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Just football field's length away
Depression I've been keeping at bay
Right beyond where eyes can see
Lies waiting melancholy
I play safe not moving an inch
Facing fear
Dare not flinch
Knocked on my *** one time before
Managed to rise from the floor
Up standing on shaky feet
I fall again
Might admit defeat
Heard each laugh except my own
Instead insecurities have grown
And counted every last one in shame
Only my own flaws to blame
Know responsibility solely mine
Sins and sorrows intertwine
Abusive
My own emotion
Catering unhealthy devotion
Environment riddled
Poison and blood
Washed by tears pouring in a flood
Gave many parts of me
Now I'm not whole
A broken shard of glass where there used to be my soul
I wish my teardrops could wash my conscience clean
Paul Butters Jan 1
Bielsa’s Boys go bombing on.
Hear it, hear it,
Hear our song.

Running further than the rest,
Leeds United are the best.
Scything through the opposition,
Scoring goals our only mission.

Top flight teams are running scared,
Afraid of a team that’s uncompared:
Players drilled on “Murderball”,
Making them feel so very tall.

We’ve even Brazilians in our team.
Bielsa buys only the cream.
Brazil themselves are doing great deeds:
They say they’re playing just like Leeds.

Shame about those missing fans,
Still busy washing their hands.
Can’t wait for that Elland Road roar
Celebrating every score.

Before too long we’ll be World Champs,
Shining bright like electric lamps.
Bamford scoring all those goals,
Shutting the mouths of Keane and Scholes.

Bielsa’s Boys go bombing on.
Hear it, hear it,
Hear our song.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\1\2021.
On Leeds United - the team where I was brought up.
Kunbi Dec 2020
I sat on top of the world; everyone knew my name
Now I try to find my way back, all I know is shame

My cars; crashed into parties, everyone wanted to be in my fancy wear
Why didn’t I look up investing and insuring; now I don’t mind if its rag, please just give me something to wear

My name was held in high esteem, white line called to me from Whitney’s rear
She never came back for me, but watched as I derail

Day and Night, I looked up to Whiskey, it became my religion
Now at the altar in search of salvation from the true religion

                           ♚
                   Kunbi Dia
“I spent a lot of money on *****, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered. ” George best
Karly Codr Sep 2020
No uniforms.
No white plumes and capes on Senior Night.
No fitting 30 people on one row of bleachers.
No hugging after the run of the halftime show.
No slapping each other's heads during.
                    "Good Luck, Don't ****"
No linking arms and singing as a section for the rituals before the show.
No competitions.
This is what COVID has taken away
                    from my high school marching band.
But.
We STILL play.
We STILL march.
We STILL laugh.
We STILL say "Good Luck, Don't ****" and "slap" each other...
                    but from a distance.
We STILL do our chants and sing our songs in 6-feet apart circles.
We STILL have fun.

COVID has taken many fun things away
from my senior year in marching band.
But even with social distancing,
marching band is still family.
We had our first football game tonight and it was so much fun, even though we were so spaced out. I lost my voice from screaming so much, since the band had to make up for the student section that wasn't allowed to go. Band had to leave after 3rd quarter because of rain, but it was so much fun. Also, we won 35-10 so that's exciting.
Jack May Sep 2020
It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece
It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior
But for the English
Football is a beautiful form of torture
Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days
It may sound dramatic from the outside
But from the inside
When you’re in on the secret
Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason
And fate was sealed that day

The infamous Zidane headbutt
It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human
For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson
The world’s greatest are also flawed

Lampard 2010 World Cup
It was over the line
I know it
You know it
But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs
Their misfortunes and their injustices
Our time is nigh
It’s coming home

The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo
The glue on the boots of Messi
The precision of the Pirlo pass
The ‘Why always me?’
The ‘You’ll never walk alone’
The wins, the losses
The joy, the heartbreak
The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up
An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle
The screamers, the blunders
From Thierry to Titus Bramble
Alonso to Okocha
The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you
The heroes, the villains
The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it
And the hope that maybe this will be our year
The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure
The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals

I don’t know why I do it to myself
But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way
This is the beautiful game
This is football
Paul Butters Aug 2020
As a typer of what might be
Poetry
I am a football manager
With WORDS as my players.

Words in a Deep W Formation –
Total free verse
Hopefully forming a diamond.
No buses parked here
As my words go winging
Down the page.

Not quite five three two
But maybe the odd Haiku
In syllables of five seven five –
For there are far more than eleven syllables
In Poetry.

All writers are the same:
Our words combining
To make meaning,
Passing our visions
Views and feelings
For a crowd of readers
All being well.

Words to be chanted
By crowds enchanted –
Songs for a stadium
That is our united mind.

Paul Butters

© PB 16\8\2020.
Goal!!!
Merry Jul 2020
Honey badger *******
Ugly son of ***** predator
Little ****** girl so sweet
Looking for something wild tonight
Ravage me like a beast please
Lorena Jun 2020
They rode out of the water, flanks steaming and chlorine stinking.
The words of the two left behind in the hot tub floating, iridescent in the air.
The white ball standing in the dewed grass like an opportunity.
They played, passing the ball between them.  The leather stung their legs, but they didn’t care because the mist rising from the rhododendrons and the wet of the grass and the sparkling wine in their stomachs sang enough to drown it out.
The moment transcended them.
The sigh of the old trees that had seen more rule-less games like theirs than they could conceive encouraged them.
The torn grass in between their toes said:
"Yes. I feel you. You feel me. Our meeting has only been delayed.  This is pointless."
And in its pointlessness there was a point – that they were young and could use their bodies to run on wet grass and wait till risen sun drove them to their beds.
"I am alive; and so are you."
a capture
Jenish May 2020
Rolling ball in a football court, passing from one to other
Fouling some with dribbling skill, bouncing well, flying slow and fast
Ball of time, oh! passing by, hit at time will celebrate best.
Miriam May 2020
I long to feel that feeling again
The feeling inside-like a surging tide
That feeling you can fly
as emotions touch the sky
That excitement,adrenaline
That keeps on flooding in
That determination,not giving in
A desire to see the win
As your dream rise higher
Keep feeding that fire
So dear beautiful game,
Life’s not the same
I long to feel your heartbeat again
Copyright Miriam 2020©️
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