While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.
Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel,
And so before it I choose to kneel.
I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.
I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.
I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.
My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs
baseball and poetry love them both
just like writing baseball excites me too
and during the recent months they’ve gain growth
love it as much as writing an haiku
can’t wait next month the season will begin
I'm not like others I never played golf
if I’m lucky I’ll catch a Red Sox win
outside of Fenway was a sign for Gulf
besides Poetry Soup may be else where
such as MLB dot com checking scores
I love baseball because it has some flair
as a kid bought cards from many stores
when summer is here I’ll be watching more
wife and I caught a Red Sox Phillies game
and my wife didn’t find the game a bore
but lately the Red Sox have brought us shame
but the new season will be starting soon
enjoy the games even from the saloon
Copyright © Robert Heemstra
My grandfather and I had a special relationship.
When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore. But, my family moved away from
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my
grandfather. Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles. I was the one grandchild who
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.
Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when
he was young. In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or
get married and raise a family. As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove,
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.
But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles. As crummy as the Baltimore bums are
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.
I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing. Had he
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.
When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once
again strap on his spikes and don the leather. Without a doubt, they must play baseball in
heaven. And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.
(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)
Copyright © Joe Flach
A subject of sweetest softness
Cats can be loved too
Copyright © Smail Poems
His life had boiled down to this one moment
Nerves shaking but could never show it
A lifetime of practice to get to this fall day
Always saying goodbye & never getting to stay
The half dirt covered plate at his feet
As thousands waiting to leave their seat
Years of not knowing if he could ever get here
He looks up and his mind never this clear
Cheers all around fade away
Today was his day
He has but a single task
The question yet to be asked
His stance he choose to switch
And from a knee here comes the pitch
She said yes
Copyright © Chad Weeks
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
Copyright © Carrie Richards
The narrow tunnel, darkened by shadows of denial;
my vessel of hope, adrift on possibilities.
A regretful mist hangs heavy in this melancholy place.
The haunting echo's of could-have-beens stalking close behind,
as I search for a spark of light at every turn.
Unable to turn around this voyage of time,
I will accept the fait that awaits me at the end.
Will you be there?......
Copyright © Arlene Smith
This Blue Moon..
This moon is hypnotizing , this moon knows all Truth and lies
it is a rare moon and filled with questions asked
luminous clouds weaving through , knowing all through existence
showing me there is yet true love in the mist
who else has been captured by the Magic that surrounds this Blue Moon tonight ~
pure light and magic that pulls on your soul , instinctively, when called you will go
with all senses enhanced, romancing you
all that you know
it controls the waters at Sea, as though it instructs all sea life
speaking to the dolphins' and lighting the oceans glow
telling the night owl too take flight and hunt ~
showing a white Owl for the first time seen
this moon is speaking , listening to all prayers
there is more around us, more then the finest of wise Men know
Look at this moon tonight
Tell me now what the truth is
This Blue Moon ..it knows.
Copyright © Shanity Rain
words left unspoken
sealed behind my stubborn lips
love begs expression-
your arms reach out to embrace
my eyes speak the unspoken
Copyright © Eileen Manassian
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs
I do not know?
You are the batter,
Shaking in your cleats,
Scared of what may come,
So scared you may flee.
The pitcher stands there noble,
Strong and steady,
His pitch is fast,
And you are not so ready.
The pitch is down the middle,
Right where you like,
But something comes over you,
Like the darkest of the nights.
And you miss,
Satan got in you,
And gave you a kiss.
You walk back to the dugout,
And begin to weep,
You let your father down,
But then you leap!
You hop right back up,
Your at-bat again,
You get another shot,
This time Satan must not get in!
You pray to God,
Asking for Satan to be gone,
You dig in,
Humming in song.
With a smile on your face,
You watch the pitcher throw,
Right down the middle,
Yet this one was drove!
As far as you could,
The ball flew like out of a gun,
You watch with amazement,
As the pitcher says," That’s my son!"
Copyright © Zackery Harbin
A page freshly written
Across the face of time.
A new excitement
To thrill and tantalize.
Caresses every moment
With silent words of love.
Expresses the caresses
That I've been dreaming of.
Shines in joyous beauty
Through the sweetness of your soul.
Uplifts and brushes softly
Away the tears of solitude.
Surrounds and protects my heart
From ever losing you.
Brings us closer together
Upon our sacred paths.
To show our way at last.
I will love you,
over and over, unabashed.
I'm grateful for you
And ready to love again.
We'll find each other
And fall in love again.
Copyright © Chula Fleming
I do not know?
Rain passes through quenching the thirst of the parched dry lands.
Lightning flashes and thunder crashes as God clinches his hands.
For he has grown wreary of his creations' greed.
Turning his back on the population. Ignoring the cries during their time of need.
He can't stand to watch as we indure his punishment.
Tough love now will save many on the day of judgment.
Copyright © Christina Hons
the love the parks
and play hard
they love the swings
its there thing
of that there love brings
is field with a wall
KIDS AND BASE BALL
Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr
A New Love Story
I had stopped at the rural cafe for a coffee it was a day when I was
not feeling a day over seventy she was around fifty and incredible
young her waste was that of a waif at the beginning of life.
She was so beautiful and she smiled inviting me to sit by her table
and I was only drinking coffee. I told her amusing stories of my life,
mostly lies- and she laughed, not a bored mirth while looking at
the time thinking of the right moment to slip away the clutches of
my unwanted attention. Good time has me has a limit, so much and
not more, her husband came in he had been to the garage, had the car
fixed and he told me all about it down to the smallest dreary details
A nice man with oil on his hands and I hated him, but I could not kill him
and claims his wife as mine, the thought faintly amused me,
and they drove off. I loved her immensely and she reminded me of
my wife`s niece I love her too, perhaps it was her but I was too old to see
as handsome faces take on a mask of a smiling Janus
Copyright © jan oskar hansen
I stand on the plate with the sun in my eyes
the pitcher is ready, a fastball he flies
I swing just as hard as I possibly can
love says "strike one" as I try it again
I choke up on the bat, pull down on my bill
nodding my head, a new pitcher on the hill
it hurls past my chest, just missing my heart
love says "ball one" as the clock again starts
it's the seventh inning stretch, I need the relief
I brush off the dust, no way will I retreat
the coach saunters over, giving a pep talk
as the lines are redrawn on the infield with chalk
the board shows each tally, each inning not close
no intervention from heaven or its holy hosts
and I shut the book on yet, another losing season
I'll still play the game with faith in the reasons
Copyright © J B
We All know Better
By Curtis Johnson
Your smiling face will often disguise the rapid and tedious race;
But I know better
Your sweet and pleasant demeanor sometimes displays God’s grace;
But not always, because at times it leaves a revealing trace.
Others may discern or detect things you cannot hide or erase,
Because they too know better
In the language of baseball, it’s good to hit home runs, triples, and doubles.
But we Know better,
Because a good manager will tell you that these endeavors you must not chase
It’s simply because, most times, it’s better for the team if you just get on first base
So if you choose, you can say you are swell and all is well
But I know better
You can pretend things are great and wonderful; but you know better
I know that you must open up and talk about more than the sports and the weather
I know that you must open the windows of your heart to at lease someone you can tell
Copyright © curtis johnson