Best Ballplayers Poems
Early one morning a group of rookie's and veteran's ballplayers emerge onto the prac-
tice field destine to began an grueling season of hardwork and a dedication to an common-
goal of Superiority. They come out of the locker room after the coach has given assign-
ment's and now everyone minds are on one accord, one agenda and together they all say to
themselve's. "The road to a Championship began when the priority to be the best", "is know
from one and all roads to success is gear towards teamwork and passionate loyalty to suc-
ceed at any means there is". Loyalty to push on through the inclimate weather, hardwork off
the field as well on the field is approachable only when a championship atmosphere surrounds
itself with ballplayer's and not attitude's disrespectful to the cause of the challenge's to be-
come the best at what you do, and do the best at what not to do. Teamwork is a do-able part
of the puzzle, but there's more to it then that. There is hunger, and then all the pieces falls
together when that hunger is fed an astronomical desire that fill-up the body and your minds
with offensive and defensive individual's that love's victory and enjoy's a desire to not finish
the race in last place. So out emerge's a champion in his relationship to his fellow ballplayers
and to his family as that of maturity and that of unlimited resources of the uncoachable en-
tangable fortitude that seperate the advantage's over the disadvantages that make his or her
teammate's reach the level of sportsmenship unseen and redeem as the fans come to see a
player that value's himself and value the diffucult task of Sunday to Sunday ability to be not
only a scholar athelete but also The road of a Champion is what make's him love to compete:
I remember as
a kid
my mother gave my copy
of Frank Waldman's
"Bonus Pitcher"
to the school book fair
I had to buy it back
for a quarter
the book told the tale
of how a "bonus baby" won the respect of
those who rejected him at first
Also, it told the tale
of the Brooklyn Dodgers
defeating the Boston Red Sox
in a World Series
I have re - read the book
during hard moments in my life
Baseball defines
America
Our national pastime
is also enshrined
in the movie
"Field of Dreams"
As for myself - I only played catcher
for a short while in the Little Leagues
and cried as a kid when the Mets lost (as they usually did in
the early days)
I heard stories of ballplayers from years ago
and they still reverberate in my
in my mind
Older now - the best I could do now
is whack some softballs at the batting cages
Time wears us all down
Baseball diamonds still shine brightly
in the minds of most Americans
I remember
as a kid
that my mother gave my copy of Frank Waldman's "Bonus Pitcher" to the book fair
I had to buy it back for a quarter
The book told the tale
of how a "bonus baby" won the respect
of those who resented him at first
Also, it told the tale
of the Boston Red sox
defeating the Brooklyn Dodgers in the World series
I have re - read the book during dark times in my life
Baseball defines America
Our national pastime is also enshrined in the movie
"Field of Dreams"
As for myself - I only played catcher in the Little League for a short while and
cried when the Mets lost (as they usually did in their early years)
I have heard stories of NY ballplayers from years ago
and they still
reverberate in my mind
Older now - the best I can do now would be to whack some softballs from a
batting cage machine
Time wears us all down
The baseball diamond still shines green in our mind's eye!
Is there a reason why all ballplayers spit
Can they get to the majors, if a spittoon the can't hit
Twenty paces while chawing
On tabaccy while jawing
At the ump, methinks it's likely tradition I submit
© Jack Ellison 2015
A nice, pretty Jewish woman
told me a while back
that she thought Basketball was for Black people
What she didn't realize is that it used to be called
"The Jewish Game".
I passed through a period as a youth when
I wanted to become a basketball player
Well, I am now a poet
Maybe one day I will write a poem
about Elgin Baylor or George Mikan
Know who they were?
They were fine ballplayers
Memories of ballgames
are burned into my consciousness
ONE CAN ALWAYS DREAM!
The American Morning
We ride smoothly, deliberately, in this old cruising caravan,
Across the ancient American avenues and boulevards,
Of the once living, and now, the finally dead,
Of the once famous, and now, the finally forgotten;
Of tattooed memories applied in the American morning, cooking
In the back kitchen, with yellow-yoked eggs frying rapturously,
Like monstrous hoards of buzzing locusts, out to kill,
In black pans, sizzling and searing sensationally;
With mysterious, soulful realizations of disappearing time,
The heavenly odors of bacon fat, rising to the old-fashioned clouds,
We come here to turn the radio dial, in this summer of winning and losing;
But now it is all turning, turning as the shadows of life should turn,
For life is the now of when and why; and we all know now,
What ‘s waiting and lurking behind the curtained door.
“No, kind sir, you go first through the door, sir, if you please.”
But as we ride now through these blighted snapshots in time,
This creeping caravan from the American morning comes to a halt.
Through the windshield and into the American night, old eyes see
A crowd of black ballplayers, gathering in Harlem on East River Avenue,
Looking to get inside the big ball yard, with the Babe, the Yankee Clipper,
And the Iron Horse, hitting fungoes over the EL station, over there,
Dressed in over-sized pinstripes, dripping in dirt and tobacco juice,
Tipping sweat-stained caps to the roaring, crescendoing ovations,
Thundering upward and through the airy reaches of the big ball yard,
Somehow do not reach their ears; still, they run fast, as if being chased,
Run faster than all the dead baseball gods of the American morning!
But now it is all turning, turning as the shadows of life should turn,
For life is the now of when and why; and we all know now,
What’s waiting and lurking behind the curtained door.
“No, kind sir, you go first through the door, sir, if you please.”
Well today I find myself stretching again
Passed tests trials and wicked heart men
Playing games on courts
Who me no door
Shuts close with no reason
Freedom comes in season
Time gains its now
Hope despair somehow
Catches up with lost time
Almost lost the mind
Sandy winds in eyes
Differently to cry
Tears of joy to die
Old life renewed
All the reason to choose
Team won without rules
This dude thought slick was slick memo
Producer with no demo
Riding tires without a limo
Stage with out bingo
Won with out a song
Hidden revealed who won
Sitting in the audience tables have crumbs
Snatcher and catchers
ballplayers flipped done
First place without a stump
Hills with no humps
Helicopters blades with days
News casters who lie trilogy
Rain passed storms windy chilly
Seasons have reasons
Maps have overlaps
But people insecure run miles with no crap
Tell tales and stories with lies
Promises made with goodbyes
Pimping Easy prostitute pushed down made to cry
Die deaths streets with beats
Undercover paid service with creeps
Heep down with locks too
Blurred Lines tell lies too
Who wrote Gaye lines paid lines have paid too
I watched as the Mets slammed the opposition 10 -2
Been a fan for years
Played catcher for a little while as a kid
Watching sports is a great way to take your mind off
The terrible things we see in the news
Make a little money from writing
and check my stocks periodically
Some people think ballplayers are overpaid
They all make more than the President does
But sports are good for male bonding
Any females who love sports poetry
Please write me!
In the land of fairies and gnomes
Was a gnome often seen on the phone
And an up to date fairy
With armpits quite hairy
Like all ballplayers were spit prone
Is there a reason why all ballplayers spit
Can they get to the majors, if a spittoon they can't hit
Twenty paces while chawing
On tobaccy, while jawing
At the ump, methinks its likely tradition, I submit
I must say
that there have been
terrible things in the news
But one can escape the horrors
By reading a good book
Or by watching baseball
That great American pastime
I take pride in Jewish ballplayers
and I take pride in being American
Although our land is now going off course
Hope must remain in our hearts
When the haters crawl back under the rock they came from
then we can once again take joy in the natural wonders
and unique ideas which we have given the world