Best Hitters Poems
We have designated drivers and designated hitters
But where are the designated cowboys?
The designated artists?
The designated illustrators?
The designated astronauts?
The designated dancers?
Who decides?
Is it the child or a parent?
A mentor? A committee? A judge?
Who gets to designate me?
Will they designate me at birth or is it later?
Do they take my interests and talents into account,
or is it just a random designation?
Can we designate ourselves?
Maybe, if we grow up in the right part of the world.
Maybe not, if we don’t.
Poof. I’m a poet.
Wham. I’m an aerospace engineer.
Bing! I’m a physician’s assistant.
A wonderful truth worth pondering.
Some children are born into a family business,
and they know what they will be doing
because there is no discussion whatsoever.
Poof. They will be painting lawn furniture all their lives.
Wham. They will be gardeners, taking over Mommy’s business.
Pow. They will be engineers.
Their whole family has been designated to be engineers.
No discussion. Just an inner knowing at birth.
It is nice to think that we live in a world where we can designate ourselves.
We can be a doctor or lawyer or pharmaceutical rep.
But can we really? Can the poor really
afford to go to school eleven or twelve years without any pay
to become a veterinarian?
Can the ones who can barely graduate high school
due to lots of pressure from home to
not buy into the “world of school”
truly designate themselves librarians or archeologists?
I would like to think that they could.
I really do wish I could think that.
If that was true,
if we could all designate ourselves and be anything we wanted to be,
I would designate
myself to be a dragon-training, first-rate,
Indianapolis 500 stunt car race driver. How about you?
Categories:
hitters, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Mr. Cub, take me out to the ballgame!
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, TWO!
Our Father, who art in Wrigley Field Hallowed be thy name on those ivy covered Brick-house walls
Thy new stadium will come, the owners will be done
On earth, as it is in heaven to sit in the sun with the bleacher-bums
Give us this day our daily dread, but remove those lights that some say offend
And forgive us our trespasses for trading our best hitters and aces
As we forgive those same players who then come back, and rub it in our faces
Lead us not, into tenth inning disgraces, and worst of all, with men left on bases
Deliver us from evil and finishing in last place
And Caray us on to win the pennant race
All's we're ask ‘in for is a couple a more runs with three men on base
Bring us oh Lord a world series trophy, or it won't be long before were all dopey!
Our faith be rich, but our pockets are poor, because most of us can't afford a dog or a couple a beers in here!
Our spirit lives on and we know no fear, so whaddya say we lose the, "wait till next year"!
Mr. Cub is rounding third and headed for home, one more time on this hallowed ground, but we still need a closer for a Cubs World Series win!
Ronny made the call to one of their friends, "send in the saver, Ernie can't do it all"!
Now the "LORD's" in the line-up, and Mr. Cub just handed him the ball!
Let us all give thanks for Ernie Banks! AMEN!
Categories:
hitters, baseball, childhood, growing up,
Form:
Free verse
This Is My Plan
Now that things are quiet
Heavy hitters hanging low
It's time to post my bestest poems
And let my talent show
I see Deb, Lin and Andrea
Are keeping kinda still
So,I might make it up that list
Where I can show my skill
My eye is on those top three spots
But, before I reach my goal
I'll have to go through Ninty-seven
Poets in a row
But seeing no one, is around
I don't know how I'll miss
To get my poem on the Top
Of The Hundred All-Time List
Categories:
hitters, allusion, anxiety, dedication, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
The fact this pitcher was great nobody could deny.
He could take the baseball and throw it right on by.
His pitches usually blazed through the strike zone.
Frustrated hitters usually returned to the dugout with a groan.
Time marches on, and we can’t live during yesterday.
With age, skill and prowess just deteriorate away.
He soon learns he is not the same player today.
This pitcher discovers some difficulty in winning.
Opposing hitters knock in runs during an early inning.
The manager pops out of the dugout and takes the ball.
Time to bring in a reliever. For today, that will be all.
Categories:
hitters, baseball, stress,
Form:
Rhyme
Two National League teams departed New York City
when the Dodgers and Giants left the vicinity.
Both teams went to California out on the West Coast.
The Big Apple was without a National League host.
An expansion four years later brought another team.
Newspaper editor Joan Payson fulfilled a dream.
Again, New Yorkers could see a National League game.
A new team came to town, and the “Mets” was the team’s name.
With uniforms of Giants orange and Dodgers blue,
they took the Polo Grounds field in 1962.
Many New York baseball fans had shown their loyalty
despite the Mets’ new record for mediocrity.
Winning only forty games and finishing dead last,
the Mets were able to expunge the ghosts from the past.
Again having a team in each league was a reason
for joy and happiness in New York that first season.
They moved to Shea Stadium in 1964.
However, their losing ways continued a bit more.
The Mets’ performance each season did not look too fine.
They lost for seven straight years to 1969.
However, all the Mets fans would get a big surprise.
The team played quite well. The fans could not believe their eyes!
Just past mid-season, they were standing in second place.
The Mets won games, and were moving at a torrid pace.
They soon caught and passed the first-place team from Chicago.
The Mets stayed in first place with just a few weeks to go.
Their pitching staff had Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman,
they also had Gary Gentry and Nolan Ryan.
The Mets best hitters, Cleon Jones and Tommie Agee,
were joined by Ed Charles, Donn Clendenon, and Art Shamsky.
Together, they all formed a winning combination.
A pennant and World Series win brought more elation!
Categories:
hitters, history, sportsnew york,
Form:
Rhyme
A collaboration with Kim van Breda - honored Kim
I've tossed some dreams
into corners
where they sit rusting -
dissected spare thoughts
for a restomod old body
smartly attired with
polished imperfections
swum life's streams
through currents
undulating promises
the color of sandstone
desert miles, turreted
rhododendrons, watered
slips off the extreme
thrown mortified moments
over the fence where
sophistication hid ,then
disguised what still is
numerous rooms,
dust gilded mirrors
flaking walls and trunk
decadence, borderline
decaying memories
of dazed indifference
garnering
no hitters pitched
on dream fields
where egos never bled
and superman never died;
pink tutu skirts wrapped
in the dust of past bright
alighted reminiscence
suspended in stage fright
pirates that held back
on black eye patches,
standing up against
their sick bullying;
tightfisted, shaken
clenched teeth hidden,
beneath awkward smiles
the nights wore down my
introspectiveness
while quicksand roses
reluctantly blushed...still
this virtual room will hold
all that my conscience
will forgive, casting
away offending lies
diffusing damaged
junk yard favorites
Categories:
hitters, life,
Form:
Free verse
I be talking crazy when I’m off the yoppas.
But she love how I talk crazy off the yoppas.
I didn’t really want her but you know I got her.
Filled her script like I was a doctor.
Keep the tool with me, but, you I got them hitters on me.
Keeps me in the zone. I don’t really wanna hurt nobody.
Aye I up the burner, catch a body, then I take his hottie.
A bad boy. Yea, I’m feeling like I’m mister Lawry.
I got that splash in my swag.
Cleaner than a jag speeding down the freeway about 160 on the dash.
Shorty got that class and she ratchet I’m on her fast.
Ima Slytherin her and I'll put lil mama in a trance.
Something like a snake. I’m so smooth when I hit my dance.
All she did was glance, then her hands Slytherin my pants.
One look at the doc, and she's quick to wanna leave her man.
No explanation you already understand.
Categories:
hitters, drug, hip hop, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Pitchers pitching. Catchers catching.
Balls are in the air.
The smack of leather, bonding together.
A spring time love affair
Coaches coaching. Trainers training.
Stylish Unis, socks and hats.
Gatorades, fresh cut grass blades.
Soon hitters with big bats.
Fans are fanning, Radar guns scanning.
Baseball careers are born there.
Raise a beer. Praise The Jays and cheer
Springs just around the corner.
Categories:
hitters, sports, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
Some numbers tumble down the hallowed halls of baseball’s past -
a sport of numbers after all, these memories hold fast.
Stan Musial wore #6, Lou Gehrig, #4;
the “luckiest man in all the earth”, great player AND much more.
McCovey, Reggie – 44, Hank Aaron wore it too.
Remember those World Series gems? Koufax wore 32.
My favorite: “Say Hey” Willie Mays wore #24;
he’s famous for “The Catch” and yes, that childlike smile he wore.
Ted Williams: .406 - .394 for Tony Gwynn,
if ’94 had known no strike, who knows what might have been?
5,714 K’s Ryan amassed,
plus Nolan’s 7 no-hitters: neither will be surpassed.
“Records are made to be broken”, but THIS one never shall:
2,632 consecutive games for Cal.
1947 – Jackie Robinson’s big year,
He broke the color barrier and had a great career.
Roger Maris – 61* in ’61, but wait…
it seems some other cheaters passed him up in ’98.
I don’t consider some worthy to mention by their name –
Their steroids sadly stained the reputation of the game.
Some other numbers come to mind: Babe Ruth’s 714
Hack Wilson’s RBI’s – 191, obscene!
There’s Rickey Henderson’s 130 steals, divine!
Dimaggio’s streak of 56; Hershiser’s 59.
But if a sacred record falls, we oughtn’t be perplexed,
The game’s baton is passed – one generation to the next.
Now Aaron Judge wears 99 – I think he wears it well,
Bryce Harper’s #3 will shine, as far as I can tell.
Young Bellinger wears 35, Mike Trout sports 27,
And Albert Pujols, #5 – their swings, pure baseball heaven.
Today is baseball’s Opening Day, a LONG-awaited season.
What new numbers might come in play - aligning rhyme with reason?
The stands will all be empty though, as COVID keeps us home –
The closest I could come to being there is write this poem.
These numbers represent some well-loved gamers known for winning;
Even the Good Book recognizes them: “In the Big Inning”!
* - Maris passed Babe Ruth’s record of 60 HRs in a season, but it was a longer season, so the commissioner issued an edict that an asterisk be placed in the record books to annotate a ‘tainted’ new record. Billy Crystal made a brilliant movie about that, calling it 61*
Categories:
hitters, baseball,
Form:
Rhyme
Ahh, the boys of summer are back,
Getting ready for some baseball to play.
And while I wish I could join them out there,
That dream has long past from another day.
Yet I know I'll watch the games often,
Looking to glimpse some memories of old.
Since my love of the game is deep seeded,
As home runs and no-hitters are told.
Being a lifelong fan of the game,
I've enjoyed the history & growth to maintain.
While it has evolved and gone through some changes,
Its roots have essentially stayed the same.
The growth seen in the game has been global,
As many countries now enjoy the sport & teams.
While millions are entertained by watching,
Allowing escape from the hardships and regimes.
Through the popular attraction that's grown,
It's become big business with dollars to match.
But I'll always enjoy the simple pleasures,
Whether it's a stolen base, or someone making a great catch.
Categories:
hitters, baseball, world,
Form:
Rhyme
fuulisdec ascades dash bravened break drastic little pond ex mariner once sadi this
vergreener times two houndered thumder thugga kitty cats plenty of tracks
digital dilusional infuzsions cervival constelllation caner called me pathos
in regressions kent yerr i made to barboas elevated my perception
hitters of reckless ambition thunder silent submarine good buy
blessed appeantently unfilled fractionbs expo exposed mets met jets
r5ussel in my brand on hertz gigabite fisrt wifi liked turtles cherry terror
observe it mission of her worth mopre precious t5han HEAVEN Isabella
Chistina the pain spain spanish exquistions pond grizzls bering strait
at thje lake a soldier bluuf yes ivan i9n gustyu winds chicago lift umber
comiited anderson into a ckinic for his chest arapaho center light rails
right there north deatrh throes sersi yurri siberiann warriors casualy dressed
camaflauger newton as Issacs son in two suns angels spoke disaster fell
astroids hit jupiter fraizer sicioatric artic havoc arestsia master freinds
\venice vietnam pecan pelical gaum lahoste rau warsaw geneva code
divinian divinci michaekangolo mistrees mya exististence rightfull ower of trump
industries bad bamb seashells goodbomb mason thirty second cleapatra
alexanders christmas tree no li9ght in my head still to the nines
Categories:
hitters, allah, analogy, anti bullying,
Form:
Ballade
That bright young President shot down in Dallas
who turned out to be an addict and philanderer.
And don’t get me started on our most
recent former President and his insurrection.
That hundred-meter sprinter who held an Olympic
Record overnight until his urine tested positive.
That cohort of steroid taking home run hitters who
demolished Maris’ record and now in the Hall of Infamy.
That Bills back who still holds rushing records but
might well have got off Scot-free with murder.
That person you though you would become
who became the person you are.
Categories:
hitters, hero,
Form:
Free verse
For the last six years, they were an exciting team
They gave fans a championship, a reason to scream
With strong starting pitching, power hitters galore
Come the ninth inning, the Cubs were ahead in the score
But time marches on, little changes are made
A hitter gets traded, a pitcher starts to fade
Management turns over, players get lazy
Their lazer-like focus off-kilter and hazy
This year's season's still young
There's a long way to go
But the way Chicago's Cubs are playing
They're our 'Loveable Losers' again
~ whom too well we all know
Categories:
hitters, baseball, change, chicago, nostalgia,
Form:
Couplet
He is a San Diego native southpaw.
One of the best young pitchers I ever saw.
The Phillies chose him first in 2002.
In 2006 was his big league debut.
He has made his presence felt with all the teams.
He can baffle the best of hitters, it seems.
With wins and strikeouts, he will be the team’s ace.
Nobody can knock “King Cole” out of his place.
He will be pitching with many home crowd cheers.
May he delight Phillies fans for many years.
Categories:
hitters, dedication, sports,
Form:
Rhyme
Stop.
As a pen I want in the hands of men
Protected by will and need of theme
Anytime existence and assistance provokes
You needed now please come in.
Therefore a calm enthusiasm exists
A certainty of living hope then burns in mind
Requirement of peace is essential for blind
To pass life there is someone to show kind.
Roars of tears in air awoke seeing killing of child
In vain mistakes may be of hitters
Heart rending slashes in bodies of young
Remained, claiming shedding tears.
In the mid my useless pen vomited
What they gave me to eat through the path of eyes
How will mankind consciousness stop!
Killings of innocent births.
( 30/07/2014)
Categories:
hitters, anger, betrayal, change, dark,
Form:
Blank verse