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Long Baseball Poems | Long Baseball Poetry

Long Baseball Poems. Below are the most popular long Baseball by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baseball poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/megans_hit___the_baseball_sonnet_553892' st_title='MEGAN'S HIT - the Baseball Sonnet'>

MEGAN'S HIT - the Baseball Sonnet

      MEGANS HIT - the Baseball Sonnet
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!"
(the umpire was my Daddy, in this 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


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/megans_hit_464711' st_title='Megan's Hit'>

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


Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

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"-


Long poem by Joe Flach | Details |

The Man In The Mirror

I looked into the mirror today and was surprised to see an old man looking back at me.

It seems like it was only yesterday that the man in the mirror was searching through his full 
head of thick black hair for that one strand his wife said was turning gray.

And, wasn’t it only last week that the mirror reflected the image of a young man trying to see 
how noticeable the pimples were on his face before going out on his date?

It seems like only a month ago that the mirror displayed the sight of a boy looking very 
closely for signs of a whisker on a smooth face where there were none to be found.

And, it couldn’t have been any more than a year ago that the mirror held the image of a 
small child adjusting the baseball cap on his head to fit just like the one worn by his favorite 
baseball star.

“What have you done with the faces of all those boys, teenagers, and young men that used 
to look back at me”, I asked the old man.

“I have done nothing with those faces”, replied the stranger in the mirror. “You make the 
mistake of expecting to see those faces on the surface of your own. Those faces are still 
there, they are just reflected on different mediums.”

“The face of the small child in a baseball cap can be seen when you play a game of catch 
with your grandson and the new baseball glove you gave him for his birthday.

The face of the boy looking for the first signs of a mustache and worrying about the 
blemishes on his face comes out when you tease your nephews who are just now becoming 
interested in girls.

And the image of that man canvassing his scalp to remove any signs of a gray hair is 
apparent when you give advice to your grown children as they struggle with new careers, 
new spouses, young children and the stresses that accompany these changes that will also 
contribute to the graying of their hair.

It is all those faces, compiled into one that looks back upon you now.”

“Thank you”, I say to this wise old man. “That makes me feel much better knowing that 
those faces are still there. And you are right; I do feel as if I display those faces at those 
moments in time. I guess I just need to stop walking past mirrors and worrying about who 
looks back at me.”

I walk away from the mirror, instinctively knowing that the reflection remains, smiling at me, 
shaking his head and saying, “He’s such a kid.” 


Long poem by Joe Flach | Details |

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)


Long poem by Kristopher Higgs | Details |

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.


Long poem by Thomas Hsi | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/one_day_youll_make_it_girl_548784' st_title='One Day You'll Make It Girl'>

One Day You'll Make It Girl

Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Poetic Lyrics By Thomas Lam Hsi


THERE IS ONLY ONE TRUE GOD...THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY...WHO ALONE CAN
SAVE FROM Satan...who plays 'all' roles...the devil...the 'Lord Jesus'...
the 'Father'...the 'Holy Spirit'...all 'Other Gods'...and 'alien gods'...HE...THE
LORD JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF IS FULLY GOD AND MAN...AND HE ALONE...
IS THE ONLY WAY TO GOD THE FATHER...and to an Actual Heaven!



The Golden Girl...'jus isn't you...dear...in life...there are many roles.

Is sis...The One...or...am...I...'jus another...one...Mom 'n Dad...what's...my role?

Dolls...maybe the same...but...here's another game...money's tight...can't you see?

Chad's...so sweet...sis and he...well...oh well...if...I try harder...could I be?


If life is hard...it only gets...harder...girl...sometimes there...are no answers!

Mom 'n Dad...lied...love alone...isn't enough...life...though...sometimes...answers!

When the well...is deeper...the pain...grows 'n grows...girl...hang on through!

Golden Girls...dolls and boys...the streets...are longer...till you see...it through!


Girl...one day...you'll make it...the world...is the oyster...and...you're the pearl!

Girl...one day...you'll make it...your sister's...not the only...one...you're the pearl!

When life's harder...the pain...lasts longer...'n golden things...can't make...
A Golden Heart!

When life's harder...the pain...lasts longer...'n golden things...can't make...
A Golden Heart!


Christmas...with...my...only dream...it really...does seem...a little longer...and
Stronger!

Christmas...with...my...only dream...it really...does seem...a little longer...and
Stronger!

One day...I made it...Girl...I made it...I made it...Mom 'n Dad...lied...A Golden Girl!

One day...I made it...Girl...I made it...I made it...Mom 'n Dad...lied...A Golden Girl!


When the road...is too painfull...and the blood...stains through...stay true!

When the road...is too painfull...and the blood...stains through...stay true!




Long poem by Lottie Cats | Details |

These Brick Bound Boxes

these brick bound boxes 
fill this equinox of smart headed people
of these independent achievable people
critical analysts of this 21 century 
ready to be presentable to the unmighty 
smaller population of antisocial teenage children
willing them to be

not to be free, but inside these brick bound boxes
that fill the human intelligence with total
literate irrelevance to who we should be
to who can be 

ultimately like them
filled in these brick bound boxes
with mental instimulance
of a mix of lies, creation and motives
see, I don’t have a problem with any of them

just these brick bound boxes that hold them
hold this unforgettable willing mind 
of someone we chose to leave behind 
in these brick bound boxes

that encompass first the mind and then the soul
but who wants all this control?

society can speak of a whole.
an incredible strong mental image
of how life is to be--
within these brick bound boxes.

My life isn’t based in these brick bound boxes
but it soon will
creating a song of the monotone dead
longing to be passed on from generation to generation
but can't you see

can't you forget that this is not who we ought to be
unless we need to spontaneously combust
in this equinox till it metastasizes
catastro sizes to an everlasting dust
even you must ought to smell the musk.
 
So tell me, how do thee?
how do thee live with these brick bound boxes
filling up every empty not-yet-set concrete whole
implying of who you are before you could even
have some kind of control over yourself

its swept under the rug.
no biggie, you're just a kiddie
no actual value to this reality 
yet before you can buy alcohol

and I’m someone to sound big
I just don’t want to fill these lonely brick bound boxes
where the death of every living will cease to be a beginning
in this equinox of the everlasting dust,
so do you must, live in these brick bound boxes?


Long poem by Thomas Hsi | Details |

Snow Cones Popping Left to Right

COPYRIGHT 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS L.H. ANDRESS
(Dedicated to ALL THOSE NANCIE KRANGES!)



Bust it!
This here's a TEMPO...for ALL THOSE FELLAS...trying to do what
ALL THOSE LADIES...been trying to TELL US WHAT TO DO!
HEY...BIG SHOT...WANNA CHANCE?

Rolling...Rolling...LEFT-TO-RIGHT-OR...RIGHT-TO-LEFT!
PITCHED-RIGHT...PITCHED-WRONG!
Left-to-Right...OR...Right-to-Left...OR
LEFT-BEHIND!

Are-Ya...TOO-HEAVY...or...TOO-LIGHT?
Grab-a...CUP-OR-BOWL...of...RICE-KRISPIES!
SHAPED...RIGHT-or-WRONG!

Mars-Bars...AND...MARS-AND-STARS...at-corner
BARS-IN-CARS...Cars-and-Bars!
MALTS-AND-FLOATS...or...FLOATS-AND-BLOATS!
BLOATING...LOUTS!
JUST-LOATS!

They're...MEL-LOW-AND-YEL-LOW...or...Just-BANANA-CRAZY!
SO...JUST-BE-MEL-LOW...AND-NOT
Just...Y.E.L.L.O.W.!
YEL-LOW!

Rockets-and-Stars...BUSTING-AND-GOLDEN...STARS!
AND...B-E-Y-O-N-D!
Making-Time...AND...SELLING-TIME!
CHEATING...Time...FATHER-TIME!
He's...YAWNING...YAWING-AND-LAUGHING!
So-SKIP-IT...JUST-SKIP-IT...SKIPPING-LEFT-TO-RIGHT!
AND-RIGHT-TO-LEFT!

You're-Sliding...First-to-Second...Second-to-HOME...OR
FIRST-TO-HOME!
POPPING-AND-HEART-STOPPING!

Snow-Cones...In-The-Winter...OR-SUM-MER!
When-Falling-to-First...or...in-A-LIGHT-OR-COLD...FALL!
And-Mallows...MAL-LOWS!
AND-BEARS...YUMMY-AND-GUMMY!
Yummy-and-Gummy...FOR-YA-TUMMY!
Isn't-IT...JUST-YUMMY?

PITCH-IT-RIGHT...AND...NOT-LIGHT!
QUIT-STALLING...S-T-A-L-L-I-N-G!

Are-Ya-Going-Ta...LIGHT-THE-BOARDS...or-are-ya-JUST-BORING!
JUST...LEFT-BEHIND?

Left-to-Right...and...RIGHT-TO-LEFT...MODELS-are-SMILING!
FLASHING...32!
THIRTY-TWO...WHITE-CAPS!
With...DARK-LASHES-IN...DARK-GLASSES!
WOW...LIKE-WOW!

Glasses-in-the-Dark...LIKE-WOW...THAT'S...JUST-WOW!
Left-to-Right...and...Right-to-Left...THAT'S-EXIT...STAGE-LEFT!
Don't-Be...LEFT-BEHIND!

Are-Ya...RIDING-HIGH-TO-FAME...or-Just...SHAMED-TO...LEFT-STAGE?


Long poem by Tim Collins | Details |

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!


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