poetry corner kicks

http://books.google.ca/books?id=8wQ0Ew81450C&pg=PT58&lpg=PT58&dq=%22there+was+that+time+charlie+tully%22&source=bl&ots=C4Oy8TO94z&sig=yciF-6XVyK9MiiX3buNZdJmnaBw&hl=en&sa=X&ei=JjRJUZG1DIjjiwK6kYHADg&redir_esc=y

Right place at the right time, he

I do like "New England's shanks" but this isn't even close

But, rebounded, a chance unearthed

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Jack it was who scored the goal was robbed

Robbie Keane: A Poem by Colum McCann

Robbie Keane, a poem by darraghmac

Alone he stands
with the hands
always the hands.
The man from OPTA
the one on twitter
measured the hands once
during a game
said they covered more ground than his feets

Put them away, did robbie tho
goals i mean, not the hands.
he never put them away.
always. with. the. hands.
not quick, really. no great strike.
first yard not really in his head.
(how many hands in a yard, i wonder)
could do anything with them hands though,
point anywhere
where the ball should have gone
or the run should have been
or the badge on the shirt of his new boyhood club
more points per game than gooch cooper they say.

waves too. who'd forget them!
the wave against the turks in the playoff, mighty.
better than a goal, really.
or an attempt at one, even.
you can wave from anywhere,
from where you are standing or
where a man brushed you
or where the ball bounced just inches away.
you can stand there, mouth a gawping n
like a sesame st version of an outraged noddy
and ignore it
and point
and wave
with those fucking
hands

The new object:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/raymond-cummings/vigilante-fluxus/paperback/product-22044342.html

If you want a sample PDF of poetry let me know and I'll hook it up

nice

not sure how much football is involved though