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New Baseball Poems

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I HAVE THROWN THE BASEBALL by Lee Sr., James Edward
Baseball Anyone by Wood, Dean
Mr Baseball by Jung, Andrew
Baseball Everywhere by Rimon, I.B.
Yet Another Piece of Baseball Poetry by Anish, Matthew
Ode to My Barbed Wire-Wrapped Baseball Bat by Salmonson, Jessica Amanda
A Baseball Constanza by Berggren, Alfred
Baseball Reflections on a Rainy Day by Anish, Matthew
BASEBALL by Cwiak, Dan
Life's Like A Baseball Game by Ellison, Jack

View all new Baseball Poems

The Best Baseball Poems

Details | Baseball Poem |

Remember Me

Remember me...

A  fresh sweet scent

of  last gardenia

on yesterday's linen sheets

Remember me...

A cherry bud

in your backyard orchard

revealing  first pink shades

in once upon a soft blown kiss

Remember me...

An early summer

sharing your beach towel

and coconut butter

Remember me...

A roaring log fire

on a stormy night

in the hallway 

to your bedroom door

Remember me...

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

Details | Baseball Poem |

Baseball Card

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...

Details | Baseball Poem |

While You Sleep

While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly 
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.

Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel, 
And so before it I choose to kneel.

I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.

I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.

I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.

My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.

Details | Baseball Poem |

Coach Dad--Collaboration with Tim Smith

Coach Dad

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

5/4/16
© Tom Quigley and Tim Smith

Details | Baseball Poem |

The Outfield Boy

The outfield boy stands waiting all alone,
playing the game that many children love.
From the pitcher’s mound, a ball has been thrown.
The outfield boy stands waiting all alone.
The ball has been hit. See how it has flown
straight into the glowing boy’s baseball glove!
The outfield boy stands waiting all alone,
playing the game that many children love.

Written Dec. 2015 for the Oil Paintings 4 & 5 Poetry Contest of Eve Roper

Details | Baseball Poem |

Depression

Fighting Depression
We’ll defeat this enemy
We’ll soar like eagles

Edward J. Ebbs - 09/27/14

Details | Baseball Poem |

Baseball

To see the game, you have to plan
It takes some time you see
This is for all the die-hard fans
You'll need a strategy

To stand in line for baseball
Can be a timely task
You first must get the tickets
To clear your way to pass

Excitement now before the game
Which section are you in?
The dugout group or foul ball side
Row 5, seats 9 and 10

Concession stands are all around
Decide which should be first
Tee shirts and hats or hot dogs
You'll have to quench your thirst

Now don't forget the plans you made
Cause folks are filled with glee
You'll drink your beer, your coke and sprite
But then you'll have to pee

Another line to wait in
The porta potties blue
Don't get distracted from your plan
They'll jump in front of you

Oh Wow! Another "homer"
My team is going to win
Can't wait for seventh inning stretch
I have to pee again

Great game it was they played today
Our team is now the star
We're tired but we have to go
It's time to find the car


(Submitted for the "Batter Up" Contest
Sponsor -  Debbie Guzzi)

Details | Baseball Poem |

The Hourglass of Time

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!

Details | Baseball Poem |

One Man One Cap and a Baseball Bat

He was known as Joltin John
With his baseball bat and his cap upon

He played the game with vigour and speed
Many a supporter said he was all that they need

Was born Guiseppe Paolo DiMaggio number eight child
Lived in America  for his eighty four years 'til he died 

Played as centre fielder during all his career
With the New York Yankees, who he held dear

Described by some as an uncaring brute
Responsible for Marilyn Monroe sliding into disrepute

With sedatives and such by dominating her so much
Controlling her career to stop her kissing men and such

He craved the limelight just for himself
Yet disliked Marilyn doing the same herself

Yet on the field he was no freak
Known for his 56 game hitting streak

Was MVP winner three times with determination
An all star in each of his thirteen seasons

You will find him in the baseball hall of fame
Look closely you will see his name

Was voted as sports living legend of all time
Was the baseball centennial year of nineteen sixty nine

His first wife was Dorothy Arnold an extra on the film 
in which his minor role endured her to him

Married for just five  years a son was born
Carries the  name of Joseph John

In later years after the Arthur a Miller charade
DiMaggio rescued her  from the tormented life she had

Would sit and read poetry on their latter years
Finding a Contentment that slated all fears

So this man had his bad points and good
Needed to reach his soul to be understood

Deep down inside he loved Marilyn for sure
This we will never find out, cos he is no more

He stands alone high in his baseball we surely know that
As a father and husband  on his nose he fell flat
.
Remember when we see these idols it's all outer skin
We will never ever know what they are thinking within.

penned 20/4/2015

Details | Baseball Poem |

I am a Fat Oriole

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

Details | Baseball Poem |

MLB Begins

Preseason Baseball
two-thousand-sixteen
is now underway
oh what fun it is
watching baseball played

the grapefruit league
the cactus league
in Florida
Arizona

who'll make team
and who won't
get in shape

April
for real

play

Details | Baseball Poem |

Rowntree Park

ROWNTREE PARK

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.

Details | Baseball Poem |

Sandlot World Series

Some walked, others biked
As we gathered at the park
There was Jimmy, Peewee
Ricky, Billy and Mark
Neighborhood boys
From blocks around, they'd descend
For the Sandlot World Series
It was friend against friend

There were seven to a side
The bat was tossed to Bob
It was fist top of fist
'til a thumb crossed the knob
Back and forth went the score
Our pride made us care
The other team would storm back
And the tempers would flare

I was Mickey Mantle
Stuck out in right field
With a gun for an arm 
Two bare feet for wheels
In inning number seven
And getting quite late
The tying run once again
Strode across the plate

After Tommy struck out
It was our turn to bat
We were cheering and yelling
Shaking our rally hats
Peewee lined a single
He was always big trouble
Then Steve, my brother
Lucked out with a double

It was second and third
With nobody out
When I stepped to the plate
Jimmy's mom gave a shout
Then I heard my dad
Holler,"Time to eat"
The game ended in a tie
As none wanted to get beat.

In nineteen sixty six
On a hot August day
There were fourteen friends
Who gathered to play
Not the first nor the last
That ended a little teary
As supper time brought a tie
To the Sandlot World Series


    Feb 15 2017
  by Daniel Turner

Details | Baseball Poem |

George Theodore


This man was affectionately nicknamed “The Stork”.
He played only two seasons with the Mets from New York.
George was a native of Salt Lake City.
His major league baseball statistics were not pretty.
When interviewed, he would often deliver a vintage quip.
He would have played longer if he didn’t dislocate his hip.
After the 1974 campaign, George walked away.
He is a youth baseball coach and school counselor today.

I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.

Details | Baseball Poem |

The Redline

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
T-shirt
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
At Wrigley 
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

Details | Baseball Poem |

Haiku for an Apple Mac

This gray Apple Mac,
is it true that i use it,
or does it use me?

Details | Baseball Poem |

The Old Ball Game

When I was a child,
summer at my Aunt Joanne’s
meant staying out as late as it took the sun to set!
And mostly with my cousin Chris,
I threw a baseball back and forth
with exhilaration each time I felt
the impact of Chris having thrown the ball
right smack in the center of my glove.

Chris’ dad, my Uncle Clifford, loved his baseball!
One time I remember
being loaded with the other kids into his old car,
summer wind blowing through my hair,
as he drove us to a game in Davenport.
Uncle Clifford used to play on that same diamond
where he took us to watch that game.

I wasn’t all that keen on it.
But the atmosphere was so lively.
Vendors selling hot dogs, cracker jacks, and candy -
this was my childhood delight!
I am sure I must have cheered 
for a team of which I knew absolutely nothing,
mimicking my elders there in the stadium
as wildly they called out their reactions to the game.

In school I played baseball myself,
standing like a statue in the outfield.
It was more exciting to watch my brother Dale from the stand,
those long hot summer afternoons as he played on his league.

It would be at least twenty years later
that I would sit and cheer for a baseball game again -
this time for my son in Little League.
Rooting for a loved one makes the game more alive for me!
Grimacing with every strike my son made;
standing up and going crazy when at last . . .
he knocked it out far into right field!
Glowing with pride that my son’s forte was as catcher
and watching him in all his gear behind home plate.

When I hear the old familiar song Take Me Out To the Ballgame,
it reminds me of the simple pleasures
of my youth,
a time when life was slower paced
and those summer days with my cousins.
America’s pastime, which has trained so many kids
to love being part of a team,
now seems to take a back seat to that rowdy sport called football.
But give ME a game I can follow,
a game that through time I came to love.
My Uncle Clifford has since passed away;
oh to spend one more day with him
at the old ball game!

Feb. 24, 2017 For Phillip Garcia's  The National Pasttime Poetry Contest

Details | Baseball Poem |

CAN I

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? 




11-4-16
Alexis Y

Details | Baseball Poem |

A Sonnet To Growing Older

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

Details | Baseball Poem |

Out of shame

As age catches on us 
Would we be found enjoying the swings
No, never out of shame

As age catches on us 
Would we be found playing marbles or flying kites
No, never out of shame

As age catches on us
Would we be foun d jumping in the puddles
No , never out of shame 

As age catches on us 
Would we be found chasing girls or teasing them
No never out of shame

As age catches on us 
Would we be found flirting away
No, never out of shame

As age catches on us
We go to  temples and let life slip by
Yes , all do it there's no shame

As age catches on us 
We would be found talking and praying for our end
Yes , all do it , there's no shame

As age catches on us
We stop going places, meeting people n having fun
Yez , its a done thing n there's no shame.

Details | Baseball Poem |

The Victory Dance

To play as if today
Is your only chance.
Some say, “It’s just a game.”
Have they done the Victory Dance?

When hard-earned Victory
Was finally at hand,
Have they felt the glory
Raining down from the stands?

To do or not to do….
No one wants to hear, “We tried.”
Effort and dedication will be rewarded… 
They are the magic on your side. 

Yes, to fall short is still an option;
But much better to succeed.
Heroes are made and remembered
Only by their deeds.

So, just go out and win.
Give your all to each and every chance.
Persevere and achieve…

And do the Victory Dance.

Details | Baseball Poem |

A Chicago Cubs-Fan Prayer

            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!
 Our Father, who art in Wrigley Field
 Hallowed be thy ivy covered Brick-house walls
 Thy new stadium will come, the owners will be done
 On the mound, sit ‘in with the bleacher-bums or your rich roof-top owner friends 
 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 those places
 And Caray us on and win the pennant races
 All’s we’re ask ‘in for Lord, is a couple a runs 
 Then deliver us a world series, before God loses HIS patience 
                                Amen!

Details | Baseball Poem |

Off the Bench

my baseball playing days in Teeners league
hardly played my main position was bench
by not playing I never had fatigue
use to dream of being like Johnny Bench

in the navy I wasn’t on the bench
I was a star during those times at sea
In France I even spoke a little French
my time out at sea I truly felt free

those days are gone yet I’m reliving them
poetry has been that light at the end
it has nothing to do with my brain stem
I admit this is my life no pretend

I have lived on a bench for a few years
it felt that way yet I never shed tears

Details | Baseball Poem |

Ball

That feeling when you step to plate,
Knowing it's some type of fate.
Looking at an open grass,
With three bases you need to pass.

Grasping life by the hand,
Time to take this with a grand slam!
Stepping to home,
A swing with a small groan. 

I watch as the ball got plastered,
As I ran faster and faster.
Slide to second!
Drop the ball!
Steal the third!
Good call.

It's when I stare at home,
My mind fixates to a drone.
There went the "CLING",
As my legs began to sing.

Home I go,
It's the more I know.
The cheers abrupt,
But die when we know it's not enough.

Details | Baseball Poem |

BASEBALL acrostic

                                            BASEBALL

              Batters up…..the tingles start and now we know its spring
              All the winter woes are gone and baseball fever sings
              Seats are chosen --lucky fans will sit where they can see
              Easy chairs for some are best--- the price of them is free
              Bull pens hold the players and the feelings there run high
              As the batter taps the plate he glances at the sky
              Like somewhere there is a baseball god who’ll help him out
              Luckily he smacks a low ball—it’s a home run and a shout