A few days ‘til bout time
I’m on needles and pins
the skaters will be skating
the wheel it will spin
jammers digging hard
making scoring passes
fans yelling at refs
those zebras need glasses
Hellcats and Cowgirls
bringing the fight
why, oh why can’t it be Saturday night?
seen on http://forum.txrd.com/
a blocker who’s girly, not prissy
you won’t see her throwing a hissy
but the pain that’s entailed
with the way you’ll get railed
you won’t forget a spanking by Sissy
seen on http://forum.txrd.com
tall lady but strong
pain comes in on Kitty feet
and they’re wearing skates
someone get number
large truck has run over me
Ally Bamazon
seen on http://forum.txrd.com/
I USED TO DREAM ABOUT BEING A MOVIE STAR,
BUT I CAN’T ACT.
I USED TO DREAM ABOUT BEING A ROCK STAR,
BUT I CAN’T PLAY THE GUITAR.
I USED TO DREAM ABOUT PLAYING HOCKEY,
BUT I CAN’T HANDLE THE STICK.
I USED TO DREAM ABOUT PLAYING FOOTBALL,
BUT I’M AFRAID OF THE BALL.
I USED TO DREAM ABOUT BEING A STRIPPER,
BUT THE POLE BROKE.
NOW I PLAY ROLLER DERBY AND ALL MY DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE.
written by: Sawsquash of the North Star Roller Girls
There was this chick from Duluth.
Who roller skated all of her youth.
She worked on her skills And skated drill after drill
Until I knocked out her tooth.
as seen on: http://www.harborcityrollerdames.com/
The Rose City Rollers of the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association: A Fan’s Perspective
In all fairness, I can understand
how my weasely, slime-bag friend might think
this is nothing more than the misplaced lust
of a happily married, 57-year old man.
There are, after all, the fishnet stockings,
the glimpses of garter, the capering cleavage,
the kick-ass attitude, the “fuck me or fight me” gleam
in the six-foot pivot’s eye-blacked, beautiful eyes.
This isn’t lust, it’s passion.
I suppose I really should forgive
my fidgeting, tight-assed friend for what he’s never known:
the vast echo of this concrete coliseum,
the surging tide of drums, the explosive crowd,
the spotlights slashing through the stands,
the clowns, the rivals, the scoreboard, the banners,
the lurid shock of Sump Pump’s fractured jaw.
To him a Polish is only a hotdog, a beer is just a beer.
My pathetic, ignorant friend.
In his defense, I’d have to say
it must be easier for him outside these walls
where his car fits snugly in the space between the lines.
I can hardly blame him for his dreams of quiet asphalt.
He vaguely recalls a different derby, eyed from a safe distance,
when a season unfolded according to plan
and the teams all knew the outcome in advance.
Those black and white TVs are useless now.
Nothing is scripted here.
I suppose I could shrug off the stubborn beliefs
of my smug, obnoxious, whining friend when he says,
“It’s okay, but it’s only a game. It doesn’t mean a thing.”
He’s right, after all… it’s only a game.
But I can remember one summer afternoon, fifty years ago,
tightening the key, clamping my skates to my shoes,
flying forward on four frantic wheels as if something in my future –
this night, this sweet and raucous jam –
was longing for me to arrive.
Breakneck Betties 115,
Heartless Heathers 84.
It’s only derby.
That’s all it will ever be.
But think for a moment,
before you leave,
my poor, sad, empty friend:
no meaning at all and a fan’s mad love…
could there ever be a better bout than this?
© 2009 Glenn Pape
as seen on http://heartlessheathers.blogspot.com/”
Roller derby ladies of the Hudson ValleyI am sure all of you are the bestI know you always beat the restYou show the others what you made of and it sure is not love You team always puts others in their place,Because all of you are like the card the ACEYou’re personal and that is really goodYou always treat your fans the way you should!!!!
J.W Harkin ~ “the poem man”
