Paddy's Rambles

She comes into my room, won’t sleep alone, constantly rolling over and onto my side, hey! Isn’t a King sized bed not big enough?

Seems

Another night of calm and quiet!
I miss her, kicking snoring and grinding her teeth.

Something strange about being alone,
kindling the mind to unearthly roam?
eyes flooding, with memories of old
my dear and recently departed.

Having his brother – her uncle -  in his head for the past few days, been sometimes difficult, and sad to deal with.

Wish I’d not seen him die!

Can’t help thinking and sadly believing,
the doc should’ve saved him!

When I got sick back in 96.
I remember wishing I had his lungs
on hearing a natural cleansing cough!

Seemed?

But how wrong one can be?

Old trucks, cars, wagons and trailers,
an old timepiece, quietly sitting on a mantlepiece, or discarded, Pegged out, as we used say, these are things I see most every day!

Seems?

Wish he were here now, playing his soulful musical mind

Wonder where he is?

What he’s doing?

Still working on old bangers, broken watches, clocks, or tick tocks we called them, back in the 50’s 60’s.

I can see him up on the pearly gates, fixing the heavenly clock or, working on peters old arc angel mobile!

Whisht!

That you Johnny?
Good night.

Copy write P Keenan.  March 27th 2004
Miles Smith Farm
The Hill, Loudon
NH USA

Walked on and on to the roar of the sea!

Crossed the gates and over green fields

dropping, suddenly vanishing into mist

Filly and I imagining the worst,

looking down on a raging ocean,

a place, by no means,

 to be docking a boat,

on a wild Atlantic, bashing the coast?

a drug smuggling delivery, perhaps?

Or,

refugees, with guns!  Sham!?

With Imaging magnifying, our wild superstition?

mixed thoughts between us

Creating fear, paranoia, suspicion?

‘Course!

 We’re out of our tree!

Written one bitter cold winters night beside, a roaring logs and turf fire!

At Filly’s farm house up the hills of the medieval county of Kilkenny.

Copywrite Dec boxing day! 2010

 Baltimore west cork.

1982

He’d felt suicidal seconds before,

but was reprieved by the miraculous vision                                                                                                                                                           a keg on the waves

the bottom of a cliff,

yadda yadda!

a picture of bil’s pipes!

Here’s a picture of The Honorable Garech De Brun, with the fully restored Dennis Crowley set that my father purchased from him back in 1966, I held on to the old Rowsome chanter from a full set I’d had since 1960 and later married it to the Crowley set, this was the combination I’ve played all the ways to the year 2000.  Many thanks to you, Garech, and to my Dad, John Keenan snr.  ( Restored by Dave Williems in 2001 )

APRIL 16TH 2008

5:30AM

Hangin’ in the saloon for a time, then staggering noisily across the dust covered street calling out my brother’s name.

Johnny! One of them shouted! I’ve come to straighten an old debt  Johnny.

You remember my friend Joss? Johnny boy.

He growled!

Johnny jumps his horse, Billy gets in the way. Joss’s friend takes advantage and pulls his gun fingers tighten round the stock.

Johnny turns gun in hand, Joss’s friend drops to the ground in a cloud of dust.

His friend makes a dive at Billy, Billy slaps him with his 44 he too hits the ground.

Johnny and Billy run for the barn, turning and crashing through the store window knocking over the keeper.

Me right behind them cursing and swearing from the back door,

Just as Billy jumped the step the door swings back, slaps me on the head and seems to lock?

I bang and push to no avail, rooting through a mess of junk and papers for something to break through

Pulling an old bag from the trash it rips open, scattering wads and wads of ten and twenty dollar bills!

Stuffing them inside the linings of my jacket socks and trouser legs.

Loud angry voices out front as I reach for the door.

The door swings open with no effort at all, I feel myself going all kind of light headed.

Suddenly, I’m sitting up on a hill looking down the valley at Johnny and Billy galloping like mad, raising trails of dust, the town posse behind them, smoke rising from their guns.

Daddy! Daddy!

I open my sticky eyelids.

Sabrina’s standing there in her pajamas all foggy and very sleepy looking, rubbing her eyes.

looked at my watch, Five thirty AM!

I lift her up tuck her into bed and we both fall back to sleep.

Dusk!

Evenfall’s most beautiful skies

A huge orange crescent swinging motionless on the bottom
of a shadowed gray sphere

The Moon!

A bright celestial globe by the side of the Moon

Illuminating!

It’s great solar body reflecting white heat

from our setting Star

Venus!

A backdrop of massive glittering diamonds
Vast, distant clouds of light expanding from the heavens

Twilight!

Streaks of orange, strings of pink!
Purples, deep dark blues

The sky’s alive!

Johnny Snr, Meself, Tommy, And John

The Pavees, Slattery’s Basement folk club, Capel St. 1968-69

Matt and I Bothy Band somewhere in the 70′s

November 18, 2008

Photos I got from a friend, Alan Mc Weeney. My dad, mom, john and I with John’s two kids in the background, then there’s John snr Paddy and John jnr, the last ones of my parents, John Keenan snr-Mary Bravender Keenan circa 1968-70

Mother’s Day

Sunday, May 14th 06

I’m sitting at home on the hill, tired after spending most of the night
helping a great big thoroughbred mare give birth to her first foal, it was scary,
I heard someone shouting downstairs, it’s happening! It was Mary Anne and her daughter, Mary on the cell, Frantically trying to get hold of Carol, who had decided to go for a walk, after spending nights on alert!

Spin on her side, her butt against the sliding door pushing it outwards making it near impossible to slide the door open, with the foals legs and head being pushed very close to the corner of the barn and likely to be crushed. I only realized how much I cursed and swore at those doors and the person who had closed them, when introduced to the closed circuit camera results, the following day. There’s me shouting abuse at the sliding door pushing like mad and with all that crazy strength I managed to slide it away from Spins butt and foals front legs and head. What an experience! The mare was up again with the foal going back inside, she was having a hard time for the foal was way over due. I was standing there wishing that I had just pulled on the two little white hooves, but no, she was up and taken another stance while Caila and I fought off Gunner the father, who I have now renamed Goner since he was fixed after he got Spin pregnant. Spin lay down again and this time I thought, first chance.

I grabbed the two little white pads, Carol, my landlady came and took hold of its head and shoulders, we pulled gently until eventually we were looking at a complete mess! But soon after, Carol and I pulled off the messy stuff and there, was the cutest little white face on a chestnut brown body and four spindly spider like legs, twisting all over the barn, the longest legs you could imagine.
Spin’s such a lovely mom.

regards,
the stable hand.

pbk

I’m happy to post a picture of Gunner in his pride!

ST. PAUL MN.
Jan 2005

A memory flash from the 60′s
as I was taken to a taylor to have my
leather coat sewn up under the oxter,
It didn’t happen,
Taylor was going away and didn’t have time.
This came to mind in the pub across the street.

BOOTS
In the days of old when I was young
a taylor I met on the way for a dram
We chatted awhile ’bout my old leather coat
pushing the gates of the saloon next door

Many years passed, since been on the street
calling into the cobbler in my two bare feet
in a brown paper bag my grand cowboy boots
taking them from me intending to shorten
the original measured for some lucky guy

It was then he noticed the tear on my coat
as I hung it ‘longside my hat on a hook
sitting at the bar ordering the drops
talked all day long, through most of the night

Whatever happened to the cobblers next door?
This is it, he answered with a smile on his mush
yea, a fine young cobbler and not a bit shy
mended my shoes good as any guy
She passed away, yea, lord rest her

Often wondered what became of those boots
glue nails and hammer, most of da’s tools
I’d ripped open the tops for to fold under
thumb flat on last, under the hammer
they eventually got lost in the cobblers shop

Maybe she’s wearing them, way out in heaven
barn dancing, dust rising jumping and swinging
didn’t know there were cobblers women
sure hope she’s happy in d’aul pavee boots