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Free Verse Baseball Poems | Free Verse Poems About Baseball

These Free Verse Baseball poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Baseball. These are the best examples of Free Verse Baseball poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Remember Me

Remember me... A fresh sweet scent of last gardenia on yesterday's linen sheets Remember me... A cherry bud in your backyard orchard showing first pink shades in once upon a soft blown kiss Remember me... An early summer sharing your beach towel and coconut butter Remember me... A roaring log fire on a stormy night in the hallway to your bedroom door Remember me... a short~lived star that fallen into your arms then faded to nothingness upon the empty shore. Remember me ... The blissful moment The saddest song in your forevermore

Details | Free verse | |

Home Run

It wasn't because he brought her flowers....
 It wasn't because he wined and dined her....
   She loved him because he spent hours on the computer
       trying to track down the 1970 Brooks Robinson baseball card
                                                                   for their oldest son's birthday
She loved him because he played with their kids, even after a hard day at work...
     baseball games in the big front yard...
            cheering them on...
                not getting angry when the youngest son 
                           knocked a homer 
                               straight through the living room window

Details | Free verse | |

My Micke boys

                To be called ..
            ~   Grandma is a Honor ~

        I have been blessed with 4  Grandchildren

       ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb "  He is God's Angel ~
   ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~

     For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
       he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
      ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
              Time passed another gift to see
               we are " Mickes" and Loved 
            Our Dad held the title in Baseball 
                   ~  that's how we roll ~
           those children are Grandmas hero's 

       The Irish they love big and Family is everything 
        The brothers will protect the beautiful sister 
              ~ as many lads will be calling ~

        Every time my Grandson hits a home run
     There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand 

       It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs 
           ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
     either baseball or Art  ~ you shall find your gift given

                These children have been blessed~
                 ~  a beauty to hard to describe 
        If you think not ~~  Take a look at the Mom  
                     That girl can stop Traffic   
                    after raising three and still~ 

          "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "

     May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell

Details | Free verse | |


Pretty princesses
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Very beautiful
Just like you!

Details | Free verse | |

Baseball Season Dreaming

It is cold out now

but don't you worry

Spring is right around the corner

and will be here soon

The sun will be bright and we might burn

but it is better to be hot 

and to sweat 

than to freeze your toes

Two months from now it all will start

the crack of the bat the cheer of the crowd

Every little boys dream

to watch their heroes play

So let's all have a some patience

and the days will pass

and before you know

that season will be here

Details | Free verse | |

Off To The Ballfield

Off to the ballfield
Where I once used to roam
From sun up to sundown
I'd call my home

No worries
No cares
Left all my troubles

Great times were had
By all those who played
I remember each moment
Like it was yesterday

Now I'm taking my son
And a group of his friends
To hit a few balls
And bask in the sun

I hope he remembers
This time that he'll have
Playing in ballfields
Putting troubles behind

Details | Free verse | |

A Slow Pitch

In the dirt of the diamond, my son’s eyes
Burn below the rim of his red hat
And he pulls his hand back,
looks at the score yet again,
digs his small toe in as his chest rises.

From my place in the stands
Every muscle has become tense 
And my heart is pounding in my chest
As he draws his arm back and then forward
Releasing his breath and the tiny spinning ball, 
A wild pitch bouncing off the wire fence.

And I finally exhale, wonder if he knows 
I am throwing with him and that was my wild pitch 
because I forgot to breath when we released the ball
And I was trying to throw it slow.
And I should just let him throw the ball 
Because I am not a good pitcher
Because how can I possibly throw with him 
When he is a lefty and I am a right.
But all of me grows tense, as he has the ball yet again, 
And then we are winding up again 
Because I cannot let go
Because his dreams are now my dreams 
Because I don’t know how to love him
Any other way. So I will wear his little hat and  
Must remember to exhale when we release the ball.
And I can play with him for a few more years 
So we wind up, and we pitch, and that fast ball down the middle,
It wasn’t even trying to be avoided, 
And so I know he threw that one 
Because he is ready for the fast ball
And I would prefer we pitch it slow,
Just for a little while longer. 
Long enough for him to know I am out there with him.
Long enough for me to learn how to let a fast ball fly.

Details | Free verse | |


The winds of March have tried their best,
To prepare the field for play,
But the ground has not yet dried,
of the melted snows of winter.

Puddles wait where runners slide,
And where the batter stands,
No grass grows where the infield plays,
And sparse is the turf where the outfield roams.

No lines or poles to relate fair to foul,
Or screens to block missed throws,
Nor walls to cause a caromed ball,
Or to impede a home run’s flight.

No groundskeepers to make things neat,
Or bleachers from which to cheer,
Nor umps to shout their balls and strikes,
Or dugouts from which to taunt.

But when the mud is dried and cracked,
And the grass has turned to green,
Players return to recover skills,
Held captive by winter’s cold.

Nothing fancy, not major league,
Just a game of ball to be played,
And the field, now ready, responds to all,
With fun and hits and errors.

Details | Free verse | |

season end

Season end
Baseball bats will soon be quiet.
As football season takes a kick
Golf ball will be put away so a president can go to work.
 Hockey sticks will soon hit the puck
And baseballs will go in the net.
The summer season is scheduled to end.
Hello winter let it begin.

Details | Free verse | |


Romantic, close
A subject of sweetest softness
Cats can be loved too

Details | Free verse | |

The Cheering Crowd

One feels so alive 
   at baseball games
   You are a part 
of something there
Something bigger 
than yourself
   As a Mets fan 
I feel myself as 
   a piece in the urban puzzle 
A member of the urban tribe
   Joining in the 
cheering for the 
helps the masses to release 
    their stress
which has been created 
   by urban life - even if last season the team 
didn't fare well 
   last season
The loyal fans 
   stuck with them 
till the end 
Loyal fans such as myself 
    see the Mets 
as the descendants 
   of the 
New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers 
   a team all New Yorkers 
can embrace wholly 
A team you can yell yourself hoarse for 
 Through the cold winter 
there are no green diamonds 
   to gaze upon 
But we New Yorkers know 
    that the sound of "Play Ball" will
soon usher in 
   another 162 games 
   for the New York Metropolitans 
Our hometown heroes 


Details | Free verse | |

My Baseball History

Graig Nettles as a Yankee wore the number nine
the New York Yankees in the seventies very fine
I’m Red Sox fan but a baseball fan first 
as you can tell baseball is my first thirst
ever since the seventies I was a baseball fan
Lou Brock and Yaz and Yaz the main man
baseball my sport of choice it’s my only game
and the Boston Red Sox have plenty of fame
I’ve been to Boston a few times what a city

Details | Free verse | |


At night 
When she lays down
Body to jaded
Spirit long since faded
But, Her restless mind

Telling her 
Who she is
What she will be
The nights that
Will soon follow
How it will end
With a gun in hand

She sees a woman
To scared to stand
To timid to speak
In her mind always
A lioness ready to fight
But in actual fact
A cub weary 

She sees a scared
Little girl
Burning in the eyes
Of the beholder
The seducer
The personal foe

Where will it end
This laying bare
This bleeding trend
Where will it end

In a glint of stainless
She sees
A sudden timelapse
Of a future of use
Of many men Served 
At night
As her body is shook
In rhythm
To perpetrators 
Scornful looks
One by one
They finish
One by one
They leave her
Staring up into oblivion
Hoping the pain will end 
Praying for amends
Screams in her eyes
Begging for forgiveness
Her face stays blank
Waiting for the next
To ruin her rank

A snap back to reality
What now?
What next?
She hugs her knees
Afraid of what will be

She is set back quick
She is standing above
What seems to be
Her not much younger self
Sitting on her feet
Angrily crying
Hands manically clawing 
At the sides of her head
She suddenly rises
RedVelvet seeping 
Through her pale skin
The frenzied search begins

A timelapse again
She sees herself
Ferociously scratching with a pen
The anger in a book
Soon to be hidden again

A creak of a door
Sends her spiralling back
Into the now
Into the black

Will her prediction
Be her end?
The only thing left
A gun in shaking hand

Details | Free verse | |

I want to point my finger like Babe Ruth

I want to go to Wrigley Field
Stand behind home plate
And point my finger at the left field wall

I do it to remember baseball
What it used to be
And spit

It used to be you could go to climb the fence and get in to Wrigley for free
Simpler times

Now you can't get in for less than a small fortune
Steroids and wall street

I want to stand at home plate
And point my finger for a better world

Babe Ruth was certainly associated with the ruling class
But he played a sport of the people
And he represented a team whose city has some of the ,most ardent socialists in the world

So I know I'm reaching here

But I want to stand at Wrigley field
In the heart of america

And point my finger like babe ruth
Very unwitting representative
Of the nations working class

Pointing my finger to the beyond
In the heart of america

Pointing my finger to the beyond
Toward what's better.
Toward what's more.
Towards what America
Is supposed to be.

Details | Free verse | |

Inspiring Note

     I got a little note today
     About a trip I always take
     It brings me thoughts of summer
     And the games we love to play

     I've had many good times
     And went with a lot of old friends
     It is the right of every southsider
     To go there to the end

     Sometimes the weather is sunny
     Others it is dark and gray
     It really doesn't matter
     As long as they play

     I long for this day to get here
     Forty Seven days to go
     It is the start of something special
     It is what we all will dream

     So bring on my mighty White sox
     I am hoping you do well
     Bring home that elusive championship
     We all are waiting for it to begin.

Details | Free verse | |


Two trains coming from different directions
Two friends are coming together 
Two lives again intertwined
Two tickets to a grand old time

I board my train at half past five
The fun we'll have is worth the drive
He gets on at half past four
Apart we will be no more

When together we will have a blast
A night I'm sure will forever last
We'll watch the game with a pint or two
I look forward to my favorite brew

We must be careful, we must behave
Last time together we were close to our grave
We drank too much and didn't care
That bus came so close, just missed by a hair

The game is the first of many we'll see
We hope they win we both agree
We promise to make good decisions
And hope to avoid  any collisions 

Details | Free verse | |

What I Gave

What I Gave?

I gave….nothing??
Time, and patience, and
a love of “The Game’.

She gave everything,
heart, strength, resolve,
to play “The Game”.

She is special,
handicapped, disabled,
and six years old.

Me, not so special,
did not wish to see,
her handicaps, keep her
from “The Game”.

She stood, bat in hand,
seemingly unable
to hit the ball.

I stood, confused,
befuddled when she said:
“you have to sing the song.”

“What song” I asked.
“The Baseball Song” she answered.

I looked around
seeking help when
her mother shouted
“Take Me Out to The Ball Game.”

I sang!  She Hit!
The love of “The Game”
etched itself upon another heart.

“The Game” will always be grateful
to her, for her, for 
What She Gave.

John G. Lawless

Details | Free verse | |

Pardon This Page

I reveal these words to the American,
who has the right to pardon this page,
while the whole world's getting out of hand,
as the evils of revelations rage,

Why's the US helping foreign lands?
when it can't get a grip on it's own,
If they intend to make any future plans...
why not start right here at home?

It's nobody's right to invade anywhere;
there's no serious threat here at home,
so send the officials whom send our troops there..
and on the front line with a cell phone,

Yea! parachute them in with a baseball bat,
a cell phone and a roll of duct tape,
One they get to where imposing minds are at...
they can put on their superman cape,

Or, drug them and issue them a used baseball bat,
a walkie talkie and a catchers mitt...
Once they realize where and the heck they're at,
there's a chance they'll resign or quit,

And pardon me if you don' t feel the same,
or believe "just" I do,
but those thousands of humans killed and maimed...
continue growing in numbers too.

Details | Free verse | |


I’m lost in an unknown world where I am not a stranger
Citizen of love recognize and value by all
People adore my knowledge about my country
As several relationships has been fabricate and re-established
‘Master of love’ I was called
All these is claim until I met her
She is the perfection of beauty
Angel amidst humanity
Her skin tone complements my dark complexion
Her hair kiss ass
Her dove eyes laid in between her pointed noise harmonized with long face and 
double dimple
Her breast flow the ocean of life in fulfillment of the holy book
She is supernaturally endowed below
Dream of living in her palace below and drink from milk of life above  
I call her End of discussion
She is my desire yet confused of certainty
My heart fails not to confront with golden words
I’m scared of response
I’m not scared of No but Yes
Presently in the net of two relationship in the name of love
My golden word for her shall be never to cheat on her
Previous word contradict contemporary words for her
Confused heart, let go of previous love and regain my country?

Details | Free verse | |

hitting softballs by the field house

“yeah man, call out
‘aye laddie’ to claim the
ball.” we laughed, and he
hit a grounder, followed by a
pop fly, followed by another
grounder, all thrown back to
the proximity of the pitcher. 
“what’s it gonna be like tomorrow?”
I asked. “In the 70s...I haven't hit
since last spring.” Some clouds
loomed overhead and my hairs stood
on end. He hit a short one and paused,
“What are your dinner plans? I 
got a few pizzas in the freezer.” 
“Wow, that’ll be great weather for the
frisbee tournament then.” The ball
tuckered out of my glove. Dammnit. 
He cranked out another one, and the guy
out left managed to haul it in,
“Aye laddie!” The sun peaked out
a bit, and I saw where the clouds 
would end for a time. “Aye laddie!”
That one, I caught. 
Reds and oranges over the trees, and
none of us believed in sun sets. 

Details | Free verse | |


Patiently waiting in a line
eyeballed an wary
harsh barking of subterranean cultures
standing weary and inured
to the rotten
the rotten

inside the high walls and wire, the weighted stone of
the convicted

existing like convicts

Details | Free verse | |

the morning, if it must

the morning groans as she untangles from the covers
worn and blunt
from the night before

her eyes puffed and wrinkled, wrinkled and blink
winking with bleary sting.  mustard gas
swallowing in the hollows
choking the cities yellow
choking the grass grown over
grave row
choking the green grass
burying the noble and their children
who only wanted revenge on
each other

say, the ghost shirt.  say, for the
no more wire, no more line
it all gets sent through collapsing


drowning man, drowning with the fear of
that fire
that he has forgotten, or
the fire that has forgotten
fingering dull charms 
that he has wrapped round
the neck.  to study on
to construct 
worry on
like a rosary.  a rosary of
dull, clanking, cold

to keep him occupied
to keep the morning
material, predictable
to keep an attempted faith

Details | Free verse | |

Take me out to the ballgame, Mister Cub

                          Mr. Cub, take me out to the ballgame! 
                               A Chicago Cubs-Fan Prayer! 
                        In nomine patri et fili spiritu of Ron Santo

                          Let us all give thanks for Ernie Banks! 

                                     Let us play, TWO! 

Our Father, who art in Wrigley Field Hallowed be thy name on those ivy covered Brick-house walls

Thy new stadium will come, the owners will be done

On earth, as it is in heaven to sit in the sun with the bleacher-bums

Give us this day our daily dread, but remove those lights that some say  offend 

And forgive us our trespasses for trading our best hitters and aces 

As we forgive those same players who then come back, and rub it in our faces

Lead us not, into tenth inning disgraces, and worst of all, with men left on bases 

Deliver us from evil and finishing in last place

And Caray us on to win the pennant race 

All's we're ask ‘in for is a couple a more runs with three men on base

Bring us oh Lord a world series trophy, or it won't be long before were all dopey! 

Our faith be rich, but our pockets are poor, because most of us can't afford a dog or a couple a beers in here! 

Our spirit lives on and we know no fear, so whaddya say we lose the, "wait till next year"!

Mr. Cub is rounding third and headed for home, one more time on this hallowed ground, but we still need a closer for a Cubs World Series win! 

Ronny made the call to one of their friends, "send in the saver, Ernie can't do it all"!  

Now the "LORD's" in the line-up, and Mr. Cub just handed him the ball! 

Let us all give thanks for Ernie Banks!  AMEN!

Details | Free verse | |

Making Headlines

I read you like the paper
 Your face a cover page
 I catch the comics daily
 I master all it's games
 Extra, extra, I'm all about it
 I'll slather up a soap box,
 An' have that shit surrounded.
 Hey everyone! This just in: 
 She's about to make headlines
 For swingin' them bats like Tony Gwynn

Details | Free verse | |

Watching Paint Dry

I've always been an enthusiast for the
Fine game of baseball.
I am quite lonely in this league, or so
it seems, as most of
my associates are keen to liken it to
observing the freshly
splashed whitewash of a skilled painter,
which I suppose is a
fair comparison. Both spectacles are
drawn out, repetitive,
and tend to the esoteric within: each
one who is drawn to
enjoy the fanhood of our pastime has
their own personal
mantras, and standards with which to
judge. Every action,
however agile or daring, is but a flicked
brushstroke, adding
to the tapestry of a solitary game.
We are the judge
and jury, the unblinking eye that haunts
the gladiators, the
roving observers who deftly pinpoint
the flaws in a patch
of perfectly white paint. For, perfection
is unattainable, and
knowledge of this is why we don't watch
paint dry, and why
we watch baseball.

Details | Free verse | |

These Brick Bound Boxes

these brick bound boxes 
fill this equinox of smart headed people
of these independent achievable people
critical analysts of this 21 century 
ready to be presentable to the unmighty 
smaller population of antisocial teenage children
willing them to be

not to be free, but inside these brick bound boxes
that fill the human intelligence with total
literate irrelevance to who we should be
to who can be 

ultimately like them
filled in these brick bound boxes
with mental instimulance
of a mix of lies, creation and motives
see, I don’t have a problem with any of them

just these brick bound boxes that hold them
hold this unforgettable willing mind 
of someone we chose to leave behind 
in these brick bound boxes

that encompass first the mind and then the soul
but who wants all this control?

society can speak of a whole.
an incredible strong mental image
of how life is to be--
within these brick bound boxes.

My life isn’t based in these brick bound boxes
but it soon will
creating a song of the monotone dead
longing to be passed on from generation to generation
but can't you see

can't you forget that this is not who we ought to be
unless we need to spontaneously combust
in this equinox till it metastasizes
catastro sizes to an everlasting dust
even you must ought to smell the musk.
So tell me, how do thee?
how do thee live with these brick bound boxes
filling up every empty not-yet-set concrete whole
implying of who you are before you could even
have some kind of control over yourself

its swept under the rug.
no biggie, you're just a kiddie
no actual value to this reality 
yet before you can buy alcohol

and I’m someone to sound big
I just don’t want to fill these lonely brick bound boxes
where the death of every living will cease to be a beginning
in this equinox of the everlasting dust,
so do you must, live in these brick bound boxes?

Details | Free verse | |

The Death of Ralph Kiner

Friends with the great Hank G. 
Quite a good hitter himself 
Announced for the NY Metropolitans 
I support all the New York teams 
   The Amazings 
a team which 
   has won two championships 
Ralph Kiner 
Announcer - man who dated Liz Taylor 
 Man who has now gone to his rest
   Ralph Kiner

Details | Free verse | |

FREE CEE it Is fiNe To WhiNE WhiLe DRinkINg wINE


Now let me get this straight
You want me to walk for forty-three minutes
Under a blaringly hot Mid-August Florida sun
With a breeze that is hiding just east of the horizon
It would blow, 
but for the fact that I would be walking for forty-three minutes while being roasted by a fearsome southern sun
It would blow
For almost anyone
But not for me 

And you want me to come over, why?
Because your papa shot your puppy
Before he shot himself in the head
And the bullet went clean through his brain.......
then out the back of his skull
seems your dad's skull had mad skill
So after the speeding brass speeding toward your father skillful skull made your father's brain look like re-fried beans, it exits,
somewhere near the brain stem
And continued on toward your wall
Right where you hang your nineteen-forty-six Joe DiMaggio Rookie baseball card
Valued at a cool one-hundred and sixty thousand dollars
And the projectile propelled by your papa 
patently destroyed the star of your baseball card collection
hey, you know, the bullet would have missed Jolting Joe if it had hit your dad in the spine
and that would have been by perpetuity's design
Well, is that why you want me to come over, so I can listen to you whine?
Okay, I have the problem succinctly solved
I'll come over so long as wine and drugs I like are involved
         © 2012….copyright 2012..PHREECEE....~free cee!~

Details | Free verse | |

The Team Moms

Baseball is only a game but it's fun to play...
And it can add excitement to any dull day.

The gays and gals on our team are all special you know...
And we recognize each other wherever we go.

The coaches are special and they teach the kids right...
And our fans are all out of sight.

But our team moms happen to be the best...
And it's so true, ours are all better than the rest.

When all is finally said and done...
Our team family makes baseball fun.


Details | Free verse | |


the salt sweats into the flung spray
  the stirred spume of the waters  
   twining the molecules of the morning's
to windward it lazily plays
  like the woman's electric touch
   the dawn touching the enlivening

the oxygens come evident through the languidly, scented

sitting curled atop the dabbled cover, sipping coffee

with rhythmic grace she bends, sending
  skin and fascination within her stretching, seeming
in deep quiddity and fire

like the Gulf's thick air, she fills my dry lungs
like the salt she sends to my eyes

to sights delicious in the tides of the night
spent, the sensed yen
spooned loose on salted

like water that
pulls across bone white 

rolling, turning, roping into 
warm, green depths

steps lightened with release
 the morning sweet in its suspension of

long limbs settled fine.  rubbers and lipstick lines
  indulge and dine on the purer pleasures 
   of the tree

the woman, the salt, the blending skin, and the