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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 Stephen Kilmer | Details |

The Job - part 2

On the plane I meditated or at least I tried to.  Most of the time I get a seat to myself.  These days it’s just a ****ing Greyhound in the sky.  I am not the most handsome man and the tattoos don’t help.  I always wear a baseball cap with the logo: “Talk to Me About Jesus”.   That usually steers normal people away from me.  But every now and again I get a winner.  This gives me a chance to discuss religion, which is one of my favorite subjects.  Especially since I am in the business of sending souls to meet their maker.  These people are usually high on Jesus or hooked on dope.  But hey I am just an arbitrator.  You pay I play.  You want to make a deal I’ll deal.  I owe no one my soul except me.  This trip it turns out is an exception to the rule.  The most handsome woman I have every laid my eyes upon sits next to me.  There are other seats open but she shimmies down the aisle and says, “excuse me is that seat taken?” I try to keep my cool but I sputter out “Yes, I mean no…” 
“Well which one is it?” she says with a smile.
“Not taken,” I stiffly mutter back.
Before I can stand up she squeezes past me with her butt in my face.  She’s wearing a pair of tight leather pants and I don’t see any panty lines.  I ask myself why are you even thinking about that?  I need to get my head straight and she is a distraction.  She plops down in the window seat and asks me if I can hold her drink, I dumbly reach out and take it.  It’s going to be a long flight.  
“So where you heading,” she asks nonchalantly 
I lie and say Hawaii.
“Oh my God, I have always wanted to go there.  Do you have family there?”
“No I just like pineapples.”
She looks at me again with those green eyes.  She is a dark haired beauty with a hint of Boston in her voice.  Jaw cut of stone and olive complexion. I am smitten.
“Your ****ing with me, aren’t you?” she asks.
“No I really like pineapples.” I reply.
“Bullshit, you wouldn’t know a pineapple if it bit you in the ass.”
“Ok I give, I’m going to L.A. to kill someone.  Do you feel better now?”
She stares and her eyes’ widen and for a moment, I think she believes me.
“Ok pineapples, dead people, **** you.” She says and pulls a pair of headphones from her bag.
“Hang on,” I said, “I’m just messing with you.  What’s your name?”
“Anna…Anna Virginia Collins” and she extends her hand to me.
We shake hands and she asks me my name.
“Rick Powers,” I say.
“What’s with the hat?” she asks.
“I use it to attract weirdo’s”
“Well it’s working”
I laugh and say, ”Yeah they are usually not so pretty.”
“Well thank you, and by the way I don’t believe in Jesus.”
And we are off into a full-blown discussion of religion, which keeps us talking for at least and hour.  I buy her a scotch, straight up, and we share some inner secrets.  Then I realize I have got to get rid of this woman; otherwise, things could get dicey and I can’t compromise my client or the job.  I become belligerent and act like I am drunk…nothing.  She just laughs at me.  
“I know a drunk when I see one and your not drunk,” she say’s pointing an accusing finger at me.
“Ok I’m not, I need some sleep though.”
“Alright sleep then,” she mutters and puts her headphones on.
I close my eyes and feign sleep but I can’t get her out of my brain.  I can hear the restrains of “Roxanne” by the Police leaking out of her headphones.
Who is this woman?  Finally I drift off and dream of pineapples and Sting.

I am awakened by something on my shoulder.  I slowly open my eyes to find her head resting on my shoulder; she is asleep and snoring.  I close my eyes and think why now?  Twenty years I have lived alone and never really had a girl friend or thought about having one.  Now I am in love with this person and I don’t like it.
“Anna,” I whisper. “Anna, I love you.”  Nothing.
I nudge her in the ribs and she stirs.  
“Did you just say I love you?” she says sleepily.
I lie and say, “No you must have been dreaming.”
The Captain comes over the radio and tells we are about to land.  The waitresses in the sky scurry up and down the aisles picking up trash and drinks.  Time to hit the ground.

When we land things are awkward, I don’t know how to say goodbye.  Anna hands me her card shakes my hand and says goodbye.  I let her go thinking that I am better off without her, but knowing it’s a lie.

Once my boots hit the ground it’s time to round up my gear.  I have shipped it to predetermined location in L.A. paid for by my benefactor.  You can’t carry that *****on a plane anymore without drawing a lot suspicion.   Nobody needs a 9MM Mouser to shoot rabbits in America.  I rent a car and head for Huntington Beach.   There are enough tourist there to allow me to blend in with the locals.  I always stay at the same cheap hotel.  No one remembers me because the turnover is so high that I never see the same person when I check in.  

Once in my room it’s time to check my weapon.  I can’t live without her.  Which her am I thinking about?  This is not good. 


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Sooner Recruit

Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.

He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.

You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.

Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands. 

Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent.  We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.

His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.

He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.

He looks each man straight in the eye - 
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.

His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.

He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.

He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.

Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.

“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves.  Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.

Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son.  Keep pushin’.  Remember, no pain, no gain”.

He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.

As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.

He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!?  “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”? 

He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.

Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.

Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.

Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.

So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands. 


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


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


Long poem by Roy Jerden | Details |

Willow: A Fable

Timmy Tom Tuck was a young fellow with charm
who one summer stayed at his grandfather's farm.
He loved to eat ice cream and Grandma's baked goods
but his favorite thing was to play in the woods

He so loved the willow oak tree near the spring
to lie flat on his back and hear the birds sing.
The bunnies and ducklings would come to his call
as Timmy Tom Tuck was best friends with them all.

One day young Timmy was watching a cloud.
All at once his name was called plainly out loud!
He looked all around but naught did he see
till a dainty nymph stepped right out of the tree.

"Willow is my name", softly sang out the sprite.
Her skin was quite rumpled, her hair purest white.
"I am your friend, so you have nothing to dread.
This tree is my home. I'm a dryad.", she said.

"A dryad dwells deep in the heart of her oak
and she speaks through its roots to all the plant folk,
to mosses and mushrooms, the ferns in the fen,
pink lady slippers, and the grass in the glen.

For all things are akin, all substance is one,
the earth and the stars, the moon and the sun,
the grass and the trees, the air high above,
the birds and the bees, the ones that we love."

From that time on they were never apart,
and Timmy loved Willow with all of his heart.
All day they would play in the rocks and the streams
and at night sweet Willow would dance in his dreams.

Dryads live long but young summers do fly.
Soon Timmy and Willow spoke words of goodbye.
He promised he'd surely come see her next year.
Sadly smiled Willow; her eyes glistened with tears.

But Timmy came not in that year nor the next
as summers were filled with exciting prospects:
soccer and baseball and Boy Scout Jamborees.
Those days with Willow turned to faint memories.

But at last one summer he went back to the farm
and contritely thought of his vow in alarm.
He gave hugs all around, and once he was free,
with his heart in his throat, ran down to the tree.

The oak was all withered, no leaves anywhere.
"Oh Willow! Oh Willow!", he cried in despair.
"Oh Willow! Oh Willow! Oh where can you be?"
then embraced with both arms the willow oak tree.

Deep from the tree there came a tremulous sigh.
"Oh Timmy, dear Timmy, my end is now nigh.
I've lived and seen wonders in this hundred years,
but now I must go; you must not shed any tears.

For all things are akin, all substance is one,
the earth and the stars, the moon and the sun,
the grass and the trees, the air high above,
the birds and the bees, the ones that we love.

I'll kiss your sweet cheek with every small breeze.
I'll cool your hot brow with the shade of the trees.
In dewdrops I'll wash your bright face with the dew,
and in dreams my soul will be always with you."

With those words, kind Willow then faded away.
Near her Timmy stayed till the end of the day.
That evening quite late he was able to sleep,
then dreamed such a dream, and the dreaming was deep.

The forest was big and the forest was bright.
Sweet sunshine shone through it in golden daylight.
Then all the wood fairies came out at twilight,
and fair Willow danced in the silver moonlight.

"Spend time with those you love."

July 8, 2014


Long poem by Jeremiah Castelo | Details |

My Heart Needs a Home

My heart needs a home,
I’ve tried fitting it on bookshelves among fantasy novels and romantic stories,
but for some reason,
JRR Tolkein wouldn’t let me in between him and Danielle Steele,

I’ve tried placing it by my stereo;
in front of the speaker;
next to my well-ranged arsenal of music which has taken me years to put together.
But after a while,
I noticed that Hard Rock would cause my heart to turn to stone,
Hip Hop would cause it to turn black at every curse,
Electronic music would cause it to break down into fine pieces of sand;
the deep melancholy sounds of the bass guitar
would manifest as wind from the sub woofer;
blowing it away.

I’ve tried dipping it into a mug of beer or soaking it in hard alcohol,
but time and time again; it would dissolve into the liquid
and I’d lose it.
The bartender would mistake it for a Bloody Mary,
mix it up,
and serve it to the next girl who wouldn’t gulp it all down at once,
but take little sips in between conversations
in order to savor it.
Sometimes I’d be tempted to believe that she’s well aware of what she’s drinking;
Every sip hurts my chest.

I would roll it around in white powder hoping to create some sort of protective mask,
but the chemical in the drug would eat away the surface;
leaving it disfigured and more fragile than ever.

I had tried planting it into the ground among the cannabis plants
to see if something would grow out of it,
But when I had returned to dig it up,
  I had found that the roots of the surrounding plants
had drained the life out of the core;
turning it into shell.
When I cracked it open, it was hollow.

I’ve tried placing it in the bosom of beautiful women,
which seemed like the right place at the time,
until each one used the pointy, polished finger nail
of her long, slender, finger
to pierce the center of it;
causing it to ooze blood.

I’ve tried placing it into the hands of those I trusted,
but the hands of the strong would squeeze too tightly,
the hands of the weak would keep dropping it,
the hands of the unreliable would leave it in dark places and forget about it,
the hands of the cruel would throw it as far as they could, like a baseball,
the hands of the hurtful would immediately hand it right back to me,
and the hands of the clean would never touch it at all.

Then I placed it into the hands of my Creator,
my Saviour;
the One who spent ages coming up with its design,
the One who calculated every measurement to the finest detail,
the One who made countless rough drafts in order to attain perfection,
the One who is waiting for His masterpiece to
willingly be placed back into His gentle, cupped hands.....

When I did,
it fit perfectly,
and glowed a bright red,
as if it were smiling.
It started singing quietly;
the most beautiful melody I’ve ever heard.
It has remained there ever since,
and will remain there forever.

www.psalmsandpsychoses.com


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 Suzette Richards | Details |

Vinnie, VD, Vichy-

I painstakingly take down reading list.
(I thought that our dear teacher surely gist.)
“Of Bison Men”, antiquity : out o’ print;
and “Batcher in the Fry”, a concrete  stint.

“Odious Night in Gail”, seen fit to ban – 
Perhaps by an old “RAD at Sky March” fan.
And “Cellphone flowers of yellow and green”, 
From “Loose'y in the Sky with Diamonds”, seen.

“You Lie, Sees” on top of list of sorcerers  –
Our Homers being the main baseball scorers.
“Vinnie, VD, Vichy~”: Dude ate too much 
I do not understand the rash and rush…

A cross all incontinence, without much flare,
there grammar mistakes is to much too bare.


*****************************************************************
GLOSSARY:
1.	Bison: Prehistoric animal, now extinct. Also, Bison Men Street Fighter = movie;
        Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
2.	The Catcher in the Rye is a 1951 novel by J. D. Salinger
3.	Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats
4.	Radetsky March by Johann Strauss Sr.
5.	RAD – abbreviation of many interpretations; also, slang for “great”
6.	The actual line from “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” is: “Cellophane… “
7.     "Loose'y" is slang for cigarettes sold singularly
8.	Ulysses is derived from Ulixes, the Latin name for Odysseus, a character in ancient Greek literature. Odysseus also known by the Roman name Ulysses was a legendary Greek king of Ithaca and a hero of the blind poet, Homer's epic poem, the Odyssey.
9.	Julius Caesar said this when described how/what he did on his campaign. (veni (I came), vidi (I saw), vici (I conquered). Colloquially used by teenagers as an expression for conquests of the opposite sex. "Vichy" as in vichysoisse, a cold potato soup
10.	In the final couplet I vent my frustration with the incorrect usage and spelling which I often encounter in script; spelling and grammar which change the intended meaning of the text.
11. Written in: A quatorzain (from French quatorze, fourteen) is a poem of fourteen lines. Historically the term has often been used interchangeably with the term 'sonnet'. Various writers have tried to draw distinctions between 'true' sonnets, and quatorzains. Nowadays the term is seldom used, and when it is, it usually is used to distinguish fourteen line poems that do not follow the various rules that describe the sonnet. I followed the Shakespeare sonnet style with the volta at the COUPLET:"In Shakespeare's sonnets, however, the volta usually comes in the couplet, and usually summarizes the theme of the poem or introduces a fresh new look at the theme." ~ Wikipedia 

6 July 2013

Sponsor	Roy Jerden
Contest Name	Malapropisms and Mondegreens


Long poem by louise nelson | Details |

Contributing toThe Story

when I was a child I played on a baseball  team
and my name on my jersey to me was my greatest dream
but as an adult I have now come to realize
that my name on anything is to God not a prize
your name is not that important when it comes to true glory
what is important is have you contributed to God's story?

at the house of Simon the Leaper a woman of little means
made a contribution to Jesus for Him she did a good thing
however in the story it never mentions her name
but her act of kindness in the Bible will forever remain

so what have you done to in your life to be remembered ?
what have you contributed as a card carrying Christian member ?
don't be like Michael Vick who won't be remembered for his football fame
nor Eliot Spitzer a former governor where scandal is now attached to their names
what have you done to edify our Savior the Lord Jesus Christ ?
what to His Story have you contributed in your life ?

she anointed Jesus with an expensive flask of fragrant nard
an unselfish gesture towards the One she held in highest regards
the crowd became indignant with her expressive display
until Jesus instructed them to let her alone that day
a contribution to The Story she had done
a noble act towards God's only begotten Son

what have you done to contribute to Jesus' story ?
what have you done to give Him honor and glory ?
to go beyond yourself and to give back to Christ
to make a significant and important sacrifice
she anointed Him with oil in preparation for the time
when we would no longer have Jesus, the root of life's vine
she gave all she had she blessed Him with that costly nard
she gave all she had and she gave it from the heart
she contributed to The Story for in Him she truly believed
and her act of kindness will forever be received

so what have you done to give God glory ?
what have you done to add to The Story ?
have you made any gestures to help your fellow man ?
a random act of kindness or lent a helping hand
have you gone out of your way to lift up anyone ?
what  for the greater good of mankind have you done ?
have you ever reach out and pulled someone along ?
have you ever tried to make right a wrong ?
have you ever made an unselfish gesture, deed or act ?
have you ever prayed for those under spiritual attack ?
what have you contributed to God's continuous story ?
what have you done to give Him honor and glory ?
as only what you do for Christ will last and endure
what have you done to be remembered forevermore ?





Long poem by Keenan MacKay | Details |

If I Was A Fool

If I was a fool 
I'd love as many times as I wanted

If I was a millionaire 
I'd beg to be a poor man wishing for more
because I believe my dreams should stay in my sleep
I'd rather be a struggling actor so far off Broadway 
I'm staring Hollywood in the face
than replace Brad Pitt
or have my name in lights
because I believe the second I come up short
on the possession of problems
achieve my truest dreams
is the second before I become no more

So please don't clap for me
instead let silence ease itself in
like a teenager out a little too late
a cat slipping between a crack in a door
placing doubt for me to see in the mirror tomorrow morning
so I can work to overcome it

If I was a fool
I'd call this love

If I purchased a four pack of Red bull
with the intent of staying up all night
I would watch the sunrise just to know
you're waking up soon somewhere
and sometime before noon
there's a chance
I might get to see your cheeks rise
into a smile 
that will guile it's way into my mind
and rob me blind
normal thought processes shop-lifted
from my skull
and all I can say is
How kind of you

If I was a thief 
I'd steal time over anything
pick the pocket of the pocket watch 
that belongs to the grandfather clock
locked away in the back of our hearts

If I was a stalker
I'd shape words into a shadow
because the physical only gets me to your window
but a fake silhouette would get me under your skin
words would splinter cell their way in through your ears
and I could be closer than ever to you

creepy
I know

If I was a fool
I'd take this too far

If I don't spend every second
doing something
if I wasted a second
doing nothing
then I might as well
cease breath
resign from earth
because a second of life
is equal
to an eternity without

If I wasn't a poet
I'd know better
than to call this
what she said once to me
the result of a decision 
made on a near subconscious level 
based off evil suggestions 
bred from my darkest thoughts 
my tallest despairs 
and a slip up of not caring for five minutes 
that turned my life diagonally into an alley 
on the wrong side of town 
hoping to not find myself in a gutter 
but instead to hit a strike 
in this baseball game kind of the same 
as Sunday school 

redundant to everything beyond it

but it's what my life is now
and I can't avoid it

If I wasn't a fool
I wouldn't feel this way about anyone ever again
but I do


Long Poems