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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.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Diane M Quinlan | Details |

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


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details |

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

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details |

Megan's Hit

      MEGANS 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!"
(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 arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details |

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!"
(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 wilsonaka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details |

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

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by cherl dunn | Details |

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


Long poem by Taoi Chanan | Details |

simple synchronization x

Weary weapons wearing writhing works wonderfully wreathed wigs...... Oh wow how magnificent the yellow radiance of a piece of straw. Leaning bending learning. Admire nit a wisdom curl if a pitch of ball. Throw away in a diameter. Then run run run. A custard cyber cream. An embroidered embryonic stem of a pistol shroud. Whip whip. Geranium canopies of a bombed out fortress. Locked at the throat with a seven acre padlock. 800% of a kilowatt jewel. Prancing. 9$ 9* hahahaha and a pudding. Hahahaha and carefully crafted alchemy. Hahahaha strike. Xxxx and a discussion of a dodge ball. Hahahaha quaternions xxxx 1 2 3 4 y equals a wondrous concoction of pie. Xxx xxxx A darkened sheep field. Long woollen bodies. Stretched to perform. Abyss of head. Abbot of guild.abbess of gold. Hue shape fauna and fur. Belonging to no one. A view of self-government and a shellfish smiles. On a book turntable the open waves are pretty and transparent and equal. Equilibrium of a soul mass with a percent of a drama. Drew dragon drawing dramatically. Baaaa baaa baaaa then in a nice posh black shirt. Skimming a dirt. But later metamorphosis means that a sheep becomes a goat. Maaa maaaa maaaaaaaa. And a little tiny silvery silverware set of old. Oh wow then. Oldham athletically soothing pea club. With or without a diamanté banner. But jump hop skip at a noon ball run. Now that's very very very very exciting for the purpose of the donuts clapping. Clapping in cubicles' then. Have you eaten the 4foot biscuit or the curds? Cue calling cantankerously b f h q format done. With a spiralling twist an acorn farts. Hahahaha and now read a book or a tome. And a fortune-telling cookie balances on a big bra. How much longer says a diameter of a switch? Calibre vessels. Beastly best. Death. Necromancer xxxx adjudicated xxxx tala galaxy on many wheels. Xxxx denunciations x 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 3 z.A denomination of squirrels is noted to cause many riots. But policing is prevalent in a branch. It is through the mere explosive quantities that songs are sung and words are said and messages therefore are not sealed in a glass bottle. With or without a ship. It is the tangible occurrence of a boating thought. And an inner ear. Ingest not a pickled worm. Or a tree of floating-point as eras join. One must dress appropriately in a dinner. Hahahaha leper leaping laughing hahahaha hysterically having hymns hahahaha fortification fortified fries. Chinese stew in a cup talking to a cartoon in some socks hahahaha xxxx justifications XXX this is the end of the pieces for today. This is a triangularly placed prism of a mind chamber. Recognised now released. Lovely lively animates agronomy attained. Xxxxx synchronization zzzzxxx

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Trash Boat | Details |

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


Long poem by cherl dunn | Details |

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


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.” 

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010


Long Poems