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Narrative Baseball Poems | Narrative Poems About Baseball

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

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Details | Narrative | |

Baseball Card

And there you were - 
blue cap and jersey, white pants
bat held high above the shoulder
cocked and ready to swat one out
in that perfect stance of yours...
Shoulder turned, name half visible
(Proud you were to wear that name
Proud was I you wore that name)

Yes there you were - 
smiling that smile of yours...
Cocky, confident, ready-or-not smile
The kind of smile of someone who
was exactly where he belonged
exactly where he wanted to be
in that very place, that very moment
doing what he was born to do
Fulfilling his destiny...

(Yes that's my boy out there
Yes he IS a good player isn't he?)

So there you were - 
An all-star you were, oh yes, a star
a shining, glittering star but:
Stars are born to flame out, die
We are all born to die it is said
Seems only the best of us die young
and far too soon, too soon
You died too soon...

*2nd place in the "Batter-up" contest judged on 6/17/2015


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Baseball in Heaven

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 | Year Posted 2010

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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 ~

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

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Let's Play Ball

Let’s Play Ball

“America’s past time”,  but as a child, I could have played baseball for a lifetime.
12092015 (Contest, One Liner 4) PS; Silent One

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

The Baseball Mitt

My father's Roger Maris mitt
Was kept in perfect health.
It showed no wrinkles no blemishes
Nor flakes of skin.

Its limber fingers were sheathed in leather, 
Its pocket was well stretched
As it yawned with each breath.
Bathed in linseed oil, 
It was a dark jersey cow
As it slept like an oyster
With a pearl cradled in its palm.

My father's attention was precious as gold; 
His time was well spent with little to spare.
He was my coach, he was my father
Playing catch on our field of honor.
Years passed by with a blink of an eye; 
His fraying attention became unraveled
By his job, by money, his family's health
And his aging body.
His golden mitt seldom saw light; 
Snaring a baseball was wishing
Upon a starless night.

With patience and compassion
My father guided my life, 
By catching a baseball my self-confidence grew.
But, his life was snatched by death
His game forever ended.
He was part of my foundation
Which will never fade from sight
As long as I remember, a baseball
Caught on an autumn night.

Standing in my backyard, I see my father's mitt
Cradling me; 
Like a baseball I recline
In his loving arms forever.

Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012

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A PITCHERS POINT OF VIEW

BASEBALL IS ENTERTAINMENT 
I LOVE PUTTING ON A SHOW 
I GIVE IT MY BEST WIND-UP 
LET THAT BASEBALL GO 

SOMETHING ABOUT A STRIKE-OUT 
A FEELING THAT THINGS WENT WELL 
UNLIKE THE HOMERUN PITCH 
WHERE IT FEELS THEY RANG MY BELL 

I CONSIDER IT A CHALLENGE 
TO FACE THE BIGGEST NAMES IN THE GAME 
I BUILT THAT REPUTATION 
I HOPE THEY FEEL THE SAME 

I KNOW I GET A LITTLE WILD 
BUT, I'VE BEEN WORKING ON CONTROL 
NO INTENTION TO BREAK AN ARM 
JUST TO LET YOU KNOW 

IT'S LIKE ONE ON ONE 
SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT 
BUT IF YOU TRY TO BUNT ON ME 
I'LL NAIL YOU ON THE SPOT

YES I HAVE A FASTBALL 
NINETY-FIVE AND UP 
I KNOW YOU KNOW IT'S COMING 
SO GIVE IT YOUR BEST CUT

I'VE BEEN WORKING ON MY CURVEBALL 
IT MIGHT JUST BACK YOU DOWN 
CONSIDER IT A CHALLENGE 
TRY TAKE THAT PITCH DOWN TOWN
 
I LOVE MY JOB OUT ON THE MOUND 
I LOVE THE GAME OF BASEBALL 
I LOVE WHEN THE BATTER AT THE PLATE 
CAN'T HIT MY BLAZING FASTBALL
 
I LOVE THE PLAYERS ON MY TEAM 
WHO LOVE THE GAME OF BASEBALL 
IT'S A THRILL WHEN BATTERS TAKE MY CHALLENGE 
AND CAN'T STICK MY NASTY CURVEBALL

Copyright © Michael E. Harris | Year Posted 2016

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J D And Sons

                                         J.D.  AND SONS……… 4.3.16   

 

JD WAS A MAN FROM  PEELTOWN TEXAS OF HUMBLE  MEANS AND RAZOR SHARP IQ, DEFT IN MANY FIELDS AND FRIEND TO MANY, TALKING DREAMS PLAYING BASEBALL IN THE HOT TEXAS DAYS, MANY

DREAMING OF A DAY HE COULD MAKE HIS ESCAPE FROM THE FIELDS TO A MORE SOPHISTACTED LIFE WHERE SUITS THE NORM AND MONEY THE CHATTER OF THE DAY, EXCITING. 

ONE DAY HE DECIDED TO FORGO 2 REMAINING YEARS AND JOING UNCLE SAM FULL FILLING HIS DUTY TO COUNTRY AND HONOR THOSE BEFORE HIM, UNSELFISHLY.

COMING BACK TO THE STATE SOON OFFERS WERE POURING IN SO MANY TO CHOOSE FROM AND BABY IN THE WAY HE DOVE BACK INTO THE BANKING WORLD WITH FERVOR! 

JD, MY DAD, MY FRIEND, ALL OF HIS FAMILY WORRIED FOR HIS HEALTHY GAME PLAN OF SURVING THE WOE  HE MADE IT BACK INTACT MIND BODY AND SOUL.

FINDING HIS LADY ONE THEY BECAME UNITED IN MATRIMONY A SHORT TIME LATER, YOUNG LOVERS SEEING THE WORLD TOGTHER ALL WAS POSSIBLE FOR THEM, A FRESH BEGINNING.

SHORT TIME FROM THERE I DAVID ENTERED THIS SCARY NEW WORLD BAY OF PIGS WITH JFK STANDING FIRM USA MEANT BUSINESS, RUSSIA FOLDED HER HAND.

BROTHER BORN A FEW YEARS LATER FULL OF SPUNK AND MISCHIEF OUR FAMILY WAS COMPLETE TRAVELING NORTH AND SOUTH OUR JOURNEYS MET NEW ADVENTURES, PLENTIFUL 

TIME PASSED AND MOM MOVED ON HOWEVER DAD TIM AND I REMAINED PLAYING BASEBALL, DAD WATCHING AND COACHING AND WE FELT A LOVE AND BOND FOR ONE ANOTHER, ALWAYS 

DAD AND I BECAME CLOSER AND FATHER AND SON AS THE GRAY SHOWED IN HIS HAIR WHILE DAVID’S THIN MUCH TO HIS DISMAY FRIENDSHIP GREW, TALL

BROTHER TIM DAD AND I ENJOYED MANY A BALLGAME WHILE EATING GRILLED BURGER, CHICKEN AND THE LIKE, TIMES SEEMED ENDLESS WE LAUGHED, YELLED AND LOVED EACH OTHER WITHOUT HESITATION, REAL 

YESTERDAY WE  LOST OUR DAD, OUR LEADER, OUR FRIEND WHO LISTENED TO US AS HE NORMALLY ATE THE TASTY  MEAL OF THE DAY, OUR HEARTS ARE SADDENED KNOWING WE WILL LAUGH NOR EAT NO MORE HERE, EARTH

DAD LOVED US PROBABLY MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN THIS WORLD AND ENJOYED EVERY MINUTE HE GOT TO SPEND WITH “HIS BOYS”, PROUDLY.

DAD WE LOVED SPENDING THOSE DAYS WITH YOU TOO WATCHING, EATING, LAUGHING AND TALKING WE THOUGHT THE TIME WAS ENDLESS FOR HERE BUT IT WAS NOT TO BE.

 THANK YOU FOR LOVING US AND SHOWING US LIFE AND ALWAYS BEING OUR FRIEND WE COULD NEVER REPAY YOU  AND YOUR LOVE WILL ALWAYS WITH US IN OUR HEARTS,YOUR SPIRIT REMAINS.      

 

 

 

                                         © 2016 DAVID J. MITCHELL

Copyright © DAVID MITCHELL | Year Posted 2016

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Nigeria Has Gone Mad Again

The nuts had been cracked, all nuggetting towards the street,
Many women are seen fighting in the market place,
1983 history repeating itself in a bloody combat.
All the alliances loosed at the sighting sight of a Buharified disposition in an unprepared change.
Poverty and unemployment as graduates' license,
Hunger raping the stomach of many masses publicly.


Negro Senators shot blanket eyes at fellows,
Ground prepared as a battlefield for bulleted words;
Alas! Nigeria is naked and no clothes to cover her.
Black innocent blood drizzles like dews in morning,
Avengers here whilst the Bokos slice souls like yam!
Alas! We're buharified in a buharificated change,
Our fearful eyes osibanated with a yemified tears
At the decorated mad country painted by our elders.


Toh! Another woman beheaded by the cows,
raze racism aflamed in religious secular circles,
Another macsare at the food basket of the nation.
Lol! Butchered atmosphere hurriedly claiming the sense of many who claimed to have dined with God.
Nigeria has gone mad again, 1983 repeating itself!
Have you forgotten about our father's prophecy?
Have you forgotten  Fela with his cow on suits?


I have seen a woman whose garment is rot of rags
Dancing in the street whilst her children watched joyfully cuddling deceit in their old sack!
The weight in her wait weigh more than insanity!
In high climax, her breath is stifled in suspense.
The thorns have been planted in every lips to close,
We are buried in a living silence by the righteous leaders; alas! No more farmers but famine here.


The oil has gone bankrupt with the representaTHIEVEs fonding lies with  old lyrics,
Corruption dinning at every corner of the street;
Oh! We're buharified with a buharificated change
While sultry sand mock our feet at the sight of the youths suffer and die silently in their tens.
Boom! Boom!! Boom!! We hear every day as if we are in the military regime, truly we're buharified.


(C) John Chizoba Vincent
      Voice Of Vincent 2016

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016