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Best Baseball Poems

Below are the all-time best Baseball poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of baseball poems written by PoetrySoup members

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BASEBALL AND THE FALL by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Fantasy Baseball by Heemstra, Robert
My First Baseball Bat by Goff, James Marshall
RAIN AND BASEBALL by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
BOYS AND BASEBALL by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Baseball and Flying Saucers by Heemstra, Robert
One Man One Cap and a Baseball Bat by ROBERTS, SEREN
A Brief Paen to Baseball by Anish, Matthew
Easter Baseball by Heemstra, Robert
Major League Baseball by Heemstra, Robert

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The Best Baseball Poems

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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 showing 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

More great poems below...

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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...

Copyright © Tim Ryerson

Details | Baseball Poem | |

The Hourglass of Time

As I contemplate life
Through thick lenses glasses of the whiskey bottle
Is there life?
What is life, what is the lie, or even the truth?
Or is there only the journey to darkness
If so, why not buy a first class ticket
To the black hole of the universe
There in death, I can sit
In peace
Dreaming of the rebirth of atoms and molecules

Then, I ponder some more
I remember years ago
Holding a soda pop bottle
I just couldn’t discard
Somehow I was happy
He was my invisible friend
We sure had adventures
Nighttime I was safe
He would guard the window
Be would both gaze at the stars
I would talk and he sure knew how to listen
These memories bring me smiles even now

Is the universe that strange?
Are we all related so, objects, minds and souls?
All I know, is maybe I better stick around
Have a soda
Savoring my youthful days
When all my friends came around to play
Yelling Ricky, come on out, it’s a beautiful day!
Baseball was always fun back then
I always had my soda pop bottle in my bag
Surrounded by friends and so so content

As I contemplate life
I am somewhat amazed
That the ghost from the Christmas past
Is no illusions after all
Chains be dammed, I am set free
I awake with a new vigor
To a new year

Notes: First I recommend to read Orange Crush The adventures of Soda Pop by Richard Lamoureux, all of them are a series. So, I added my dark side, and a wee bit of Charles Dickens at the end, as he like Richard used to write stores in series like this. I thought it unique to combine these 3 ideas in one!

I took the character of Ricky, aged him, and had him look back in time!

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Baseball Poem | |


Fighting Depression
We’ll defeat this enemy
We’ll soar like eagles

Edward J. Ebbs - 09/27/14

Copyright © Edward Ebbs

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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

Details | Baseball Poem | |

One Man One Cap and a Baseball Bat

He was known as  Joltin Joe
With his baseball bat and his cap he's ready to goyyyyvfg
Was born Guiseppe Paolo DiMaggio number eight child,
lived in America  for his eighty four years 'til he died.

He played the game with vigour and speed,
many a supporter said he was all that they need.
Played as centre fielder during all his career
with the New York Yankees, who he held dear.

Yet on the field he was no freak
known for his 56 game hitting steak.
Was MVP winner three times with determination
an all star in each of his thirteen seasons.

You will find him in the baseball hall of fame
look closely you will see his name.
Was voted as sports living legend of all time
the baseball centennial year of nineteen sixty nine.

He stands alone high in his baseball we surely know that,
One man, one cap and a baseball bat.


Details | Baseball Poem | |


To see the game, you have to plan
It takes some time you see
This is for all the die-hard fans
You'll need a strategy

To stand in line for baseball
Can be a timely task
You first must get the tickets
To clear your way to pass

Excitement now before the game
Which section are you in?
The dugout group or foul ball side
Row 5, seats 9 and 10

Concession stands are all around
Decide which should be first
Tee shirts and hats or hot dogs
You'll have to quench your thirst

Now don't forget the plans you made
Cause folks are filled with glee
You'll drink your beer, your coke and sprite
But then you'll have to pee

Another line to wait in
The porta potties blue
Don't get distracted from your plan
They'll jump in front of you

Oh Wow! Another "homer"
My team is going to win
Can't wait for seventh inning stretch
I have to pee again

Great game it was they played today
Our team is now the star
We're tired but we have to go
It's time to find the car

(Submitted for the "Batter Up" Contest
Sponsor -  Debbie Guzzi)

Copyright © Neva Romaine

Details | Baseball Poem | |

George Theodore

This man was affectionately nicknamed “The Stork”. He played only two seasons with the Mets from New York. George was a native of Salt Lake City. His major league baseball statistics were not pretty. When interviewed, he would often deliver a vintage quip. He would have played longer if he didn’t dislocate his hip. After the 1974 campaign, George walked away. He is a youth baseball coach and school counselor today. I thank online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.

Copyright © Robert Pettit

Details | Baseball Poem | |

I am a Fat Oriole

I am a fat oriole from Baltimore
With baseball cap and baseball mitt
I became a star cause well I could really hit
Made my money, to build my nest
Never grew up, cause I was born with good luck
I am a big fat Oriole I say to you
Now I am retired
So I sit in by chair
Eating my Oreos, double stuffed flair
Oriole oriole eating my oreos
I am fat cookie, a Baltimore storio

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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
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

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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… 
They'll make the 'magic' that's 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.

Copyright © Robert Candler

Details | Baseball Poem | |


That feeling when you step to plate,
Knowing it's some type of fate.
Looking at an open grass,
With three bases you need to pass.

Grasping life by the hand,
Time to take this with a grand slam!
Stepping to home,
A swing with a small groan. 

I watch as the ball got plastered,
As I ran faster and faster.
Slide to second!
Drop the ball!
Steal the third!
Good call.

It's when I stare at home,
My mind fixates to a drone.
There went the "CLING",
As my legs began to sing.

Home I go,
It's the more I know.
The cheers abrupt,
But die when we know it's not enough.

Copyright © Matt Daniels

Details | Baseball Poem | |

Battle Over the Diamond


                          cool,          cocky
              examining, taunting,  throwing

          batter1, batter2, pinchhitter, batter3

              readying,     waiting,     swinging

                        ready,         missed


Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper

Details | Baseball Poem | |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm

Copyright © brittney lopez

Details | Baseball Poem | |


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

Copyright © Smail Poems

Details | Baseball Poem | |


A HOMERUN Golden gloves catch. Louisville slugger hits the ball. A homerun made. He shouts home sweet home was my aim. The clouds were clear. The crowd shouted from the stands. This was their hometown and the homerun was made by their player. The American pastime was invigorating. Another Babe Ruth in the mist. He is hitting a hundred this year. Home sweet home he aims. The ball is out the park once again. _________________________________ Penned January 25, 2015!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Baseball Poem | |

BASEBALL acrostic


              Batters up…..the tingles start and now we know its spring
              All the winter woes are gone and baseball fever sings
              Seats are chosen --lucky fans will sit where they can see
              Easy chairs for some are best--- the price of them is free
              Bull pens hold the players and the feelings there run high
              As the batter taps the plate he glances at the sky
              Like somewhere there is a baseball god who’ll help him out
              Luckily he smacks a low ball—it’s a home run and a shout

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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

Copyright © Robert Heemstra

Details | Baseball Poem | |

Baseball Game

Swing of the bat, contests
Fielders’ gloves, ball in motion, 
Run, slide, throw - called safe!

Innings are by turns,
Dramatic or biding, boxscores
Revealing  who’s up.

Catching foul ball strays,
Or in bleachers just catch rays,
Fans cheer, hoot and wave!

Hear “Smack!” a hit!
Vendors warble, “Peanuts and beer!”
Star spangled banner.

If you come early,
Ask for heros’ autographs,
Snap players’ faces.

Distance ‘tween bases,
Had to be divinely ordained,
Perfecting the game!

Whether the home team ,
Overcomes temporary calamity,
Makes or breaks dreams!

© Chaim Wilson

Copyright © Chaim Wilson

Details | Baseball Poem | |

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

Details | Baseball Poem | |


No need to brag
Jeter #2 was born to play and win; now that’s swag
For twenty years he has been the face of the MLB
Games played in 2123 
Scored runs 1569
He won his 5th and final championship in 2009
One of the greatest shortstops that would ever be
He was 1 of 37 players with 1000 RBI
Jeter had five Silver Slugger Awards, two Hank Aaron Awards, a Roberto Clemente Award, and had 118 runs
On his face for 20 seasons is a permanent grin that shows he’s having fun 
Jeter had 248 more hits than any other player 
He may have been known as a singles hitter 
A playoff game (158) over the course of his career and owns a .308 BA with 20 HR and 61 RBI, scoring 111 runs and racking up 200 hits
No steroids just natural God given athletics that’s legit   
The winner of five Gold Gloves and 358 career stolen bases
So many opponents and haters he leaves them with tear filled eyes and permanent grinned faces 
The idea in baseball is to score more runs than the other guy, which is how Jeter earned his living
Respect is definitely earned not given

“Derek has been the benchmark for character and class in a baseball uniform. He has inspired a generation to play baseball the way it was meant to be played. It has been an honor to play against him. On a lighter note this means two things: no more clutch hits against the Rays AND, another pooling of funds to buy a Yankee a farewell gift! Cheers to him” 
— Rays third baseman Evan Longoria 

Copyright © Jeffrey Lee

Details | Baseball Poem | |


Hyperbole is a spots cast
Announcers have egos so vast
My ears must have rest
From this lambasting pest
Collection of morons amassed

Author's note: Is it getting worse, or is it just me?

Copyright © Duke Beaufort

Details | Baseball Poem | |

Foul Ball Footle

Foul Ball . . .
. . . Spilled Beer

Copyright © Jerry Stevenson

Details | Baseball Poem | |


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.

Copyright © Jerry Troiano