Week 2 – entries and results

Friday, 25 October 2013


This week the winner was Di Coffey with Speeding Backwards. Congratulations to Di.


Poem 1



He slips by on a trip, no fuss, a skid dance on a board,

dodge the pigeons, dodge the cars,

a big kid out to play on an curved board with wheels.

A neat clicking sound, the cracks in the pavement bump

dodge the old ladies, dodge the buskers

he puts his left foot down – he’s on the run home.

Audrey Arden Jones


Poem 2


In transit

We have lift off,

we have left,

we are going,

we push on.

In the revolution of wheel

we rebel against standing still.

We anticipate the inevitable:

the slip, the fall, the changed direction,

the broken skin

and the sharp kiss of antiseptic.

Keith Wallis


Poem 3

Out for it


Out for a skate
Got a hot date

Don’t need no gun
Just out for fun

First a purse
And then a curse

Tugging and

Running like hell
Saved by the bell


Board by the wall
Waiting for the call

Bang bang it’s the law
Exit by the back door

Out for a skate
Got a hot date
Skate skate skate

William Jones


Poem 4


He’s been growing out

of everything

far too fast.

So  costly,

Nothing lasts.

Seems only yesterday

he was in nappies

and now look –

a growing lad!

New trainers,

new  Jeans.

(He’ll grow into them.)



Does he know

how lucky he is?

Caring parents,

food to eat

clothes to keep him warm

by day

a bed to sleep on

at night

and freedom – such freedom –

to play

in peaceful surroundings.

June Moore


Poem 5

Skate Away … thats all

He was gazing out of his bedroom window
Past the washing line laden with pants and socks
Past the tractor his kid brother had abandoned yesterday
And beyond the fence to the track

He was grounded he had been for two solid days now
Late twice on the trot and then cheek to his dad
And freedom was history
Why oh why had he not grovelled ?
Why had he squared up and shown attitude?

Paul was 13 going on 20
Ginger haired and skinny
Scrawny was what his ancient gran would say
He wore jeans,old rock t shirts and trainers.

He played World of Warcraft and Grand Theft auto
And he listened to his dads old punk records from 77
Right now he was standing with his hands on the glass like a prisoner
Watching the stain of condensation his finger tips caused against the cool pane

His thoughts were interrupted by the bedroom door
“Go on then bugger off,go and play with yer mates”
His dad said
“Mind this time don’t be late and I mean that”

In a flurry of movement Jeans on an old Ramones Tshirt on
Black trainers on and laced
And he was hurtling down the stairs three at a time

He stopped to pick up his beloved board shouted bye to the world
And was gone….

Down the alley gulping in the fresh air of the outside world
Like a convict on his first day of freedom
To the track
An old railway line, full of weeds and brambles, which led to the park

But as he climbed on his board it was…

The sidewalk in LA
The Boardwalk in New York
It was a ladder
A tunnel
A bridge

And as he gained speed
And felt the wind in his hair and on his cheeks
He was free and he was happy

Skate away that’s all

Andy Scotson


 Poem 6

Speeding Backwards


I feel drizzle

dampen my hair

but I’m not cold.

Just angry.


The hedgerows

are racing me.

brambles blur,

blackberries tumble.


Cows, waiting

to be milked,

squelch in pongy mud

around field gates


and a horse

whinnies, startled

by the swoosh

as I sail past.


If I skate backwards

I’ll turn the clock back

to when Mum and Dad

were happy.


To a time when

I was happy.

When we were a family.

Before Dad left us.

Di Coffey



Poem 7

Understanding the language

You’re out all the time on that thing!

When it’s not lurking in cupboards, hallways and garages.

Black jeans, black pumps deliberate, no socks on?

You look hurried, sometimes going to wastelands

Firm feet make different surroundings on that thing

A backstage excitement?  Soon playing on a stage of-

Long curved shapes, we use for pavements.

Those feet gripping, like a ballerina in pumps

One foot on a kneecap, elevations and glides.

The black skateboard talks well.

Johanna Boal


Poem 8



He came on a Thursday

with a few hours’ notice.


Someone else’s teen


eager to please, anxious.

Stayed the night.

On Sunday he moved in


all his worldly possessions.

I learnt about boards, boarding,

the difference between transport and tricks,


the cost. He cooks, washes up,

smiles lots and engages.

One day he might relax.


Jo Waterworth


Poem 9

To The Son I Didn’t Have


After the rush

of holding you

I look up


and see you.

Go. Slowly.

You practise


little steps at first

in bow-legged dungarees

and I haul you back


and up into my arms

away from that kerb

of danger


and then, subtle slip-

slide-rattles on a skate board

to the corner of the street:


a cocky flout

in your knitted beanie

where we shoulder glance,


see our looking-after


to a weave of loss


and distance.

Maybe you’ll drive

or ride the wave


until you reach

the other shore

and the turning tide.


Mary Maher


Poem 10



the long road beckons

just go

leave all the shit behind

they don’t understand

won’t let him be

always nagging

do this

don’t do that

be careful

he only wants to have a life

speed away and away

towards the future

doesn’t want to think

only run and run

this thing inside him

does his head in

acute myeloid leukaemia

time to go.

Daphne Milne


Poem 11

He is speeding towards his destiny:

sex on a skateboard Hollywood style;

the rules say keep one foot on the ground.




 Poem 12

Power of Love

Huey Lewis & The News pump
power to push his skateboard
down the High Street streaking

…and reach out fingers to
clasp tailgate of handy pick-up –
not to be late for school this day.

 C.J. Heyworth