The sun is warm, the new mown grass is green
Nowhere else he’d rather be this summer day
In tune with his team and feeling fine
Batter up says the ump, its time, let’s play!
It’s a joy to be young and in love with the sport
Dreaming of someday playing ball as a pro
But for now it’s enough to have a summer day
To be a kid with a glove, bat and a ball to throw.
Image # 4
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015
Watch him there behind the plate
The guy referred to as "blue"
"Hey blue, you must be blind!
How could you call that ball strike two?"
He takes the ribbing all in stride
Been doing this for many years
Loves the game, the fans, the kids
Lots of fun and yes, sometimes tears
To soon the season will be over and done
But next year the kids will come to play
The ump will smile and call "batter up!"
He'll be having fun just like he is today….
My husband has been a Little League
Umpire of many years. He loves it!
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015
If I were to venture a sports analogy,
I'd say life most resembles baseball spiritually.
We spend eons preparing in the dugout,
Then nervously strut out to take our time at bat.
The rival coach directing our adversaries
Is the Father Of Lies and man's false philosophies.
His goal is to prevent us from reaching home plate safely.
His team's minions outnumber us near-infinitely.
The rival pitcher has icy practiced steel-like nerves,
And he's struck out many with foul spitballs and curves.
He pitches things like sloth, envy, greed, media idolatry,
Addictions, “Pro Choice”, perversions, porn and other immorality.
Our beloved Coach whispers to us from the dugout.
HE famously scored grand slams when HE went to bat.
If we listen to Our Coach, and with spirit swing fast and hard,
We'll knock those pitcher’s balls clean out of the yard.
HE knows we won’t always hit solid homers,
So HE doesn’t expect us to succeed just as loners.
We might on our swing just make it to first base,
But the team batters behind us can help us reach home base.
Even though the adversary’s minions outnumber us,
Only our choices will allow them to defeat us.
So with our Coach and team we must stand up,
When the Great Umpire of all calls “Batter Up!”.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
Because of the weather, the game was rained out.
Baseball is something many of us can’t do without.
It’s the only sport we get to see throughout the summer.
When the game is postponed, it usually is a bummer.
For a few lucky cities, they can close the roof up top.
When playing indoors, rain will not make the game stop.
However, in most cities, they have to play outside.
When the rain comes down, there is no place to hide.
It doesn’t matter if your seats are in the lower or upper deck.
If the game is called, they will only give you a rain check.
You have to go home if the teams do not play.
Just come back when the game is rescheduled another day.
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014
He hit it high, he hit it far
Up, up into the blue it went
Bottom of the ninth and tied
A run would be heaven sent
Back to the wall the fielder sped
He jumped as high as he could
Did he catch it or not, it’s up to you
Now decide, if in my shoes you stood……
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2016
At Wrigley’s Field in Chicago
He bought two tickets, but struck out.
Barred from the game, with his pet,
“He stinks!”rang J. K.Wrigley’s shout.
At Sianis’ tavern across the way,
his pet, Murphy, was quite a hit.
But at the ball park, life turned sour;
they didn’t favor his goat one whit.
He aimed his pet to bring them luck
to watch World Series pennant wave.
Ejection brought anger, and a curse,
that loss would trail them to the grave.
The Cubs have yet to take the prize;
for seventy years, their losses count,
while Murphy’s name has garnered fame
and Wrigley’s shame they can’t surmount.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2016
The sport of ball games is many each summer and each fall.
Within the Major leagues, and the Minors are many whines.
The events that are pitted causes Peewees to bawl.
Excuses like pines and whines, and levying of fines.
Steroidal abuse accusations prevalent are profuse!
Is pretty lady a man, is the handsome man a woman?
Like in cases of people’s races, gander chases goose.
Is the ball player true or a steroid phenomenon.
Albeit I accept the fate entering stadium gate.
Was the coupling consensual or change conventional?
Excitement permeates ball field as contentions dissipate.
I believe in ball games, rising to fame consensual.
Mickey Mantle at bat, an all time world ‘Switch hitter!
Willie Mays ’The say kid Mays’ blessed his days by his phase.
“Mighty Casey at Bat” illustrates proper glitter,
as time switches mantle phase of Mickey and Say kid Mays!
For and in Honor of Debbie Guzzi
And Contest: Play Ball
Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2011
Right now, I have an uneasy feeling in my gut.
I want to hold on to my job no matter what.
I blew the save, and we eventually lost the game.
To lose a good lead for any team is a shame.
I have a feeling the management wants to let me go.
They are disenchanted with me. It certainly does show.
The team counts on me to come on in relief.
The hits and runs I give up causes everybody grief.
So what will I do if they want me to go away?
Will I have to try and make up a resume?
I can’t sleep with these worries in my head.
Sorry dear if I am keeping you awake in bed.
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2013
Plenty of room in « Le Foot »* for Soccer
For Doug Vinson at PoetrySoup.com
Not long ago King Pelé
Set “le foot” in America
Today his peoples’ muted “Olé”!
Rue the day at Maracana
Now from coast to conniving coast
Your Can-Can gals kick “le balon”*
No Wall in between the goal-posts
To win at summit many a “galon”*
Alright! Keep your cherished football
Iced-hoc-key bounced balls in basket
But let echo corked-leather on “saule”*
Crikey! "le cri-cri"* of “le cricket”
Tremble at the hakka-cry of the All Blacks
Cringe before Aussie toughs at Springbok élan
And let them romp with the Six-Nation packs
Over your greens with fifteen Argentinian
Call out to the run-machine Little Master*
And let his blade flash home-runs tout azimut
Over heads of fielders spectators and trainer
And let your millions throb and catapult
Your new knights sans armour in world arena
And gasp at fresh records topple centuries*
On pitch and turf in Tests across suburbia
And join the world in friendly rivalries.
*"Le Foot"or "Le Fut": French for football/soccer.
*"le balon": French for ball.
*"le(s) galon(s)": French for "stripes" as in "to win one's stripes in battle" (gagné ses galons au combat) .
*"le saule": French for the willow tree. "Willow" is metonymy for the cricket bat as the latter is made from the tree.
*"le cri-cri": familiar French for "le grillon", the insect cricket.
*"Little Master", sobriquet of Sachin Tendulkar, the retired legendary Indian test-cricketer, the counterpart of the Brazilian Pelé in soccer. See my poem: "The Little Master: Sachin Tendulkar", my most-read ever poem.
*"centuries": batting records in cricket run into a few centuries, mostly in five-day international test-matches.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2017
Nineteen sixty was a wonderful year
Willie Mays was brought to Candlestick Park
It left New Yorkers with more than one tear
But San Franciscans remember that mark
I rushed to the park to catch my first sight
Of the Giants displaying this great man
They were playing the Dodgers Friday night -
I found a seat in the center field stand
The Dodgers threw Drysdale at six feet five
And only Willie was up to the job
He parked the first pitch, the crowd came alive,
And Willie trotted home to greet the mob
It stayed that way all through the first eight
Wille played center field just beyond touch
Two out for the Dodgers,hope getting late
They pinch hit a rookine, prayer but not much
Sharp crack of the bat, high to center field
Willie turned his back to the plate and ran
Clear to the wall at top speed then he wheeled
Put his glove at his belt - he was the Man
For contest The National Pasttime
Copyright © Larry Bradfield | Year Posted 2017