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Baseball Life Poems | Life Poems About Baseball

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

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Details | Rhyme |

The Victory Dance

To play as if today
Is your only chance.
Some say, “It’s just a game.”
Have they done the Victory Dance?

When hard-earned Victory
Was finally at hand,
Have they felt the glory
Raining down from the stands?

To do or not to do….
No one wants to hear, “We tried.”
Effort and dedication will be rewarded… 
And ‘Sooner Magic’ is on your side. 

Yes, to fall short is still an option;
But much better to succeed.
Heroes are made and remembered
Only by their deeds.

So, just go out and win.
Give your all to each and every chance.
Persevere and achieve…

And do the Victory Dance.


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)


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 | Sonnet |

Megan's Hit

        MEGAN'S HIT
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!

                    II.

"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
   
                   III.

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!

                   IV.

The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!

                V.

We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me! 
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Details | Couplet |

Unknown

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.


Details | Prose Poetry |

Life is Like Baseball final post

Focus means everything!!!....  


                              Effort.                            Courage.       

                                   

In times of our lives we strike out but it is a team sport.    
                      

Think about when you hit that home run!!!!!!!   


It really doesn`t matter at that MOMENT who was there and who wasn`t.

Who applauded and who didn`t.      

      

Moments are all we have, when "time" itself was calculated by the stars and man; 
therefore i fail to believe it truly exists.   

           

Love and The Fight For Survival  continues on............






(Let's play ball!!!!!!!!~incidently my all time favorite sport to play, watch, and 
burn 'em, every chance I get!) 

Spring is here!!!     WoooooooHooooo!!!




Life is just that way. 

Thanks to all for allowing me to openly express myself here at 
this soup, where there is no norm in form, it's just poetryman.
 No right, no wrong... 
Let's shake hands because it sure has been an exciting game that at times I didn't 
realize I was even playing...! 
All in all life is sweet and short. 
May you be blessed in your lives and your creatitity.

                                                   *~THE END~*
Sincerely,  

Lucinda


Details | I do not know? |

Life is a Baseball Game

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.

SWING!
And you miss,
Satan got in you,
And gave you a kiss.

You walk back to the dugout,
And begin to weap,
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!"



Details | I do not know? |

Life is a Baseball Game

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.

SWING! 
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!"


Details | Free verse |

What baseball is to me....

Baseball.....

The game that taught me how to breathe
eat,sleep,and dream of the thrilling play
learning to appreciate my teammates
but,also to respect my opponents

Sleeping with my leather glove
before a big game
dreaming of making the play
that makes a difference
knowing that no one player
was more important than another
practice together,play together
breathe together as one unit

Late spring and early summer
fresh cut grass and dragged fields
chalk lines so straight
you didn't want to be the first
to smudge and kick up the dust
so we always jumped over them 
..........in the beginning,
but after the first pitch....game on
the lines may have been drawn before the game
but the game is played between the lines
once inside....
it's a new world....it's a new day

It's still a game of little boys
now being played by big boys
and big business.....
how the game can change
and get you to breathe 
a different kind of air
and forget.....
it's only a game


Details | Free verse |

Life is a Baseball Out of Bounds

Life is a baseball out 
of bounds. 
When grounded in foul 
actions, words, or thoughts 
it becomes a strike, 
but can't get you out. 
Line driven into 3rd base seats 
may hurt somebody, but usually 
causes amusement. 
Over swinging makes a big mistake, 
for when someone catches you, 
you look stupid.

But at times 
you guess right 
(she really does love you, "c" was the right answer, that promotions was waiting 
willfully for you, the kiss of a marriage was true) 
and the crowd stands in awe. 
The silence screaming, 
and the ball just barely leaps over the fence.

All, everything in the world seems happy, 
or content. 
Unless, you catch a sight 
of the pitcher.


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