Best Batter Poems
From outfield judging eyes await your plight,
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven.
Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled...
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like blood boiled, fever'd swing loyal,
now away to skies, all eyes on prized swat.
Faithfully she watched from merciful stands,
clouds roll away from fancy, fated rush.
His chance to meet life, alone in her hands,
though startled by a bat's powerful crush.
Will you strike true in life's bewilder'g plan,
carried on shoulders of heavenly fans?
She comes to bat with the score tied three to three.
Staring out at the pitcher,
she goes into her stance,
just hoping the ball will come over the sweet part of the plate.
Into her motion, the pitcher winds and fires.
Gathering all of her strength,
her eyes lock on the fast approaching yellow softball.
Like a gladiator ready to charge, she coils her body ready to strike.
Swinging with all her might, she connects
and the crowd goes wild as the ball sails
over the center fielder's head and to the fence.
With the crowd cheering,
she takes off like a young cheetah toward first.
A smile on her face and a gleam in her eye,
she looks up and catches the coaches signal to go to second.
Seeing the ball is still in the outfield
and the third base coach waving her on,
she rounds second and heads for third.
Fans fired up cheering,
mom and dad hold their breath and pray
as she rounds third for home.
Looking up and seeing a good relay throw to the catcher,
she throws on her brakes and reverses to third.
A bullet throw from catcher to third base
has her in a rundown.
Like a ping pong ball, they have her running back and forth,
but she’s not worried with her speed.
Then it happens,
the third baseman overthrows the catcher
and she is off for home.
Heart pounding and breathing hard,
knowing it will be close,
she dives feet first and slides into home base
under the tag to make a home run.
The crowd is roaring in the stands,
jumping up and down, hollering and clapping their hands.
Her team mates run out of the dugout and mob her with joy.
She’s made the winning run to break the tie.
By:5/23/2015
A true story of my nine year old granddaughter making the winning run.
Pancake Batter Bessie
She makes flapjacks so fine
Avoiding corn syrup
With Tabasco, liver and onions sublime.
We try to stop her
But she is obtrusive and a ghost
Where we make our own batter
We hide it with our toast.
For Bessie will take that batter
And add extra stuff galore.
Peanut butter and sausage
Corn, pickles, oranges and more.
Bessie empties our pantries in the middle of the night
And grills up inventive pancakes that fill every counter in sight.
Our mother has asked her to stay out of her kitchen.
Pancake Batter Bessy’s creative juices can’t for they are always itch’n.
He stepped to the plate and spit on his han's.
He spit doffing his cap to cheering fans.
Gave his privates a scratch
Spit another huge batch,
Then knocked a home run clean outta the stan's!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Entry for Debbie Guzzi's "Batter Up" Contest
Batter, batter swing that bat, hit that ball!
A roar goes up from the crowd.
The crack of the bat sends the ball soaring high,
To be caught in the right fielder's glove.
Excitement fills the air as the two teams battle on,
Relying on their skills and lady luck.
Umpires stand ready to call "Safe" or "Out".
Players play to win.
5/23/15
For Debbie Guzzi's "Batter Up" contest
When they call Batter Up, I fill with dread.
Back in the outfield I would rather be!
Pop ups, not Grand Slams, I hit instead!
When they call Batter Up, I fill with dread.
Don’t count your chickens. They’re already dead!
With bases loaded, it’s all up to me??
When they call Batter Up, I fill with dread.
Back in the outfield I would rather be!
My first poem you see
about how sweet I can be.
See my pretty dress?
Man I want to make a mess.
How'll I do it, can you guess?
By Jimmy Anderson for "Baby Babbles" contest
If baseball were life and
innings were seasons,
I'd sometimes play the Center-
a neutral spot with few extremes,
time enough for Short Stop dreams.
Don't care to be First-
it takes too much ego
Second is always forgotten.
Three is definitely, surely out
evading the Third degree.
Right is that nev--er/ne--ver land--
a place your brain goes to die.
Of all positions and spaces of Play,
I prefer to be out in Left Field.
There's no place Home.
(Always keep the ball on your eye.)
Batter up was the call from the Ump
Up came a fellow who was quite plump
The pitcher then threw
Strike one!, then Strike two!
He missed the third ball and fell on his rump!
Let me lick the spoon
After you scrape the mixture
Into the cake pans.
Let me have the bowl
So I can lick the sweet streaks.
I will wash the dishes!
So the better bitter batter wants a better bitter bat
But the better bitter batter baker wants to break his cat
'Cause the badder batter baker bakes the better batter's bats
While the better batter's biggest brother balks at all of that.
So the bitter batter's brother bakes a bitter batter bite
with the better bats of butter and the baker's bitter kite
and the bitter better baker breaks the badder baker's bike
So the badder batter baker and the better baker fight.
So the bitter bakers battle, bitter batter now abounds
And the better bitter batter hears these bitter battle sounds
Now the better batter's bitter, no solution can be found.
So the bitter better batter bats both bakers to the ground.
Batter bitter birdie's bum
Fry the fritter for the chum
Peter's picky peaky tum
Tummy crummy dummy dum-dum
I remember the day of my nine pitch inning.
Though it happened over forty years ago.
The day was hot, yet cloudy,very little breeze.
I went through my usual stretching and running.
The guys knew to leave me alone before the game.
The stadium was slowly filling, an early crowd.
It had rained in the morning and the grass was damp.
The fresh cut grass was sticking to my cleats,
which meant the mound's clay would too.
I didn't know much about the other team,
except they were from the Red's organization.
Then again they'd never seen me either.
We were the home team, so I took the mound first.
My catcher and I had just met, me having just been brought up.
We decided to go all fast balls to get into a rhythm.
The first batter stepped up, a tall right handed hitter.
Tom my catcher set up with the center of his body,
six inches off the outside of the plate.
This meant if I hit the glove where he had it,
it would be a ball.I used a two seam grip,
putting pressure on the outside finger.
This would make the ball appear futher out,
before breaking about seven inches towards the hitter.
Still a ball, but something for him to see,
to leave in his mind.To our amazement the umpire
set up directly,behind my cathcher.
The call, strike one!Tom and I looked at each other and smiled.
I immediately changed to a four seam grip,
which stays on a truer line.The next two pitches were six inches off
yet called strike two!Strike three!
The next two batters were set down in order.
Three pitches apiece.All balls.All called strikes.
After that inning and a few helmets slammed,
along with a few bats.We never got that pitch called
a strike again.The umpire had called those pitches,
not by the plate, but, by the center of my catcher.
We thought it funny to strike three guys out,
on nine pitches, none that were actually a strike,
And none that were swung on by any batter.
contest..Batter Up
A
Soldiers
Silhouett
In black granite
Has
Found
A place
To call home
In Battery
Park
The Korean War Veterans Memorial
Located In Battery Park N.Y
Jill’s Better Batter Apple Pie
(Children Story)
Jack loved apple pie
Jill said, Oh my
It is your birthday, I’ll
Bake you a big apple pie.
For a starter Jill used
Eggs, milk, sugar and flour.
It took her one hour
She tried to mixed a
Better batter ,
And in the oven it went.
Jill told Jack to invite
Some friends.
Jack invited Humpty Dumpty.
Willie Winkie, and Diddle Diddle
Who brought his fiddle.
Jill invited Sally and little
Miss Muffet. She was dancing
With Jack and Willie Winkie
Who was sweating and
Smelled stinky.
Rub a dub the whole apple pie
They gabbled up.
Jack did wash all the dishes
And Jill gave him three
Birthday kisses.
Erich J. Goller
Copyright 8.10.2011