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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 revealing 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

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Coach Dad--Collaboration with Tim Smith

Coach Dad It is a magic time when a child ventures Into the world, spreading wings, Beginning the oft painful process of moving from the nest to the sky. And it is a fragile time, where first experiences Weigh heavily on shaping the direction In which young life begins to move And often whether it moves at all It is a trying time, of fear and nervousness One little step out on their own The start of something bold and beautiful The molding of a young child's eye Much is made of parents and peers, Oft unaddressed is the role of others Teachers and coaches, a collective entity Not dissimilar from fathers and mothers The torch of responsibility being passed If only for a brief moment No more clinging to the safety and comfort of what is already a norm and known Encouragement or unkind words So often a matter of chance and moods Have mighty impacts on growing hearts Precious opportunities to help a growing life Young minds and hearts right on the surface We remember our coaches, good and bad Caring or not, patience or none, The struggles, thin times and thick A team of seven year olds Is not unlike a litter of unruly puppies How will they ever pay attention? Give them a ball, a glove, and a game! Pride, courage, athleticism, self-confidence All showcased for the world to see Taking turns and building bonds Grasping much more than a newfound skill If you can stand to be measured, and fail by that measure, even repeatedly But come back from it, you'll forever have One more vital skill in life’s toolbox One youngster will not win the game alone But the team can, and its joy Is multiplied many times over. All these things and more can be taught. Whether it be on the field or off Teamwork, respect and camaraderie Will forever be entrenched in the mind Of a well instructed boy or girl 5/4/16 © Tom Quigley and Tim Smith

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

The Redline

My room at the Hyatt 
Smelled like my ex-wife
She didn't have oodles of class
Or wasn't overly fancy
So, it must be that aroma of 
Almost masking what had
Taken place the night before
We greeted each other with
A welcoming suspicion 
The bathroom lighting flawless 
Standing in the mirror with
Perfect tan and bright white A
T-shirt
Khaki slacks pulled high and
Wise guy hair cut
I wonder if Capone ever went to see
The Cubbies play
Beautiful sunny day, not too warm
Plenty of room on the mezzanine
At Wrigley 
A pleasantly safe distance from the
Big middle aged guys with
Some other man's name on their back ' s
Exhaling brat breath
And beer farts 
the Windy City loves their team




Copyright © Brian Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Princesses

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

Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013

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

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

THE BASEBALL FIELD

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.

Jerry Troiano 12-12-15

Copyright © Jerry Troiano | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

UNITY STATED

UNITY STATED! We are cool. We sweat. We shoot. We hit. This is our game we play. Yes, we are the American way. We are fame. We are the success. We compete. We project. This is the game we play. Basketball NBA! We thrive. We catch. We are strategized. We depict. This is our game day. We are the American way. We compete. We project. We are fame. We are the success. Football NFL! A sure thing we have. We are the thrill. We are enjoyed. We are the players. We are the sport. This is the game we play. Yes, we are an American way. We are skilled with our toys. We compete. We score. We are hyperactivity. We are the National Hockey League! We are the team. We are the competitors. We are the wow. We the game all love. This is our pastime and sport. Yes, we are the universal recreation. We are competitive. We are the babes. We are ready to win the game. We compete to excel. Baseball Major League! A sure thing we have! Unity Stated - team sports - get involve! ______________________________________| Penned June 16, 2015!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

THE COACH


His is the whispering voice echoing within the athlete’s field of dreams,
The harkening leader, a teacher of strength and confidence, whom takes
The raw abilities given unto an individual then molds it, shapes it until
This natural turns into a legend, to be remembered throughout all time,
Behold the sports mentor, known as a coach! 
Undefinable is the terminology of what makes a courageous role model,
Is it the sacrifices made in the name of a sporting event, or his brave spirit
To overcome obstacles challenges, set before him as a human being! 
Nay it’s the humanity, compassion dwelling within this individual, he whom
 Is willing to fight and drive another to their utmost degree of performance,
Bringing out the best of their athletic abilities no matter the cost, the 
Show must go on!
Honor bound by humility, he whom stands in the shadows of living
Giants, a ghost figure of fame's silhouetted legends, who walks off 
Into the footnotes of history, smiling at a faded photograph, signed
By a remembrances talent, simply reading to my coach, I’ll never
Be able to repay what you’ve done for me, or meant to me,
Sincerely always yours, the natural!
At the cracking of the first balls sounding, or the clashing of
Helmet’s bashing, alone wolf strolls across the golden
Evergreen battlefields of this modern day colosseum!
A scout seeking the next gladiator, to fight in this arena
Of combatant’s best skilled division of honor, valor,
And glories finest!
Behold a taskmaster of men’s souls, endurance's judgement
Caller testing the winds of destiny, listening for that distant
Voice of hungers desire of a champion waiting to be discovered!
Grasping upon the heels of an uncertain breeze, this man thus embarks
Searching beneath every chained linked fence school yard, or back
Alleys scrimmage field, then by fates chance, he sees the next
Rising star to shine in brilliances appendages uniform!
What is the true meaning of life anyway, is it not to make
A difference in this world, for which we are all born upon,
And this is the reason, a coach wakes up every morning!
For this man’s everlasting legacy, is to listen for that 
Voice crying out in the wilderness of the inner city streets,
Or the suburban outskirts of now where’s vile, and bring
The gifted home, to that stadium of fame and recognition!
God grants the blessings of the athletic talented to rise up,
But it takes a leader of men to spot this raw force, and tenderly
Nurture it, until it is finely hewed in the fires of training flame,
With respects confidence, the coach tests the metal of the natural,
Then releases the next Gladiator unto the field of honor,
Shouting go get hum boy, you are the best I’ve ever seen!
As a newly born star shines above, a shadow man walks
Off again, writing another line in the annals of history,
Smiling at a faded photograph, simply stated to 
The coach always, and sincerely yours, the natural!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN







  

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

THE GAME

It’s the great American pass time that will never die,
The thundering sport called baseball, as the grand
Old flag waves in the breeze, of everlasting freedom above
The sacred stadium on opening day!
It’s the roaring of the exploding crowds, as their team
Players are called out by name, from the dug-outs of
The futures unknown hall of fame!
The birthing of a brand new season as the first ball
Is tossed out, by the celebrity guest, and the umpire
Screams, those wondrous words, LETS PLAY BALL!
It’s the sounding crack at the bat, by heroes of legendary
Status, champion defenders of their hometown pride,
These athletes of speed, agility, and epic skill!
Within their uniforms of fame, these iconic players
Are ready for the game to begin, in this arena of
Liberation’s legion of winners, the phrase home run
Says it all, on the scoreboard screen of reality!
In the stadium you can smell the blending of the familiar
Aroma’s the freshly cut grass, human sweat, and
Excitements anticipation building to a feverous pitch!
The grandstands hawker’s, yelling out loud, their famous
Words of wetted appetites endurance, “popcorn, peanuts,
Get your red hots here.”
These gentlemen pitchers with their own throwing rights
Of fames classification, tossing tempting wares, towards
The eager hands of their hungry patrons!
The thundering fans begin their stomping, clamoring
For their favorite teams, human waves of domination,
Cheering on the band stands battle field, within the
Bleachers of sacred historical fame!
It’s as American, as grandma’s secret recipe for apple pie,
 This blazing sport that we hold so close within our inner souls,
Pledging allegiance before the red, white and blue,
In this nation of freedom and liberty!
What a glorious field of dreams this sport of champions,
Creating heroic figures for generations to look up to,
The game shall live on within these living titan giants,
As long as the American flag, remains this nations
Sacred symbol of ultimate liberation!
So let us all rejoice in the game, cheering on our home teams,
With great prides respect, let the popcorn, peanuts, and
Red hots wrangler, never give up his famous yell,
For we are all Americans, enjoying this sport of champions!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Dedicated to my favorite vendor at work, 
Whom inspired this poem with his version
Of the grandstand hackers famous yell,
Popcorn, peanuts and get your red hots here!
Thanks again my friend John J. Stachowicz, cheri your honored fan!


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Openin Day

I can watch them again,
grown men at a children's game,
the glory of the Show
on the TV screen.

For a while
I couldn’t watch,
knowing 
I’d been close.
A phenom  
Double A at 18
90+ fastball,
but it didn’t move.
And in Triple A
and spring training
for the Show
they ate it up. 

When I tried harder
my arm blew up
rotator cuff - tendinitis
epicondylar fasciatus
Tommy John
physio, drugs, steroids.
Hope springs eternal
but nothing helped 
enough. 

Now I sit in this bar,
mush for brains 
just like my arm. 
Don’t  care that 
drugs and alcohol
don’t mix
as I watch them 
knowing almost
is worse than
never.


 This was posted last year but then removed for personal reasons. Here it is again.. 

Copyright © Dave Will | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © Harold Hunt sr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Love

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

Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013

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.

Copyright © Rosann Fode | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Seasonal Walks in the Park

 baseball, bird, change, childhood, games, holiday, lost,

“Seasonal Walks in the Park!”

A walk in the park after a springtime morning rainfall 
Is to hear the droplets fall from bent branches overhead
That can shock and moisten one’s brow walking below
And make note on the many water stains spotting the lanes

The grasses have turned into rich shiny green blades
Water drops remaining give individual blades sparkle
And soon the lawns will need to be mowed often 
And made and kept ready for park picnics and games 

The dissolving clouds open gaps for sun rays piercings
Adding sunbeam warmth  down on upturned faces 
The sun-warm breezes will temp visitors to carry their coats
And others perhaps persuaded in removing their shoes and socks

Some will have their feet dampened on the grass from droplets of dew 
As they venture and tread about the newly showered lawns  
The blades of grass will squeak when running shoes tramp through 
And if recently cut than grass blades will stick between bared toes

Spring’s love potion is inhaled and felt by all touring about 
Seasoning desires for familiarity towards the fairer sex 
From past haunts of pleasantly spent park delights 
Where wooing couples will be affected to a time stand still 

The early morning rainbow has faded and day’s clear skies are imminent 
The air fresh from receding mists mingle heavenly and tweak the nose
Dew worms break through and inch their way along above ground
Turning out from under the now soft rain moistened soil

This stirs the well-known smell of earth worms movements 
And birds sing out invitations  for all to join in this feed
Mother birds will return and hungry hatchlings will have first kills
And fathers will be released then of their nest guard duties for this share

All daytime and nighttime visitors will become love-struck
In their search for springtime’s romancing love calls to one another
The park comes awake to the frenzy and welcomes young and old
To meet, greet, and form new and old friendships offered all around 

The park's excitement is truly felt when a love-knot becomes first tied 
Crawling babies born from previous spring time passions will be noted
 They will learn the high-step toddle soon enough bringing them to romp
Once they have experienced that first feel of having to crawl on prickly grass

Young voices are heard mingling along with loud hand claps 
All friendly ‘high-fives’ are brandied about within the new met groups 
This is an all- time game ritual passed between friendships bonding
All this showmanship will form new team players for ball-park games

The ice-rink’s wooden forms are being removed and taken away for another year
Memories of skating parties last held are brought to surface 
The recall of being half frozen and then thawed 
When invited to sip a mug of hot chocolate steaming and full-bodied

A freshly painted baseball diamond will replace the rink area now
This ball field will bring many ball park players to home-plate
While proving to others they are ‘out of bounds’ 
Their devotion to play after school and during holidays is well kept

The flapping and snapping of new kites sound overhead 
Straining their ties against the cruel breezes putting them down
Watchers walking about are made to feel free 
The breezes jostle skirt and pant legs to tease about

Children are held clasped in grown-up hands  to hold them fast 
Their first walk about in the park has been a long time put on hold
Even the elderly are childlike and have a bounce given to their step
Walking around the park’s perimeter evolves a lifetime’s returning event

A seasonal change brings about new and different facades to the parkland
And they never fail to have a special allure to draw all outdoors
No matter what the weather call that day or night will bring
Walkers are in want of fresh-air walks found in the park grounds

And dogs always have to reacquaint themselves to the lay of the parkland 
Their bones need burying for great hunts in all seasons to become lost and found
They love to leave their markings on pure white snow banks as calling cards 
The park sees all and sees to all that visit and never will tell tales of any kind!





Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015

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 
       Metropolitans 
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 










n
 

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

BETTER THAN YOU

They say the Black race dominates 
in everything they do
Do you suppose we are better than you
or is it simply because you forced us to?
All we ever wanted 
was to play a few games with you
but you created rules that say 
we couldn’t play with you
our skin was too dark 
you couldn’t accept our hue
We had to prove to ourselves 
that we were humans too
Prove to ourselves that 
we were just like you
so we trained harder
we played harder
we played better than you
You thought we would fail
but we proved to be true
We had a right to express art 
just like you
a right to excel in life
just like you
They say the Black race dominates 
in everything they do
It is love
not fear
that proves to be better than you

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

PRISON HEART

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?

Copyright © OBIAJE PETER EDIGAH | Year Posted 2014

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!

Copyright © Tim Collins | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Fat man

I like to eat stuff
I'm not very buff
I think i'm pretty tough
My doctor says my health is pretty rough
My girlfriends name is muff
I hate her
She always calls me fat
Even though her face looks like a bat
My mom says i'm obese
I'm cheating on my girl with Denise
Shes pretty fat too
She likes mario and she hate the boo
Shes so fat you'd think she would moo
She even look like a cow
She doesn't have a left eyebrow
So you can say my life is pretty bad
My friends make me mad
You can say i'm pretty fat
But i love to eat cats
Its nothing personal
I just think its pretty cool
On pokemon i like to duel
Eating is my number one rule
So you can say i'm pretty fat
But i can say that you look like a rat
So watch what you say
Because i will make you pay
I like fishing on the bay
because i was so fat that i broke the deck
I almost broke my neck
I think i need to go on more healthy
My family is pretty wealthy
They eat a lot of butter
They like to use meat cutters
On my dogs
I broke my window with a log
I like singing songs
But i hate using bongs
I'm not like cheech and chong
Some say i got it all wrong
But i say they are a bunch of ding dongs
Most people hate me
I keep loosing my house key
In school i had straight D's
I'm not very smart
And i like to fart
I like to play mario kart
I tried playing darts
Most people say i'm a tart
Im a pretty fat man
I ate so much at mcdonalds that i'm banned
My diabetes is pretty high
I think I might cry
Doc said i might die
I just began to sigh
I began to cry
This isn't fair
I went and fought a bear
It didn't turn out good
I was going to win,well i thought i would
I was rushed to the hospital
I own a lot of cattle
I go out there and shoot one every year
I alway eat stuff with beer
But eh doctors would give me any
I was watching forest gump, his friends name was jennie
I need to loose some weight
But I'm at burger king so it'll have to wait
I need a bag of chips
But i need some dip
I wish I had a job
But I like to hang with my friend bob
Hes pretty dumb
Hes big bum
He owns a hen
He likes dating men
I need to stop hanging with him
Hes is a sin
But i don't want to be mean
I ate a baked bean
It tasted bad
It was pretty rad
I found it on the toilet
Spongebob said i soiled it
For christmas i want a baseball kit
But i spent all my money on food
People say i'm rude
But im not in the freaking mood
When i used to perform at concerts they always boo'd
I hate my life
I also hate my wife
I stabbed my arm with a knife
It hurt pretty bad
Im pretty fat

Copyright © Trash Boat | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

baseball

the battle of the bats never to be won or lost
a game of baseball playing over time
the field flooded with lights to win the night
a colony of bats hanging from trees near by
comes to visit and scare the hell out of the batters
running for home base

Copyright © catherine labeau | Year Posted 2015

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

Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

cafeteria

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

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

existing like convicts

Copyright © Michael Miers | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Mind Games - for contest

Mind Games


…”bottom of the ninth
………”two outs!!
…………………two on
…..three  balls
……………two strikes”

“CRACK”

….”.a sinking line drive to left….
……….he moves cat-like across the grass
…………………the game
……………………………….the series….on the line

….chest aching
……….legs burning
…………………he dives……

…..reaching
…………..grasping
………………………..floating

……in the ultimate dream..

………hands caress the ball….

………..tumbling
………………….streaking grass staining his face

………rolling to a stop
…………………the crowd roaring”

…….he squints
…………………….flexes his glove

…………………………………………...hears the crack of the bat



John G. Lawless
11/20/2015

submitted to – Oil  Paintings 4&5
sponsor – Eve Roper

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Here I Rhyme Only Once

There is a street in town
Where porridge is drawn up,
Where loafing is a virtue
And spitting is the sport of kings.

Old London town would be so proud
Of all the knaves and fools
Who frolic all day long
Then sleep amid the ruins.

Edgar was the given name
Of one young fool
Who skipped along the padded street
One whistle to his name.

He loved the maiden Joan of Arc
Whose beauty was untrue.
Both expired the self-same day,
No penny to their names.

And me, I get along somehow
Standing on a rock,
While fishing in a muddy hole,
I never watch the clock.

Copyright © Bill Yates | Year Posted 2015

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.

                            TK<><

Copyright © tom kesting | Year Posted 2015

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
Simple
Pure
Dirt
Muscle
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
Great

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.

Copyright © John Goodman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Future

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

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 
Weak

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

Click
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

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

Copyright © Fierce Malilangwe | Year Posted 2014

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
6/30/2014

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014

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. 

Copyright © Tom Forke | Year Posted 2014

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.

Copyright © Samuel Durant | Year Posted 2014