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This week the winner was Di Coffey with Speeding Backwards. Congratulations to Di.
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Poem 1
Cool
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
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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
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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
Mugging
Bugging
Tugging and
Thugging
Running like hell
Saved by the bell
Homefree
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
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Poem 4
PROTECTED
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
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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
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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
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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
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Poem 8
YMCA
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
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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
thinning
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
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Poem 10
HE TRAVELS HEAVY
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
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Poem 11
He is speeding towards his destiny:
sex on a skateboard Hollywood style;
the rules say keep one foot on the ground.
D.Milne
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Poem 12
Power of Love
Huey Lewis & The News pump
power to push his skateboard
down the High Street streaking
by…
…and reach out fingers to
clasp tailgate of handy pick-up –
not to be late for school this day.
C.J. Heyworth
