Best Homerun Poems
Themes rise with glory of the morning sun
Anxious to transcribe what mind has spun
Finding solace in beauty of words written
Thoughts fly on wings of eager inspiration
Heart triggers a rhythm full of creative fun
Anxious to transcribe what mind has spun
Wisdom flows in stanzas aiming perfection
Nature paints a canvas of scenic homerun
Heart triggers a rhythm full of creative fun
Birds fly carrying lines of artistic collection
Evening breeze sighs with poetic affection
Nature paints a canvas of scenic homerun
Love themes and romance quite a selection
Happiness reigns lines of joyous admiration
Evening breeze sighs with poetic affection
Celebrating the art creative spirit has won
Themes rise with glory of the morning sun
Happiness reigns lines of joyous admiration
Finding solace in beauty of words written
Placed 3rd
September 4, 2017
What inspires me to write poetry
Sponsor: Julie Rodeheaver
A HOMERUN
Golden gloves catch.
Louisville slugger hits the ball.
A homerun made.
He shouts home sweet home was my aim.
The clouds were clear.
The crowd shouted from the stands.
This was their hometown and the homerun was made by their player.
The American pastime was invigorating.
Another Babe Ruth in the mist.
He is hitting a hundred this year.
Home sweet home he aims.
The ball is out the park once again.
_________________________________
Penned January 25, 2015!
To God I am thankful for many gifts;
But none more than a creative mind,
And the hands which are the finest tool,
With abilities to create that I easily can find.
As a child I first learned to cherish
My God-given opposable thumb,
Knowing how versatile a device
It is for whacking a fortuitous homerun.
And stubby fingers were early to meet,
And with artistic freedom employ,
All the many vividly colored crayons
To make graphic forms and scenes to enjoy.
And off running into the world of nature,
My hands kept quite busy in work and play.
Without them I found that I couldn’t climb
Nor protect myself in the occasional fray.
My hands loved to tighten and repair my bike,
Seeming to be a mechanic of special training,
Taught by a higher intelligence unknown
For handling every task without complaining.
With maturity the hand becomes more adept,
A magical marvel for all creation to behold.
And in God’s world of many forms to grasp,
It becomes an unique gift worth more than gold.
Then you find there’s nothing your hands can’t do,
‘Cause God has made them in His special way,
With the same loving care you make toys for a child,
Who might find nothing any better for hours of play.
We need to show God that we feel very blessed,
That He was the architect of this precious treasure;
So that we may join with Him in majestic fashion,
Giving the world with fervent impact endless pleasure.
Going to war armed with a metal pole,
A stiff breeze cuts the summer air.
Becoming safe is the primary goal,
And the chattering and cheering begin to blare.
I stop to turn and face my enemy,
He stares me down, ready to battle.
I can only imagine what lies ahead of me,
But I'm tough, so I know I won't rattle.
The first shot is fired, the battle's begun,
And the shot comes close, but misses its spot.
It may have come close, but I will not run,
I dig back in and wait for the next shot.
Wind kicks up the rust colored dirt,
As a next shot, colored white, is coming near.
So I deflect the shot away, without being hurt,
Then dig back in again, feeling no fear.
A third shot is fired in the ferocious fight,
And as this next shot closes on in,
I focus and swing with all my might,
Knowing this is a battle I will win.
I smack the shot long and far,
This will be my moment of fame.
The shot clears the fence and hits a car,
And I know my homerun has won the game.
Liberty Bell, cracked and muted after the war
Apostrophe after every catastrophe under par
Homerun in the Long March of Second War
Coins on cairns of foes and heroes in jar
An exclamation point in war under par.
BASEBALL IS ENTERTAINMENT
I LOVE PUTTING ON A SHOW
I GIVE IT MY BEST WIND-UP
LET THAT BASEBALL GO
SOMETHING ABOUT A STRIKE-OUT
A FEELING THAT THINGS WENT WELL
UNLIKE THE HOMERUN PITCH
WHERE IT FEELS THEY RANG MY BELL
I CONSIDER IT A CHALLENGE
TO FACE THE BIGGEST NAMES IN THE GAME
I BUILT THAT REPUTATION
I HOPE THEY FEEL THE SAME
I KNOW I GET A LITTLE WILD
BUT, I'VE BEEN WORKING ON CONTROL
NO INTENTION TO BREAK AN ARM
JUST TO LET YOU KNOW
IT'S LIKE ONE ON ONE
SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT
BUT IF YOU TRY TO BUNT ON ME
I'LL NAIL YOU ON THE SPOT
YES I HAVE A FASTBALL
NINETY-FIVE AND UP
I KNOW YOU KNOW IT'S COMING
SO GIVE IT YOUR BEST CUT
I'VE BEEN WORKING ON MY CURVEBALL
IT MIGHT JUST BACK YOU DOWN
CONSIDER IT A CHALLENGE
TRY TAKE THAT PITCH DOWN TOWN
I LOVE MY JOB OUT ON THE MOUND
I LOVE THE GAME OF BASEBALL
I LOVE WHEN THE BATTER AT THE PLATE
CAN'T HIT MY BLAZING FASTBALL
I LOVE THE PLAYERS ON MY TEAM
WHO LOVE THE GAME OF BASEBALL
IT'S A THRILL WHEN BATTERS TAKE MY CHALLENGE
AND CAN'T STICK MY NASTY CURVEBALL
As a new father I coached my little league son
He was clumsy and uncoordinated
Picked dandelions in the outfield
Watched bumble bees fly and hum
Would run to a grounder and watch it stop
pick it up to throw it but it would drop
He enjoyed his team mates for they were friends
He struck out more than hitting the ball
Funny thing was he would always run whether he did or not
How I wanted him to hit the ball so hard
Perhaps a grand- slam homerun for him and my heart
But the greatness was in him- he was part of the team
His greatest joy was afterwards
When we’d all go get ice-cream
OL'E TY COBB OF YESTER YEAR,
WAS A GENIUS IN SPIKES, OR SO I HEAR.
HE RAN THE BASES WITH A BURST OF SPEED.
LIKE ADRENALINE JUNKY IN TIME OF NEED.
STOLE SECOND BASE WITH HIS FOOT HELD HIGH.
A SERIOUS THREAT TO SPIKE ONES EYE.
LIT UP THE CHARTS, WITH ALL HIS STATS.
TRIPLE CROWN WINNER AND THATS A FACT.
NINETEEN-ELEVEN (1911), COBB SET THE PACE.
WITH A FOUR-TWENTY(.420) AVERAGE, HE STOLE EIGHTY-THREE (83) BASE.
LED THE LEAGUE IN TRIPLES FOUR (4)TIMES.
HOMERUN KING NINETEEN-O-NINE (1909).
CHECK HIS STATS, HE LED THEM ALL.
THAT TY COBB COULD PLAY BASEBALL.
THIRTEEN THOUSAND-0- SEVEN-EIGHT(13,078).
NUMBER OF APPEARANCES MADE AT THE PLATE.
DON'T FORGET THE BASE ON BALL.
TWELVE-FORTY-NINE (1,249)AND THAT'S NOT ALL.
FOURTY-ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY-SIX (4,186)HITS.
THE RESULTS OF THE WAY HE SWUNG THAT STICK.
BATTING CHAMP ELEVEN (11) DIFFERENT TIMES.
WON NINETEEN TWELEVE (1912)WITH A FOUR-O-NINE (409).
LED EIGHT TIMES, IN TOTAL WITH HITS.
LED STOLEN BASES WITH A TOTAL OF SIX.
EIGHT-NINETY-TWO (892)TOTAL STOLEN BASES.
IMAGINE THE LOOK ON THOSE CATCHERS FACES.
TWENTY-TWO-HUNDRED FORTY-SIX RUNS.
AFTER TWENTY-FOUR SEASONS, HIS CAREER WAS DONE.
HE ONLY STRUCK OUT SIX-EIGHTY(680) TIMES.
OVER TWENTY-FOUR SEASONS, THAT BLOWS MY MIND.
HALL OF FAMER, THATS A FACT.
WITH HIS NINETEEN-THIRTY-SIX HALL OF FAME PLAQUE.
GEORGIA PEACH IS DEAD AND DONE.
JULY SEVENTEEN SIXTY-ONE. A
A HUNDRED YEARS HAVE COME AND GONE,
THAT TY COBB LEGEND, STILL LIVES ON.
Horn Baseball and Football Haiku
Took a swing or two
At a baseball that I do
Always love so true.
Out what I have found
Bat hits baseball on the ground
Love to hear its sound.
Then I must admit
After landing in my mitt
Playing could not quit.
A time once upon
After hitting a homerun
We again had won.
Who would pull a stunt
When I had wanted to bunt
Instead I did punt.
I found that football
Was one I loved best of all
When down it does fall.
In receiver's hands
Meeting all of the game plans
Pleasing to the fans.
What is greatest goal
Is to be in Super Bowl
This I have been told.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Wouldn't you know it
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
Barry Bonds Witchhunt cons
Sold out tickets make owners fond
Money bags Pennant flags
Baseball's back
On Spots Illustrated mags
Homerun chase
Time to contemplate
Adoring fans now say Your a National Disgrace
Commissioner too
Crying the Public Boo-Hoo
Used the breaking of Aaron's record
To advertise the brew
No more dough Let's dull the glow
On this sordid Major League Baseball
Hypocrites Sideshow
Baseball
competitive, athletic
watching, playing, following
single, double, triple, homerun
hitting, pitching, fielding
American, popular
summer
Homerun
Gone
Going
Going
Going
What does it take to step up to the plate?
Every time there is a mistake
Life seems unfair at times and you get out
Other times "HOMERUN" is just shy of foul
Family and friends are your team
Communtication and practice prevent your defeat
Without it you make mistakes and get tagged out
or cause an ERA and begin to doubt
So when it happens that final day
when its bases loaded, two outs and your up to the plate
3 balls 2 strikes and your down by 3
You decide how its going to be
Sure, in the end it doesn't matter who wins or loses
The decisions in life always leaves its bruises
I’m not sure
I have the strength anymore
To be discovered
Stepping into the cold black lake of February
Clopping to work in frozen slop
Snow snarling at my ankles
Car coughing
Windshield gritting its white teeth
I wear a body double of fur curved
Like a polar beast on my back
Then the Voice of the Turtle whispers…
And sprinklers spritz in a mist of sunrise
And rows of palm trees unfold as a breezy outfield fence
Blue sky a homerun boundary
Free to swing away you can’t miss
Buckets of baseballs flung to the green sea
Leather-gloved squids
Eight kids per position
Waiting their ground balls and pop flies
Legend to rookie 60 feet and 6 inches from the big show
Chin skimmed and bum chapped with red dirt
Tip of hat flattened to home plate
Get up swing back at that
Unfamiliar crack of doubt
Deep from winter inside you.
A hot sun is a bird perched on the bill of your cap
#10 Numi eternal rookie in us all
Spread your wings and fly to Detroit
The Old English D forever on your chest.
Hair in a pony tail, ball cap on.
Wearin’ my team colors, ready to rock on.
Husband agitated cause I’m makin’ him wait.
Hey, gotta have my face on, I gotta look great!
Finally at the ballpark, game already rockin’.
Peanut shells crunchin’ quickly walkin’.
“Excuse me, Pardon me”. Finally to our seats.
Hot dog and a beer. This is hard to beat.
Into the first inning and our team at the plate.
Ooh, it’s my favorite player and he is lookin’ great!
Strike one. Ball one. Strike two and then,
A crack as wood meets leather and that ball is gone forever.
As one, the crowd roars and on our feet we stand and grin,
We watch our hero round the bases and bring that first run in.
Back and forth the score goes; it’s the bottom of the ninth inning.
Two outs already, bases loaded, our last chance at winning.
Crowd silent, on our feet as my hero takes his stance.
Only down by one, we know this is his chance.
They’ve brought in the “closer”, the one with all the skills.
He’s throwin’ heat, he’s throwin’ low, he’s going for the kill.
A nasty strike zooms o’er the plate and a collective gasp is heard.
My guy steps back, deep breath in, and not a single word.
Ball one is what the next pitch is and the crowd begins to whisper,
My batter glares toward the mound, “That all you got there, Mister?”
The pitcher shakes off two signals from the catcher,
Checks the runners on the bases, winds up the widow maker.
Like lightning that ball leaves his hand, and with a mighty swing,
He hits the best homerun grand slam that we have ever seen.
Our team has won, the crowd goes wild, the stadium is rockin’!
Our boys are roundin’ those bases and not a one of them is walkin’!
Hand slappin’ our seat mates and huggin on each other.
A long night of baseball ended. Don’t you just love those boys of summer?