the world ablaze
that's the best
for me.
13.8k
two red kites
like pairs of white kittens
locked in
a spiritual
trance
ice-skating
pairs
triple-axle
across
the
ice
blue sky
with a flare
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
”good night, good travels, pitch black”
depending on how one counts,
cause size matters,
do have I
one small blessing
though little do I get, more-less,
in each twenty four measuring cup,
when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling,
lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation,
it’s less than sixty seconds till
dispatched to where all poems
plead like unborn angels for
good parentage
the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed
with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side,
preceded by, a single solid smacking of
an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow,
then lost in pitch black galaxy travels
with other sleep-drunk little princes
instead of the wavering, singular word,
a traditional goodnight,
a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing,
undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title,
“good travels”
to places where ferment the aging words under
the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening,
names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
Friday means parties
Friday is coffee
Friday means shopping
Friday is a netflix date with her pillow
And
Blankey...
Friday means long car rides, blasting music with your friends hoping to maybe get that one kiss
Friday is the breakfast club, twisted with easy A with a pinch of 16 candles
Friday means the late night skating rink
Friday is a messy bun with her pink piggy slippers, bringing out those old ugly black glasses
Friday means tight jeans
Friday is a sweater that covers all the way down to her knees
Friday means short shorts and raves
Friday is popcorn on the couch alone (yes, alone)
Friday means selfies
Friday is just a quote
nothing more
Friday means friends
Friday can't even remember her last sleep over
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
Initiate our souls into the light
Flamingo yes your hue is burning bright
Your colors lighting up the night
We migrate out of darkness within you
Enlighten us to heal our weary hearts
To be with love and never to depart
Appreciating brand new starts
Your beauty resonates us deep within
We want nothing more than with you to be free
To fly away from stress along with thee
Our wings could only hope to grow
As beautiful as yours unfold
You are the breath of freshened air
Our spirits call to breathe repair
In my memory of you I see poise
Noticing your stance without a noise
Perfectly still you are seen
Tranquil in life's pond so serene
As we pass through to become in ourselves
Teach us how to become nothing else
Than the magnetic beautiful creatures
Spirit designed with every feature
We are a gift to the flowing
Always coming always going
There never seems to be enough
Time in the universe thereof
To take a moment to enjoy
And therefore we destroy
This is an ode to your sweet nature
A song of love and light not danger
A memory we are creating
A vibrant show of figure skating
In the circle of acceptance now
Our wings are rising up to bow
Take in the scenery with deepened breath
Never afraid of shaking hands with death
For we are peaceful and at rest
Knowing we always do our best
A true beginning has no end
Drinking from life as we befriend
The journey of our soul path
In a spiritual rose bath
Amen
© tHE tERRY tREE
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
I feel so torn
I love them a lot
Except I feel like
I can't love them as freely as I want to
Because they remind me of an ex
I want so desperately to let go of
I want to move on with my life
And to love them entirely for them
Without the ripples of her
Skating across my perception
I feel trapped in my mind sometimes
Living through past memories
That only make me feel sadness now
And I wonder if that closure I seek
Can occur if I can forgive myself
For hurting her so much
How can I take responsibility and
Embrace my faults and mistakes
While also forgiving myself for them?
Forgive myself for hurting her?
Especially after realizing that
My emotional unavailability caused it
And I understand that I must remain compassionate
And I must accept the things I cannot change
It's just hard not to shame myself
When the blame fits so perfectly
In the palms of my hands
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
ice skating is like loving
you hold on to the edge, afraid to fall, get yourself hurt and let go
but eventually you will have to let go and learn how to glide freely on your own
sure you will fall on your **** and you will get hurt
but that's how you'll learn
and thats how you become strong
by picking yourself up and moving forward
- MMM
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
My legs are shaking as I step
Onto a frozen lake
In skates that are not my own.
He grabs my hands
and whirls me in a wide circle
I scream and beg for him to stop.
He leaves me for a while
to wobble slowly
on my own.
Then he returns with a shopping cart
And dumps me in it
To push me across the lake
At an alarming rate.
With tears in my eyes
I beg him to stop.
I know I am being jettisoned
Towards my death.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
Looking at the clock, I struggle
Despair floating like an eye floaty thing
Get the hell out of here
Like cheese, I age, the more so the more I smell like a ****** old guy like god **** quit buying clothes from Dillard's
Like an onion, I make people cry because my face resembles a donkey getting ***** by an eagle that's ice skating and juggling
All at the same time.
Stuck in my socioeconomic class
My mom is getting harassed
My brain cells are getting grassed
I hate communists.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Once, long ago,
An old man took me into his shop
And showed me his snowglobe collection.
Every one, spotless,
No trace of dust lining the rims.
I paused to gaze,
No,
Marvel,
At each scene:
Two children ice skating,
A milkman driving his truck,
Ladies reading magazines while having their hair styled.
Every one, spotless,
Until I lightly shook one,
Just enough so the snow sprinkled
The ice skating children,
The driving milkman,
The reading ladies.
But each scene was still, frozen in time,
Still, perfect.
I slumped to the floor,
Heartbroken and tears trailing down my cheeks.
I wanted their life so bad,
But all I could do was marvel,
No,
Gaze,
And lightly sprinkle the tiny figurines.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
Immigrants, especially those who don't return,
create idealistic homelands.
They imagine that all their
Woes, hurts and indignities
Would not exist
in their imagined homeland.
In their minds, homeland
is in stasis.
The life they left is lingering
waiting for them to return.
They cast winter upon the ponds of their
homelands
And live lives skating over the surface
Each time coming closer to
shattering the illusion
and gasping
in the icy
waters
of change.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
Trought these rought and cracked sreet.
Seems to remind me of life strugles and dispares.
But just like my skateboard that keeps going foward with every push I take.
I see know that no matter how big a problem, you got to keep pushing.
For the road is everlasting, but its time we dont have so just keep
Pushing.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Across the leaden sky
A gull shooting a cry
Hurried to his task
Before the sky puts on his mask.
Nobody knew what his task was
Except that his time drew to a pause
And that he had to hurry because
From the open he had to retreat.
The bird knew this but he was wayward
Swimming in the airy wave, beak forward -
Skating, flying, but always eastward -
Heedless of the dark, like a poet.
(c) LazharBouazzi
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
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 ****** 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.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
Across the leaden sky
A gull shooting a cry,
Hastens to his final task
Before the sky puts on his mask.
No one knew what his final task was
Except that his time drew to a pause
And that he had to hasten because
From the open he had to retreat.
This the bird knew, but he was wayward;
He swam in the airy waves, beak forward,
Skating-flying, but always eastward,
Heedless of the dark - like a poet.
©LazharBouazzi, 2017
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Silver blade makes me feel nice.
The only thing I trust.
As the blade slices through the ice.
The blade turns to rust.
Years and years.
Of practicing and falling.
Of sweat, blood and tears.
Sometimes all I want to do is play volley.
But I would rather skate.
Skating is my best friend.
I am never late.
I am in the rink until the day ends.
Skating.
Ice Skating.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
Snapshot memories of are past
having so much fun with the hope that it would last
To my best friend Nan,
a beacon of light to a hurting world in need of love
To the truest friend I ever had
those memories by the stonewall
Started playing together as friends
She had blue eyes & long blonde hair
I had brown eyes and brown hair
roller skating on the sidewalk with the attached rollers with a key
Went down by the brook to catch poly wags
we both went to the same school
Having sleep overs was a blast
a secret passage to get to her father's soda shop
Taking ice cream and delicious candy
everything nice and dandy with Nancy
Yours was are youth to be captured with a precious smile
Cape cod trips when Nan would drive
going to a trip to Provincetown
watching the folks dive for money
Big ships coming to dock
the men would get the money in their mouths
The island we used to go
in a row boat along the beach
Looking for young boys and we found them
went to dances at the Bristol Boys Club
Doing the latest dance craze the Huck Buck
Boys wearing pegged pants and girls wore skirts
To cherish those lasting memories of a time ago
getting married
Nan had three children
Ann had six
To raise and cherish the family united in love
Today we are in are eighties
both with medical issues
Yet remained best friend's after all these years
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
We rode the night
like the back of the wind
high on incense and adrenaline
skating through alleys and street signs
The sky lay dark and glittery
as if it were covered in cheap jewelry
like the earrings that hanged from my lobes
that your lips touched when you kissed my neck
It was a night to remember
with the person you love
without one **** to be given
except about this moment.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
Spring is my favorite
Flowers and trees bloom with life
Birds sing
Rainy Days
Then comes summer
and its my favorite
Hot days
Warm nights
Cool water
Green trees and freshly cut grass
Fall comes in a flurry of leaves
Orange Red Purple Yellow
Pumpkin patches,
Halloween and Candied Apples
And Fall is my favorite
Snowflakes and Winter
Thats my favorite season
Heavy drifts of snow
Snowmen and icicles
Christmas and New Years
Ice skating and Sledding
Followed by Hot Chocolate
Flowers pop through the snow
Days become warmer
and snow melts
Spring is back,
as is my favorite season
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 3:06 PM UTC
staring at the blank page
i find myself thinking
quite low of myself.
wondering to myself
absently muttering out loud
as if adding more sound
to the white noise
will give me a sense of validation
that i still exist.
the hum of the laptop
and turquoise hexagon sun
mixes with the sound
of the car doors closing outside
and the people sitting
in their chairs, lazing about
staring at the television screens
what else can i hear?
closing my eyes, i stop
taking a moment
to let my worried mind rest
forgetting about my financial crisis
to bathe in the sound
of my silence.
with my eyes closed
i type with confidence
i don't fear my words
when i can't see them
my eyes feel hot
under my dark eyelids
as heavy as they are
i am surprised i don't
slouch and fall into slumber
right here in my chair.
in the second it takes
to flutter open my eyes
and reread the words i just wrote
i have to remember
to stop myself before i nitpick
and change what came
from my heart
and at the time felt right.
if only
i went through life like this more often
then maybe i wouldn't feel so down
or hard on myself
because honestly i'm not that bad
nor am i as dumb
or silly as i feel
and maybe next time
when i go ice skating
i won't be such a little *****
about how i look to other people.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
Across the oozy leaden sky
A seagull with a battle cry
Hurried to his ultimate task
Before the sky puts on his mask.
Nobody knew what his task was
Except that his time drew to a pause
And that he had to hurry because
From the open he had to retreat.
The bird knew that but he was wayward
Swimming in the airy wave beak forward
Skating flying but always eastward
Heedless of the dark like a poet.
LazharBouazzi, January 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC
One hand on the small of your back
to keep your mind upright
and your eyes light
as you spill through the door
One hand, on the small of your back,
just the fingertips
propelling you forward on ice
until the blades slice through
your cowardice.
until the speed you did not acquire
yourself makes you unsure.
Your hand
scraping the floor
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC