"keane" poems
Oh, Andy-
speak to me in paints:
red, yellow, blue
When I told you I wouldn't be good at this,
an inability to sketch hands that punched at everything leaving me weak.
Keane's sorrow filled eyes upon oil made more sense to me.
I was never angry or mean, just sad and hopeless.
Lichtenstein was more your speed with obscene images of ******* women
and dialogue of broken hearts.
Van Gogh never made sense, but his attention to detail caught my eye.
To not know what goes on in your own head is identifiable so,
my head is art crafted by Picasso.
they hospitalize you once you've lopped your ear off
when giving a part of themselves to a lover.
I'm not cut out for this- the starving artist,
the tragic sketcher,
or the natural- born painter.
I've calloused my hands,
shed tears on pages of sketchbooks
put paint that looks childlike
and nothing worthwhile,
in all the time spent learning,
I've never learned how to be an artist.
I thought it was the mantra to be pained and miserable,
but you accounted for bold choices and vivid primary shades.
I feel betrayed, that my art alone, isn't enough to be good.
They will never frame my name,
or immortalize flaws in which could never be erased.
Like our conversation in my dream:
"I can't be mean." -Me
"Killing yourself isn't much different" -You
So Andy, what is the color I'm feeling? If it isn't blue?
—V.H.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
*one reason why you're not read with a volume you
expected, jedi-know-how, you'll be easily plagiarised.*
**when i first came to england i fell in love
with manchester united...
the 4 - 4 - 2 line-up**
peter schmeichel (dane goalkeeper),
then ooh aah cantona (eric cantona baseball cap),
original wembley white towers...
(white towers, charity shield
newcastle united)
so meh for the arch....
irwin... steve bruce... lee sharpe...
gary pallister... (7) eric cantona.... george best....
mcclair, ryan giggs,
cotton tomilisom, then roy keane...
then davies cole ****
the neville brothers...
scholes and david beckham...
**** stuck to azkazam fudge, it's still perfectly refrigerated
in kazakhstan:
steve mcmanaman will tell you;
it's a random barricade question worth a shot
in the rubric of a sudden challenge.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
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 a Brazilian 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.
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 7:36 AM UTC
Today I saw a sign in a
town called Cahirsiveen
County Kerry, advertising
what appeared to be, Sive.
I sieved my thoughts, and
what came through the fine
mesh of my mind were the
filings of amnesia.
Earlier, I had passed by Glencar
the foothills en route to Valencia
an island off Ireland, last stop
before New York harbour.
Hugh O' Flaherty, The Vatican
Pimpernel was looking at me
through James Joyce's glasses as
I passed Daniel O'Connell's church.
It was O'Connell country for sure,
**** a native of the island could
share the ball with O'Dwyer and
Paudie O'Se, the three coasters.
Balinskelligs, monks Islands,
isolation, invasion, inhospitable
weather, antarctic insurmountable's,
Inis, Inn's, Inch, Tom Crean, Fungie.
I sieved my sievings only to discover
that Sive was by John B Keane, but
guess what, the Queen of the Kingdom
should be Miriam O'Callaghan!
Ps.
This is a poem with a colloquial
flavour, one needs to be a native
to comprehend it.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC
Alpha's Become Contradictory Dogmas
Eventually Finding God Has Its Jubilation's
Keane Listening Men Now Omniscient
Protective Queens Radiantly Shedding The Ultra Violet Wisdom
Xeroxing Your Zzz's
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
I'm what's better known as a versatile utility singer. I can sing backing, middle and up front too. I do a cracking JDB on particular songs and I say particular as the rest of his exquisite collection of songs goes into top gear and are very hard to drive in particular at fast top speed and with power of voice.
Bono to Boy George Keane to O'Reily its Do they know its christmas with Holly Johnson!
I was everywhere always on the move driving it on as long as I could start when I want to and finish when I want too!
I don't know if you recall when I was a little dut at all, I got up and sung Silent Night in primary school in front of the whole class like Aled Jones eating a quaver.
Even back then it became override peculiar like a sandwich in a cake!
On your own performing courage of a christmas carol only one verse long.
I loved the sound of school the playground was awesome and cool,
A place to hang out and carry out your hobbies of football until that horrid bell rang or latter due to modern technology of a whistle which became the brain wash sound form of musical statues and then quickly line.
It was somehow meant to be that I would become later in life a utility retired singer, driver and even a writer on the side, in good old O'Reily fashion of an own goal.
Side on face on come on! The roads are paved with gold or a cut throat final signature tune on a silent night over looking the horizon and into a bar going up and then down with each empty glass fortune.
Learn, work and school life as in no sooner along comes a wife, a chain reaction next to your comment hence a full stop.
O'Reily 27102014
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Have you ever danced with him?
The charming keane one-
Eyes as dark as night, strong broad chin
He moves straight and swift as wind
****** you- He does- so flawless
A smile to coy for the weak
Do you take his hand, such a risk?
For the touch of his lips would be your last kiss
Curiousity shall win you over
So simply disguised-
What mystery beneath him lies
To some so easily a surprise
Expected at the least, he will reach you
The music quickens in pace
Your heart beats, the last beat
The last spin, he took you- leaving no trace
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 3:46 AM UTC
432 was the amount
of a crushing defeat
for 202 Toe Rags.
432 is a symbolic figure
for Ireland and not a
poetic metaphor either,
it was the date St Patrick
arrived here from Boulogne
Sur Mer in Northern France,
where it was a tradition of the
local mariners to paint a shamrock
on their fishing boats.
432 has often been associated with
the 4 provinces and 32 counties.
John B. Keane's "Field" was 3 Acres
1 Rood and 32 Perches, a classic
representation of Ireland.
202, or TOT will become iconic also,
not as a number, more the word!
<>
TOT |tɒt|
verb (tots, totting, totted) [ no obj. ] (usu. as nountotting) Brit. informal
salvage saleable items from dustbins or ******* heaps. local authorities frown on totting.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 5:20 AM UTC
I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete
Oh simple thing where have you gone
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin
I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches of it looking at me
Is this the place we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?
And if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
Somewhere only we know?
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 12:50 AM UTC
The keane Place kids
In the eighties I was living in keane Place
With my family and I was 11 when I moved there
Over the years I met so many kids
Who I thought were invincible because
They weren’t scared like the one’s at the mall
They were quite often teasing me
Because I took too long to adapt to growing up
They were nice to me but they did tell me
When I should go inside so they can relax
We had Peter and Rowena and Bambi and Jason
As well as Allison and Julie and they were always
Visiting me and my brother’s cubby house
Having drinks and biscuits
This happened for about 5 years and we were quite
Often annoying the bus driver next door
By hitting the football on his boat
And we made too much noise for the other neighbour
Who was trying to sleep during the day
When we started to go to bigger school most of the kids
Moved away and then Beu and Josh moved in
And hit it off with my brother
While me, well I just started to grow up and try to better myself
Until I moved in a granny flat in the back and
Brendan and Candice moved in
And I at that stage preferred them to my family
And I was swinging them around in my front yard
And when my friends came around I embarrassed them
Something fierce
That family became friends with my family and we all had fun
And then I went crazy and tried to get rid of this family
By attempt to kidnap Brendan and tease Candice
And talk my way to eventually make them move on
They did and then I met another family who had a 9 year old
Boy who reminded me a bit like Patrick with his music tastes
So I let him enjoy himself and not try to get rid of him
He liked me and I liked his father
And then he moved on
And then the houses just had families wanting
To stay with their own families
And I had to deal with my mental illness
Which made me the oldest Keane Place kid
To finally leave the nest
I feel happy now because I have my new life
And when I see everybody from the street around
I say hello because I am one of the Keane Place kids
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
Bertold Brechtfast
Robert Rope Burns
John B. Very Keane
Sean O'SuitCasey
Sir Thomas Grievous Malody
Percy Shelley Beach
Terry Hatchet
Iain Canal Banks
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC