Poetry Baseball Poems

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Details | Light Poetry |
As I contemplate life
Through thick lenses glasses of the whiskey bottle
Is there life?
What is life, what is the lie, or even the truth?
Or is there only the journey to darkness
If so, why not buy a first class ticket
To the black hole of the universe
There in death, I can sit
In peace
Dreaming of the rebirth of atoms and molecules

Then, I ponder some more
I remember years ago
Holding a soda pop bottle
I just couldn’t discard
Somehow I was happy
He was my invisible friend
We sure had adventures
Nighttime I was safe
He would guard the window
Be would both gaze at the stars
I would talk and he sure knew how to listen
These memories bring me smiles even now

Is the universe that strange?
Are we all related so, objects, minds and souls?
All I know, is maybe I better stick around
Have a soda
Savoring my youthful days
When all my friends came around to play
Yelling Ricky, come on out, it’s a beautiful day!
Baseball was always fun back then
I always had my soda pop bottle in my bag
Surrounded by friends and so so content

As I contemplate life
I am somewhat amazed
That the ghost from the Christmas past
Is no illusions after all
Chains be dammed, I am set free
I awake with a new vigor
To a new year

Notes: First I recommend to read Orange Crush The adventures of Soda Pop by Richard Lamoureux, all of them are a series. So, I added my dark side, and a wee bit of Charles Dickens at the end, as he like Richard used to write stores in series like this. I thought it unique to combine these 3 ideas in one!

I took the character of Ricky, aged him, and had him look back in time!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015




Details | Light Poetry |
I am a fat oriole from Baltimore
With baseball cap and baseball mitt
I became a star cause well I could really hit
Made my money, to build my nest
Never grew up, cause I was born with good luck
I am a big fat Oriole I say to you
Now I am retired
So I sit in by chair
Eating my Oreos, double stuffed flair
Oriole oriole eating my oreos
I am fat cookie, a Baltimore storio

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |
baseball and poetry love them both
just like writing baseball excites me too
and during the recent months they’ve gain growth
love it as much as writing an haiku

can’t wait next month the season will begin
I'm not like others I never played golf
if I’m lucky I’ll catch a Red Sox win
outside of Fenway was a sign for Gulf

besides Poetry Soup may be else where
such as MLB dot com checking scores
I love baseball because it has some flair
as a kid bought cards from many stores

when summer is here I’ll be watching more
wife and I caught a Red Sox Phillies game
and my wife didn’t find the game a bore
but lately the Red Sox have brought us shame

but the new season will be starting soon
enjoy the games even from the saloon

Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013




Details | Light Poetry |
Bronx bound on New Jersey's Transit tracks,
Direct no stops,
Penn Stations up next,
I jumped on the "D" express to 161st,
Opening Day,
Yeah, the kid in me is filled with glee...

The Sky is Blue,
The Green Grass cut
The interlocking logo well shaped and sculpted, 
Celebrated, 
Reviled, 
Some even despise... 

Ah the joy of opening day,
Where every team has the right,
to still hope for the epic season on this opening night,
The ceremonial first pitch,
The Cheers,
A Salute,
Play Ball,
Tomorrow is Game number 2,
The Dog days not far behind, 
Ready to bark,
But today...
Today we have our...
Opening Day! 

Copyright © Mike Liquori | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
THE YOGI BERRA SONG
    IT AIN'T OVER 'TIL IT'S OVER
One run behind and I'm at bat, 2 are out,
I'll be damned if I don't get a hit.
I tell the catcher I'll be home in a while,
But he grins at me just for a bit.
Holding on first, I can still feel the ball,
But it's wild and I'm safe at first base.
That's where I stay, cause I can still hear it all,
What that chatcher told me right in my face.

It ain't over til it's over.

I tell the umpire to watch out for the man
who's at bat, cause he'll make his own way.
I'm stealing second, though it's not a good plan
cause that catcher hardly misses a play.
I feel the ball and it's faster than me,
But the second baseman's foot is too late.
There comes the call, and I'm as safe as can be,
But on second base, I know I must wait.

It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over.

I hear the hit and it's a good one I know,
it's the winning run, if I go on
Passing by third I'll tie the game if I go
on to home, or the whole game is gone.
I feel the magic, it's the reason I play
and I love coming out from behind!
Home plate is hardly just a leg length away,
But his words keep on nagging my mind!

It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
You're out! 
Kill the umpire!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
You're out!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
You're out!
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
No, if you know your baseball, you will know why
this runner can not score. See notes below if you
don't figure it out.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
its a game
that bring fame
\to some its there toys
catch it water falls
off the wall
ITS BOYS AND 
BASEBALL

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |

 
Gently, on a baked ceiling of a park a boy ruffles my fluttering skirt like a naughty, vagrant wing, and picks a baseball on the grass… this smaller kid of almond eyes clutches it with a longing to play, but he could not; his legs gave way. Yet, he claps like all the other kids such a radiant joy with wobbly feet, that I liven him up to pitch for one round, while the team rallies for a new swing. Taking in the fire of the crimson day, a lean figure of almond eyes takes his spot grasping the orb as if it were a white globe. In a precise twirl, the fast ball reels, curving much higher, splitting the air until those limbs swivel off freely… the batter out: through joy and pain, one young limping boy of summer’s dream is never going to be the same again. -------------- 12/8/2015 Contest: Oil Paintings 4 & 5 of Eve Roper By nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
THE PITCHER SHAKES OFF ANOTHER SIGN.
I START TO WONDER WHATS ON HIS MIND.
WITH SWEAT RUNNING OFF MY BROW,
I NEED A HIT AND I NEED IT NOW.
BASES LOADED WE'RE DOWN BY THREE.
THE GAMES OUTCOME DEPENDS ON ME.
THE CATCHER RUNS OUT TO THE PITCHERS MOUND.
THEY NEED ME TO HIT IT ON THE GROUND.
I CHECK THE DUGOUT, THEY'RE ALL ON EDGE.
THE INFIELD DEFENSE FORMS A WEDGE.
I STEP BACK IN THE BATTERS BOX.
A FAN SHOUTS OUT, IT'S TIME TO ROCK!
THE TENSION'S THICK AND STARTS TO MOUNT,
BASES LOADED WITH A 3-2 COUNT.
THE PITCHER NOD'S TO CONFIRM THE SIGN.
THEN HE GO'S INTO HIS WIND.
IT'S A FASTBALL, IT LOOKS FAT.
I MAKE CONTACT WITH MY BAT.
CENTER FIELDER STARTS RUNNING BACK.
NOW HE'S ON THE WARNING TRACK.
HE LOOKS UP, IT'S OUTA HERE.
THE CROW ERUPTS AND START TO CHEER.
ALL MY TEAM MATES SWARM HOME PLATE.
THIS IS WHAT MAKES BASEBALL GREAT.


Copyright © Michael E. Harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
Toiling in the dirt, 
looking down as if the ground had all the answers.
Waiting for the wind-up,
Delivery is birthed like each throw is its own child coming into the world.

The lonely moment fleeting as the swish of the ball is cutting the air 
punctuated by the Snap of the mitt.

Framing the pitch,

"Ball 1!" Umpire screams 

Still framing the ball...
a sure sign of non-agreement 
Defense of your pitcher.

Soft tossed back to the mound,
flashing a sign,
reading the game, 
The base-runners,
The batter steps in 

Talking to yourself the body shows the conversations highlight.
 
"Come down main street", the catcher sits up in her stance.
"No crazy dives into the dirt, runner on second" ...the mitt is open like a hippos mouth in water to show the target.

The Pitch,
The Mitt Snap
Soft toss back

Squatting behind the plate, 
toiling in the dirt,
head down,
flash a sign,
read the game,
the situation
2 out, man on 2nd, 3-3 count

"Lets do it again" 

The catcher kneels,
waiting for the strike!

Copyright © Mike Liquori | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
ANNOYING GAME

Annoying Game
Cheers
quite annoying
voices mutter
quiet chatter
huddled in confusion

Boring broadcasters
feigns excitement
children watching 
not so mellow drama

The curse preventing
Felix the cat's first act
more chatter accompanies 
horrible organ music.

Resounding cheers
Greeks speaks
plays called.
"he walks the bases "
on cleats.

Dinner is served
on T.V. trays
Uncle does not move
He sits on the throne 
commandeering black
and white screens
with rabbit ears.

I wait for the final cheers
Of the win, Yes, It’s over
or the Boo's for losers
Baseball, way to ruin
a child's summer.!

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
time to jump high
as the hit the sky
stand tall 
catch that ball
at the
BASEBALL FEILD WALL

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Here we are fans this fine summer day,
to watch Trash Can Cats, versus Downtown Stray.
The field is grand in this deep wooded glen,
pitchers are warming up in the bull pen.

Pitching for the Cats is Crazy Legs Lynx,
his pitching fast and usually sinks.
Throwing for Strays is lefty Greyhound,
he’s tall and lanky but throws very sound.

Dogs take the field, Manx cat at the plate, 
the balls streaking by, he’s swinging too late.
Three strikes he’s out, Greyhound’s having a day,
the Bobtail cat will be next up to play. 

First pitch is low, ump calls it a ball,
the next one’s inside, a very close call.
Greyhound next pitches a ball with great speed,
Bobtail cat swings, bat up to the deed.

High into the air the baseball did soar,
Rocky Retriever swift ran to the chore.
Over the fence it finally had spun,
Cats have the early lead zero to one.

Sam Siamese next hit to first base,
Billy Beagle was right in his place.
Tagged Sam Siamese, out by a snout,
going to be a tough game without a doubt.

Black Bombay was next to at bat,
this was a dangerous black batting cat.
Greyhound threw three balls, speed lighting fast,
Black Bombay cat was not long to last.

Ok fans, Trash Can Cats take the field,
Downtown Stray, the bat skillfully to wield.
First up at bat will be Pauly the Pug,
he’s a bit short but oh boy can he slug.

Crazy Legs Lynx lets a ball go,
Pauly Pug drew back but was a bit slow.
The next ball was placed for Pauly just grand,
Pauly bunted, on first base he did land.

Freddy Fox Hound will next take at bat,
eyeing the pitcher he’ll cream that fast cat,
The next pitch did come blazing toward him,
curving left to right his chances were slim.

The crack of the bat and off the ball went, 
into left field the ball, quickly, was sent.
Left fielder Maine Coon cat ran for the ball,
Pauly Pug on first base never did stall.

Pug rounded the bases, a cloud of dust,
running for home plate, as he knew he must.
Russian Blue cat was catching home plate,
Maine Coon cats throw just a bit late.

Pauly Pug crossed the plate, the score was tied,
Freddy Fox Hound gave that ball quite a ride.
The next two Stray batters went down in smoke,
an epic baseball game, this is no joke.

The afternoon wore on, battle royal,
both teams competing with highest moral.
Pitchers dueling in highest degree,
all of their skill for everyone to see.

We come at last to the bottom of nine,
Trash Can Cats now weren’t doing so fine.
The score in the ninth still tied one to one,
if Downtown dogs scored the game would be done.

Springer Spaniel up to take his turn,
three times passed Spaniel that fast ball would burn.
Dan Dachshund followed, next in the order,
three pitches all strikes, right on the border.

Bulldog next up, last hold out of hopes,
with slow confidence, to the plate he lopes.
Bulldog practices a swing, thunderous might,
set not to go home a loser tonight.

Stepped to the plate, gave the pitcher a glare,
planning a hit with no mercy to spare.
The first pitch a blur no chance for a swing,
went so fast, he didn’t see the darn thing.

Next pitch was low and they called it a ball,
he stepped off the plate, the pitcher to stall.
Here came a pitch it curved to inside,
Bulldog took a big swing, losing his pride.

Then two more balls were to follow that day,
three balls two strikes on the count they would say.
Next pitch coming, he could see the darn thing,
he reared back and gave his most vicious swing.

The crack of the bat shocked even him,
the Trash Can Cats future now looked dim.
Howe Himalayan cat ran at top speed,
so hoping to catch this game winning deed. 

The crowd were all standing, waiting to see,
the out come this blast from Bulldog would be.
The ball flew so high, then began to fall,
finally landed way over the wall.

The crowd gave a cheer and shouted as one, 
the Downtown Stray had successfully won.
Both teams met in the middle of the field,
shaking of hands, their friendship was sealed.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©

Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Hurray" our national pastime has arrived,
Hot dogs, beer, peanuts, baseball is here, surprise'
Follow your favorite team, Yankees, Dodgers, Arizona, whoever,
Our nation loves this sport, probably it will go on forever.

Our national pastime starts with the fans,
Steroids finally addressed and put to rest, the drug use is now banned'
Cheering, the roar of the crowd,
Rah' Rah' Rah' Baseball should be proud' 

The gift given to youngsters, as their eyes shine,
As their heroes play to prime-time.
It gives chills to them, to see the season finally start,
It lifts youngsters hearts, to see their heroes play with heart.

Have fun all, and let the games begin, 
In each city, hopes and dreams, for their city's baseball team, to win.
God has blessed America, and we must never forget,
Baseball is a distraction, a 3 and half hour game, that brings smiles to elderly and the 
younger set.

It binds our nation, in its spectacle, and grace,
A diversion from our national troubles, on with the pennant race.
But, never forget God's gift to all,
To allow us this diversion, this spectacle called baseball. 

Copyright © Robert Ball | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
 its a game
some or insane
to them it not ashame
to sit in the stand
listen to band 
as it rain fall
ITS RAIN AND BASEBALL

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
its there time
to get in line
listen to to band
the hogdog stand
catch from the wall
the water fall
this is the reason
KIDS AND BASEBALL SEASON

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
its there fame
its there game
to hold up there hands
in the fan stand
as it bounce off the wall
to make the catch
for ths reason
it
KIDS AND BASEBALL SEASON

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Focus means everything!!!....  


                              Effort.                            Courage.       

                                   

In times of our lives we strike out but it is a team sport.    
                      

Think about when you hit that home run!!!!!!!   


It really doesn`t matter at that MOMENT who was there and who wasn`t.

Who applauded and who didn`t.      

      

Moments are all we have, when "time" itself was calculated by the stars and man; 
therefore i fail to believe it truly exists.   

           

Love and The Fight For Survival  continues on............






(Let's play ball!!!!!!!!~incidently my all time favorite sport to play, watch, and 
burn 'em, every chance I get!) 

Spring is here!!!     WoooooooHooooo!!!




Life is just that way. 

Thanks to all for allowing me to openly express myself here at 
this soup, where there is no norm in form, it's just poetryman.
 No right, no wrong... 
Let's shake hands because it sure has been an exciting game that at times I didn't 
realize I was even playing...! 
All in all life is sweet and short. 
May you be blessed in your lives and your creatitity.

                                                   *~THE END~*
Sincerely,  

Lucinda

Copyright © Lucinda Bulger | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |


During the time before television came to our home,                                     My dad sat there in his car on many a dark Southern                                 night. And I was somewhere close by, enjoying a wonderful
game of Major League Baseball on the radio.

O, there were several teams in the majors like The Pirates,
The White Socks, and The Red Socks that were popular
teams.  But in my town in Northern Mississippi, baseball                                        was all about the Cardinals, the Dodgers, and the Yankees.

There were many sights and sounds of baseball beaming                                     from radios and television sets.  I must say that I mean                               no disrespect to other good and decent sportscasters,
but Harry Carry and Pee Wee Reese made us feel like we
were there in the stands.

My dad had lots of friends, but two were rivals of the game.
There was his friend, the Yankee man name Mr. Baines;
And then, Mr. Mon, his other friend, was a Dodger fan.
But my dad’s heart was in St. Louis with Stan The Man.

In the memory of my mind, I can hear those games now on radio.                But also, later on, we obtained a television.  With the snapshots           captured in the frames of my mind, I can see the Baseball Game                        Of The Week.

I'm rather certain that neither my dad or his two friends ever graced the stadiums of their teams.  I'm proud to say that it was through them that I developed a deep love for the game.  So in a way, when I saw two games at Wrigley Field in Chicago, they were there also; or when I enjoyed two games of the Giants at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, they sat right next to me.      

They say that baseball is America’s great past time experience;
but for me, baseball was always about ‘now and then’, ‘today, and
‘tomorrow’ too.  It was about a little country boy fantasizing
and dreaming today about what could be tomorrow.
Wr 042010;PS Contest, The National Pastime, Phillip Garcia
also: (Screwed XV11 Contest, Rod Carmack; 10th Pl)

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
its not fixs
some hit quick
its flys  high
close to the sky
than it  fall
its
BASEBALL AND THE WALL

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
Truth could not be eclipsed,
And you said it was a joke.

There was a mystical feeling,
Behind your saying that you 
didn't care.

I could feel obscure pain 
beneath, 
And you said it was alright .

A desire was shrouded,
Once you said I should leave 
you alone.

An Imperceivable feeling was 
sensed,
And you said you didn't know.

I could feel you in disguise,
There was a silence of deep sea 
water.


Written May 16th, 2013

Featured poem of the wk as on Sept 9th'13


Copyright © Dr. Upma A. Sharma | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
its the season
this reason
put the best to rest
who played the game
now have some fame
there name printed 
on the wall
BASEBALL AND THE FALL

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
its the teams dream
so this thing to gain
they train
some in a fla ramp
BASEBALL TRAINING CAMP

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
its a game
can be insane
can be fun
or sungun
if it hits the wall
and water fall
ITS A PAIN
RAIN AND BASEBALL
PAU

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
htis is the season
for this reason
to sit in the stand
hold out your hand
and watch it fall
that hard hit ball
and mabe your catch
if you can
IF YOU TURE
BASEBALL FAN

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |

The sweat pours down from
tank tops and t-shirts,
preposterously loud screams explode
on the baseball field around them.
Drink it all in for a win that's more
than a glory of the game
by those who long for excitement
and the possibility of league's trophy.

The raucous crowd of spring flock together
their arms flinging outrageous signals ,
with high pitched hurrah, as bats fly off
to gaily rattle, “Oh, my! Go get 'em!”
when men become boys of spring's home-run!



Batter Up Contest

Copyright © Banjo Casto | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
its  family time
under the sunshine
we pack the rack
time to relaxs
weather is hot
we fine nice lot
its
PICNIC AT THE DOCK

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
the corlor band
now stand
so many put back
cause they were black
its  afact corlor line came in time
now in the fame hall
BLACK HISTORY IN BASEBALL

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
the or from same town
this team was found
they run
to them is fun
the begin and win
to bea sucess there dream
this
GIRLS BASEBALL TEAM

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

The old kings are about to lose their crown,
young upstarts are about to swat them out of the way
Father time has knocked another aging champ down,
it's really sad to see greatness turn into mediocre play
Start making the funeral arrangements,
and don't forget to publish a fond obituary
Bring a shovel to the postgame press conference,
there's gonna be a lot of bodies to bury
On this cold, early October night,
when this last game end,
the mourning will surely begin
The eulogy is set    ...   check
Pallbearers in place   ...   check    
Open the doors, and bring around the black hearst
The champs are toast,
they just went from first to worst
They went from the top to the bottom,
and it happened real fast
They went from the front to the back,
from number uno to dead last
Ah, well ...
Nothing last forever,
greatness always gets over-the-hill
When you still compete past your prime,
there comes a time, you're gonna have to pay the bill
So tip your cap to the old boys;
remember all the exploits they did,
how they once made a lot of noise
As the last man on deck steps up to the plate,
give a standing o to this team of former greats ---
Ex-champions who stayed in the game too late

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
it what spring
do it brings
this season
for this reason
they train
some have leg pain
its there thing
to be ready and steady
for summer field sunshine
at
BASEBALL TIME

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012