A fresh sweet scent
of last gardenia
on yesterday's linen sheets
A cherry bud
in your backyard orchard
revealing first pink shades
in once upon a soft blown kiss
An early summer
sharing your beach towel
and coconut butter
A roaring log fire
on a stormy night
in the hallway
to your bedroom door
a short~lived star
that fallen into your arms
then faded to nothingness
upon the empty shore.
Remember me ...
The blissful moment
The saddest song
in your forevermore
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014
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 | Year Posted 2014
It is a magic time when a child ventures
Into the world, spreading wings,
Beginning the oft painful process
of moving from the nest to the sky.
And it is a fragile time, where first experiences
Weigh heavily on shaping the direction
In which young life begins to move
And often whether it moves at all
It is a trying time, of fear and nervousness
One little step out on their own
The start of something bold and beautiful
The molding of a young child's eye
Much is made of parents and peers,
Oft unaddressed is the role of others
Teachers and coaches, a collective entity
Not dissimilar from fathers and mothers
The torch of responsibility being passed
If only for a brief moment
No more clinging to the safety and comfort
of what is already a norm and known
Encouragement or unkind words
So often a matter of chance and moods
Have mighty impacts on growing hearts
Precious opportunities to help a growing life
Young minds and hearts right on the surface
We remember our coaches, good and bad
Caring or not, patience or none,
The struggles, thin times and thick
A team of seven year olds
Is not unlike a litter of unruly puppies
How will they ever pay attention?
Give them a ball, a glove, and a game!
Pride, courage, athleticism, self-confidence
All showcased for the world to see
Taking turns and building bonds
Grasping much more than a newfound skill
If you can stand to be measured,
and fail by that measure, even repeatedly
But come back from it, you'll forever have
One more vital skill in life’s toolbox
One youngster will not win the game alone
But the team can, and its joy
Is multiplied many times over.
All these things and more can be taught.
Whether it be on the field or off
Teamwork, respect and camaraderie
Will forever be entrenched in the mind
Of a well instructed boy or girl
© Tom Quigley and Tim Smith
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
I have found green here
bordered by white lines
that meet then veer off
into infinity, perfect symmetry,
peppered by flashing yellow dandelions.
These, and more, colours
I have found here.
I have found dreams here
in the bats that sing for singles
and scream for homers,
in the cleats that pound
a rhythm as they slap the ground
with mercurial delight.
Oh, the sights and sounds
that I have found here.
I have found the cycles of life here
in the grass below and the sky above,
in the safe and the out,
I have found peace.
I have found youth here,
for here I am not an old man
barely able to walk,
I am forever ten
as I round the bases and slide
headfirst into home,
the feel of dirt in my face
and the smell of death in the tag.
Copyright © Phil Capitano | Year Posted 2016
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
A pleasantly safe distance from the
Big middle aged guys with
Some other man's name on their back ' s
Exhaling brat breath
And beer farts
the Windy City loves their team
Copyright © Brian Martin | Year Posted 2015
Can I Be:
The lyrics in your song?
the words of your poem?
the paint on your canvas?
the script for your movie?
the groove in your dance?
the ink in your pen?
the twinkle in your eye?
the beat of your heart?
the "star"of your dreams
your every desire?
your early sunrise?
your place of comfort?
And most of all
Can I always be the love of your life?
Copyright © Alexis Y. | Year Posted 2016
A Sonnet To Growing Older
My heart now speaks to me of ageless things
Of solitary walks down country lanes
Of quilted calico with simpler schemes
Unhurried times, a pause, as quiet rain
In memory drenched, the budding heart reviews
Her nightly liaisons in twilight realms
Illusive childlike carousel renews
Majestic pensive thoughts and hopeful hymns;
With joy rekindles ! Magic carousel
It moves round and round in measured beat
Bewitching power of music sounds compel
The ageless ones to rambunctious retreat !
Unhallowed fruit of age-
My heart can sing !
Redeeming time to catch the brass-bound ring
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2017
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013
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
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
We are cool.
This is our game we play.
Yes, we are the American way.
We are fame.
We are the success.
This is the game we play.
We are strategized.
This is our game day.
We are the American way.
We are fame.
We are the success.
A sure thing we have.
We are the thrill.
We are enjoyed.
We are the players.
We are the sport.
This is the game we play.
Yes, we are an American way.
We are skilled with our toys.
We are hyperactivity.
We are the National Hockey League!
We are the team.
We are the competitors.
We are the wow.
We the game all love.
This is our pastime and sport.
Yes, we are the universal recreation.
We are competitive.
We are the babes.
We are ready to win the game.
We compete to excel.
Baseball Major League!
A sure thing we have!
Unity Stated - team sports - get involve!
Penned June 16, 2015!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015
The winds of March have tried their best,
To prepare the field for play,
But the ground has not yet dried,
of the melted snows of winter.
Puddles wait where runners slide,
And where the batter stands,
No grass grows where the infield plays,
And sparse is the turf where the outfield roams.
No lines or poles to relate fair to foul,
Or screens to block missed throws,
Nor walls to cause a caromed ball,
Or to impede a home run’s flight.
No groundskeepers to make things neat,
Or bleachers from which to cheer,
Nor umps to shout their balls and strikes,
Or dugouts from which to taunt.
But when the mud is dried and cracked,
And the grass has turned to green,
Players return to recover skills,
Held captive by winter’s cold.
Nothing fancy, not major league,
Just a game of ball to be played,
And the field, now ready, responds to all,
With fun and hits and errors.
Jerry Troiano 12-12-15
Copyright © Jerry Troiano | Year Posted 2015
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
BASEBALL IS THE GAME
A game embedded in the soul of America.
Baseball spans generations.
Father to son, father to son and so on.
It is a mirror of our culture and history.
Icons like Ruth, Gehrig, Robinson, Mays and Schwarber
Teams like the mighty Yankees, Phightin Phils and Cubbies.
Baseball is a passionately regional sport.
Each stadium reflecting a team and regions personality.
Each pitch is a drama within itself.
The pitcher eyes the catcher for the sign.
The batter, bat cocked, waits transfixed.
Tension fills the air-outcome unknown.
Fielders move in all directions at the crack of the bat.
A wave of anticipation ripples through the crowd.
A number of possibilities can happen next.
Double, single, home run, great catch-which will it be.
Inning after inning-mostly nine but sometimes more.
No time limits-great in a life filled with them.
Shorts and shirt sleeves-no winter jackets needed.
Languid summer days spent at the game.
Thrilling tension and nail biting action,
interspersed with calm routine.
Organized chaos and local flavor,
Copyright © Oliver McKeithan | Year Posted 2017
I can watch them again,
grown men at a children's game,
the glory of the Show
on the TV screen.
For a while
I couldn’t watch,
I’d been close.
Double A at 18
but it didn’t move.
And in Triple A
and spring training
for the Show
they ate it up.
When I tried harder
my arm blew up
rotator cuff - tendinitis
physio, drugs, steroids.
Hope springs eternal
but nothing helped
Now I sit in this bar,
mush for brains
just like my arm.
Don’t care that
drugs and alcohol
as I watch them
is worse than
Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2015
Baseball bats will soon be quiet.
As football season takes a kick
Golf ball will be put away so a president can go to work.
Hockey sticks will soon hit the puck
And baseballs will go in the net.
The summer season is scheduled to end.
Hello winter let it begin.
Copyright © Harold Hunt sr | Year Posted 2014
A subject of sweetest softness
Cats can be loved too
Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013
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
In the dirt of the diamond, my son’s eyes
Burn below the rim of his red hat
And he pulls his hand back,
looks at the score yet again,
digs his small toe in as his chest rises.
From my place in the stands
Every muscle has become tense
And my heart is pounding in my chest
As he draws his arm back and then forward
Releasing his breath and the tiny spinning ball,
A wild pitch bouncing off the wire fence.
And I finally exhale, wonder if he knows
I am throwing with him and that was my wild pitch
because I forgot to breath when we released the ball
And I was trying to throw it slow.
And I should just let him throw the ball
Because I am not a good pitcher
Because how can I possibly throw with him
When he is a lefty and I am a right.
But all of me grows tense, as he has the ball yet again,
And then we are winding up again
Because I cannot let go
Because his dreams are now my dreams
Because I don’t know how to love him
Any other way. So I will wear his little hat and
Must remember to exhale when we release the ball.
And I can play with him for a few more years
So we wind up, and we pitch, and that fast ball down the middle,
It wasn’t even trying to be avoided,
And so I know he threw that one
Because he is ready for the fast ball
And I would prefer we pitch it slow,
Just for a little while longer.
Long enough for him to know I am out there with him.
Long enough for me to learn how to let a fast ball fly.
Copyright © Rosann Fode | Year Posted 2014
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
One feels so alive
at baseball games
You are a part
of something there
As a Mets fan
I feel myself as
a piece in the urban puzzle
A member of the urban tribe
Joining in the
cheering for the
helps the masses to release
which has been created
by urban life - even if last season the team
didn't fare well
The loyal fans
stuck with them
till the end
Loyal fans such as myself
see the Mets
as the descendants
New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers
a team all New Yorkers
can embrace wholly
A team you can yell yourself hoarse for
Through the cold winter
there are no green diamonds
to gaze upon
But we New Yorkers know
that the sound of "Play Ball" will
soon usher in
another 162 games
for the New York Metropolitans
Our hometown heroes
Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2014
A Chicago Cubs-Fan Prayer Answered!
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 ivy covered Brickhouse walls!
Thy new stadium will come, the owners will be done
On Clark and Addison, as it is, to sit in the sun with thy bleacher-bums!
Give us this day our daily dread but remove those lights that so offend!
Forgive us our trespasses and Cubs left on bases, as we forgive those
Teams who trespass these hallowed places!
Caray us on and win the pennant race, all’s we’re ask ‘in for Lord,
Is a couple a more runs!
Most of us can't afford a dog or beer in here, but a least da cops is really
Nice around here!
Lead us not into temptation and deliver us to a World Series, while were still young!
So grab a beer and join the cheer, cause we ain't leav'in Wrigley
Till "Yogi" say's it's over in here!
Copyright © Tim Collins | Year Posted 2015
…”bottom of the ninth
….”.a sinking line drive to left….
……….he moves cat-like across the grass
……………………………….the series….on the line
……in the ultimate dream..
………hands caress the ball….
………………….streaking grass staining his face
………rolling to a stop
…………………the crowd roaring”
…………………….flexes his glove
…………………………………………...hears the crack of the bat
John G. Lawless
submitted to – Oil Paintings 4&5
sponsor – Eve Roper
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015
Patiently waiting in a line
eyeballed an wary
harsh barking of subterranean cultures
standing weary and inured
to the rotten
inside the high walls and wire, the weighted stone of
existing like convicts
Copyright © Michael Miers | Year Posted 2013
Mr. Cub, take me out to the ballgame!
A Chicago Cubs-Fan Prayer!
In nomine patri et fili spiritu of Ron Santo
Let us all give thanks for Ernie Banks!
Let us play, TWO!
Our Father, who art in Wrigley Field Hallowed be thy name on those ivy covered Brick-house walls
Thy new stadium will come, the owners will be done
On earth, as it is in heaven to sit in the sun with the bleacher-bums
Give us this day our daily dread, but remove those lights that some say offend
And forgive us our trespasses for trading our best hitters and aces
As we forgive those same players who then come back, and rub it in our faces
Lead us not, into tenth inning disgraces, and worst of all, with men left on bases
Deliver us from evil and finishing in last place
And Caray us on to win the pennant race
All's we're ask ‘in for is a couple a more runs with three men on base
Bring us oh Lord a world series trophy, or it won't be long before were all dopey!
Our faith be rich, but our pockets are poor, because most of us can't afford a dog or a couple a beers in here!
Our spirit lives on and we know no fear, so whaddya say we lose the, "wait till next year"!
Mr. Cub is rounding third and headed for home, one more time on this hallowed ground, but we still need a closer for a Cubs World Series win!
Ronny made the call to one of their friends, "send in the saver, Ernie can't do it all"!
Now the "LORD's" in the line-up, and Mr. Cub just handed him the ball!
Let us all give thanks for Ernie Banks! AMEN!
Copyright © Tim Collins | Year Posted 2015
There is a street in town
Where porridge is drawn up,
Where loafing is a virtue
And spitting is the sport of kings.
Old London town would be so proud
Of all the knaves and fools
Who frolic all day long
Then sleep amid the ruins.
Edgar was the given name
Of one young fool
Who skipped along the padded street
One whistle to his name.
He loved the maiden Joan of Arc
Whose beauty was untrue.
Both expired the self-same day,
No penny to their names.
And me, I get along somehow
Standing on a rock,
While fishing in a muddy hole,
I never watch the clock.
Copyright © Bill Yates | Year Posted 2015
the battle of the bats never to be won or lost
a game of baseball playing over time
the field flooded with lights to win the night
a colony of bats hanging from trees near by
comes to visit and scare the hell out of the batters
running for home base
Copyright © catherine labeau | Year Posted 2015
I’m lost in an unknown world where I am not a stranger
Citizen of love recognize and value by all
People adore my knowledge about my country
As several relationships has been fabricate and re-established
‘Master of love’ I was called
All these is claim until I met her
She is the perfection of beauty
Angel amidst humanity
Her skin tone complements my dark complexion
Her hair kiss ass
Her dove eyes laid in between her pointed noise harmonized with long face and
Her breast flow the ocean of life in fulfillment of the holy book
She is supernaturally endowed below
Dream of living in her palace below and drink from milk of life above
I call her End of discussion
She is my desire yet confused of certainty
My heart fails not to confront with golden words
I’m scared of response
I’m not scared of No but Yes
Presently in the net of two relationship in the name of love
My golden word for her shall be never to cheat on her
Previous word contradict contemporary words for her
Confused heart, let go of previous love and regain my country?
Copyright © OBIAJE PETER EDIGAH | Year Posted 2014
She steps up to the plate –smiling
The smile that fills you with hatred and embarrassment
When so often it is present.
This is no laughing matter.
The unliked by the team,
But still the needed captain.
The field is watching, waiting.
Bat up, she stances.
The players tense –mechanically.
The pitch from empty space,
Creation of the batter’s mind,
Carefully crafted to tie the game.
The crowd groans.
And off goes the game.
She motions to first.
The ball whizzes through the air-
First the infielders –chasing –running –pacing
Staccato across the red.
But they are no match –the ball continues.
She accelerates to second.
The inner-outfielders, the bridge, take over,
As if squeaks and honks can stop it.
They chase, to fill the empty space, but relent.
She crescendos to third.
The far-outfielders, at last,
The most important players of all.
Long, deep strides cover much ground,
But they cannot compare.
The ball is gone.
She made it home.
There is silence in the field.
And the crowd goes wild.
(In 8th grade, I really didn’t care for my band teacher, but loved band.)
Copyright © Anna Wright | Year Posted 2016
Graig Nettles as a Yankee wore the number nine
the New York Yankees in the seventies very fine
I’m Red Sox fan but a baseball fan first
as you can tell baseball is my first thirst
ever since the seventies I was a baseball fan
Lou Brock and Yaz and Yaz the main man
baseball my sport of choice it’s my only game
and the Boston Red Sox have plenty of fame
I’ve been to Boston a few times what a city
Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013