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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014
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Baseball Poem
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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
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Baseball Poem
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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.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2012
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
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Baseball Poem
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Fighting Depression
We’ll defeat this enemy
We’ll soar like eagles
Edward J. Ebbs - 09/27/14
Copyright © Edward Ebbs | Year Posted 2014
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Baseball Poem
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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
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Baseball Poem
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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)
Copyright © Neva Romaine | Year Posted 2015
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Baseball Poem
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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
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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
Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2015
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Baseball Poem
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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
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2016
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Baseball Poem
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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.
Copyright © Phil Capitano | Year Posted 2016
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Baseball Poem
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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.
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Brian Martin | Year Posted 2015
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017
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Baseball Poem
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This gray Apple Mac,
is it true that i use it,
or does it use me?
Copyright © Jackson LaBaugh | Year Posted 2016
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Alexis Y. | Year Posted 2016
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Baseball Poem
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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
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Baseball Poem
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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.
Copyright © bawa talwar | Year Posted 2017
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Baseball Poem
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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…
And Sooner Magic is 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.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
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Baseball Poem
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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!
Copyright © Tim Collins | Year Posted 2014
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Baseball Poem
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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.
Copyright © Matt Daniels | Year Posted 2013
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Baseball Poem
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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
Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013
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Baseball Poem
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pitcher
cool, cocky
examining, taunting, throwing
batter1, batter2, pinchhitter, batter3
readying, waiting, swinging
ready, missed
catcher
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
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