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Love Baseball Poems | Love Poems About Baseball

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

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Details | Lyric | |

While You Sleep

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.


Details | Sonnet | |

Play Ball

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


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 | |

Love

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


Details | Couplet | |

The pitch of a lifetime

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


Details | Blank verse | |

This Blue Moon

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.


Details | Verse | |

Tunnel of Love

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.

I wonder..........
Will you be there?......


Details | Tanka | |

Love Begs Expression

words left unspoken
sealed behind my stubborn lips
love begs expression-
your arms reach out to embrace
my eyes speak the unspoken


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 | |

Untitled

When you are sleeping in the bed, with the bible god be my witness
I don't know if I can love every again.
I mean I try to date but something just keep hold me back hold me back, 
self confident is not even the worth trying found words,
word, this type love could bring a grown man to their needs- 

I never reallie got it when they said but your had on the bible,
and swore the oath for better or worst,
or when you hear music at a wedding and you dance the night away,
what are school proms for?
I though I better night would be resident evil and game cube
only if so one would clue me in-
 
Self consciously years later you question your action in school,
why was she the first I ask if she would buy a key chain from fbla 
and the first time she said uh and then maybe the sentence 
didn't even make sense so natural like
natural selection like we was sync- 

Why in the world am I going to a baseball game another county over she was their,
and I did not realize I
was good at baseball in till I got older a simple sport I sware but I am part puerto rican it come natural
what am im saying it is to early for this like five in the morning-

but oh my god that dream a dream dream,
I don't even think I was on earth and 
then two year later on mother day at western sizzle before
they shut down she came out no where like a ghost 
and was sitting behind me with her family,
but why aren't you eating but texting-

but the real question is because im like slow is did they 
reallie write me straight out of high school, 
I mean I am like a street fighter the alpha type,
but a vibe like that 
you gone have ask her because im shock when she took my sit in first period 
like what are you doing?-

I don't know if im lost my mind or if she playing mind games? 
They say it is the end of the world I say so what is she doing?
I guest the world will never know-

I got the chills and it not because of the weather all I want to know did he cry 
when he walk you down the ally,
people always say you know when know but,
what am I saying I have never experience love like this before-

and im usually shy and word on the bird is uh right cause you took my breath away- 
I don't think any one going get this
what was she doing at that ice cream store 
I didn't even know that was a ice cream store 
I did but I never notice it in till it was gone-
 
dream a dream dream still shaking up,
first thing I did was hit speaker on the phone 
and hit every number it was it was scary but it beautiful,
a beautiful nighmare it was indeed,
I can not catch my breath let me go get the bible
this would be a reason to go back to church every 
Monday Wednesday and Sunday-

All I can say is A-m-e-n , A-m-e-n, A-m-e-n
Cause world felt like it  has already ending,
Friday thirteen J-a-s-o-n!!! and "Jason is my nickname"-


Details | Narrative | |

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 | 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 | Verse | |

Each

Each day...
A page freshly written
Across the face of time.

Each kiss...
A new excitement
To thrill and tantalize.

Each touch...
Caresses every moment
With silent words of love.

Each syllable...
Expresses the caresses
That I've been dreaming of.

Each tear...
Shines in joyous beauty
Through the sweetness of your soul.

Each smile...
Uplifts and brushes softly
Away the tears of solitude.

Each embrace...
Surrounds and protects my heart
From ever losing you.

Each stroll...
Brings us closer together
Upon our sacred paths.

Each star...
Shines brighter 
To show our way at last.

Each night...
I will love you,
over and over, unabashed.

Each day...
I'm grateful for you
And ready to love again.

Each lifetime...
We'll find each other
And fall in love again.



Details | Verse | |

Because

A bespoke suit is tailor-made to the individual and a bespoke person is
      engaged to be married (spoken for)
but to have bespoken, or bespeak, is to ask for or engage in advance
      (as in marriage or a business partnership)
and also to speak to or address, show or indicate, foretell or forebode.
So, truth may be ascertained by considering the truth we reason, the truth
      we've seen, the truth we feel and the truth we're told.

Merely to speak is to cause good or doom in a magical world.
Silence is not an option for every action bespeaks intention.
Although the empire and the corpse collapse we do not let the circle
      lapse.
We impose our own small order.

Order may delineate or assimilate the Other.
Belonging is longing for complete solitude but you gladly return to lovers'
      arms and plumbing.
There's little humor in the cholera unless you manage to survive.
I pleasure in and treasure my insignificance. If only I could be overlooked
      by the planning board and IRS.

Powerful contrasting and synergizing photos on the cover of Balance by
      Hubbard & Kane
the economics of great powers, ancient Rome's ruins, decaying columns
      and coliseums
versus Washington DC's orderly, straight and sterile streets from the
      Capitol to the National Mall.
What causes empires to fall? How do they come to hold community?

Well, we worry. Overpopulation, malnutrition. We are anxious about
      famine, genocide and nuclear war.
Self-imposed suffering, the hyperorganization that is a cancer on our
      insufficient organization.
When the individual dies does the National Mall impose its own small
      order on all dark matter? Or is the whole universe canceled including
      chaos and complexity? Watch out, don't run into those small invisible
      suns.
These are questions I'm willing to find the answers to. Willing in the sense
      of living in the place where will and power are one. Because to be
      bespoke is to be spoken for.


                              *                             *                             *

Three conceptual models of causal logic:
the unclosed valve at Three Mile Island is an example of the on/off or
      categorical model;
the genetic contribution to a developing cancer is likely a graded,
      probabilistic risk rather than an absolute certainty;
a depression that occurs after a relatively minor stress that followed a
      long string of moderate or severe stressors would be an example of
      an emergent or nonlinear cause.

Four levels of analysis, an approach first suggested by Aristotle over 2K
      years ago:
in the Three Mile Island and Fukushima nuclear accidents, predisposing
      causes were the flawed training and management oversight;
the tsunami was a precipitating (get it?) cause;
the inherent complexity of the many interacting systems that make up a
      nuclear power plant is a programmatic cause;
and human hubris is a purposive cause.

Three logics by which knowledge of causation is gained:
the empirical method uses the scientific method, for example, the
      determination that a genetic variant is present in multiple members   
      of a family in which cancer is common;
the empathic method uses the logic of narrative connectedness to
      support the reasoning that a specific stressor is negative for one
      person but not another;
ecclesiastic logic would be employed by a believer who attributes cause
      to an actual lapse in his longstanding participation in the precepts of
      his religion (or discipline).

Therefore, we may estimate the probability of a precipitating cause using
      empirical measurements;
or name the purposive ideal behind an emergent cause based on
      ecclesiastic beliefs;
or identify a categorical cause predisposing us to an event by telling the
      story or history empathically.

Horrible how we die!
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass, two baseball
      teams of children playing in it.






Details | I do not know? | |

Tough Love

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.


Details | Light Poetry | |

KIDS AND BASEBALL

the love the parks
and play hard
they love the swings
its there thing
too
of that there love brings
is field with a wall
KIDS AND BASE BALL


Details | Couplet | |

love as it relates to baseball

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


Details | Prose | |

We All Know Better

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
Cj01192015


Details | Free verse | |

a new love

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