50 you could be wall
Stree tat
nton & F
R
Lance Mountain.
JUMP IN THE LEAVES
Leaves in the city
Swirl into dry piles of
garbage salad and drown in puddles
of grease. City grime
fills in cracks and blends,
I skate to the tune of the
crackle. Chances at
new roots, these seeds
lost promise on the hard ground
In the concrete rules of the City. I skate
alone in my realization of
large numbers of leaves, a certain lack
of trees, the full moon
and dark crosswalks.
Chauf Fer
Sysop THRASHER BBS
THE WIND BLEW HOT IN THE CANYONS
As the moon danced full in the sky
And we rushed down the streets
Full of chaos.
Like shadows, like ghosts, like music-
Well the world goes by kind of quickly
When those wheels turn under your feet
And the noise is no longer your noise
When you glide past those fools on the
Street.
It's real hard to hit a moving target
Just push and pump and move along
Because you become a target in your
Freedom.
Until some other movement comes along
And the wind blew hot in the canyons.
Skip Engblom
Santa Monica, CA
Mike Smith is not Dan the Man, but he's got a van and rips the
coping when he can.
DAN DUDE
There once was a dude named Dan,
who drove in a smoke-filled Van.
In the sea he would always surf,
and often skate on numerous turf.
He always carried a loaded gun,
For he was an endangered beach-bum.
One day he cranked a 720 aerial,
and the next day was his morbid burial.
Droves came to see his sorrowful sight,
but Dan would never reach the light.
He'd search the sea for the perfect wave,
and search the land for the perfect pave.
Jim "S'Keto" Weaver
Redlands, CA
52
THE WAY
Tell me old one, tell me how,
To survive, to prosper now.
Young one, the answer you truly seek,
Is under your feet, so to speak.
Learned one, you mean to say,
That on my skate, is the way?
Child, now you know the way,
Skate to live, another day.
Mark Penacho
Cleveland, OH
THRASHER BBS
Caballero at home. Photo: KT
LEARNING THE HARD WAY
Skating hard on a summer day
Got no safety gear; that's OK,
Inever crash, and I never fall,
I land my tricks standing tall.
Frontside and backside airs are easy
They never make my stomach queasy.
Handplants are simple, I do those all day
And never miss or land the wrong way.
THE LAST SESSION
Look at me, I've got three feet of air,
You look so small, way down there,
Oh my god! There's been a mistake,
Don't you see the way I shake?
I'll land soon, I'm falling fast,
I wish we'd built the ramp on grass,
You watch me land, you hear bones crunch,
I look like someone's puked-up lunch!
Another brew spews and a frosty mist sprinkles about the table
Nike scattered memories spilling out for conversation,
falling out of a mushroom cloud and burning deep into me.
There's a photo album that makes its way around
like a bottle shared in friendship. We're drunk again.
We're skating over the smooth surface of time, floating
over the canyon filled with forgotten faces and landing
flawlessly into the pool of youth.
A somber, aged voice breaks through the hum of a distant volumed radio.
His broadcast is filled with mostly coughs and silence.
Between the coughs and silence he calls the names of cities
which have fallen to destruction. The radio buzzes.
This is a night to forget.
I'm nearly dead, so's my brain,
It hurts sooo bad, it's massive pain,
I never thought, not once before,
That this poor bod could be so sore.
There's a lesson here, my fine young friends,
One to remember 'til the bitter end:
No matter how good your are, any day or any year,
ALWAYS WEAR YOUR SAFETY GEAR!!!
Chris Kuhn
Winter Springs, FL
This is a night to remember.
Another round is dealt with another stack of photos and
we're soaring again. The aerials have never been as high
as they are now. Years have left us the time to exaggerate them
and every conversation is an old one, but a modified one.
Here we are at the end of the line, just as we promised ourselves.
A tear drops from my cheek and falls into a crack in the floor, unseen.
This is our last draw. This is our last skate session.
Our conversation becomes an exchangement of "what if's-."
The wisdom of time silences the room and every glance shares that knowledge.
The radio buzzes.
Another city falls.
Dwayne Curd
Richmond, VA
201