Best Minor League Poems
Small city arena long out of date,
that is where this B-league team plays their games,
young men learning, hopes for fortune and fame.
I watch the practice, they shoot and they skate,
remember back when I was at that weight…
Here at least the ticket prices are sane,
NHL’s prices send shocks through my brain,
this is a fun time, even if they don’t rate.
The clean smell of ice as they drop the puck,
racing past blue lines from board to board,
small man gets cross-checked, he seems out of luck,
then big man in the box for five minutes more,
power play offense, a slap-shot is struck,
bounces of the goalie, a scramble to score…
The Mets figured they already had a pitching ace.
They badly needed a competent man to play third base.
A righty and a lefty were considered better than dependable.
The management considered another right-handed pitcher expendable.
The Amazin’ Mets felt they had minor league talent galore.
After the win in ‘69, they were gunning for one more.
For this expendable right-hander, a converted shortstop the Mets would get.
This was a deal the front office and fans would regret.
The outcome of this done deal proved to be a shame.
That expendable right-hander went on to the Hall of Fame.
DURHAM BULLS
A triple-A minor league team,
most remember Bull Durham the movie.
I, the most spectacular firework set,
in the stormy sky. The kind of lightening show,
I think I shall never see again. The stands erupted
with screams and yells
“Chicken! Chicken! Chicken”
Well, we are in the South, with their choice of entertainment.
Looking left and right, wondering at the uproar.
The ground wet, the sky still, a mini diamond
for a balking bird, a mascot of sorts,
running bases, while the crowd cheers.
The game back on, after sweeping away flood waters.
Every home run produces red eyes and a snort, steam
aggressively fighting from the nostrils of the famous bull.
My young nephew,
proudly walks away with a team jacket.
Whether the game was won or lost, I don’t remember,
except we had such fun. Our American past time,
memories last forever.
2/21/2017
Summer arrives and the Brooklyn Cyclones are
in first place
Saw them the other day and they won in twelve(!)
Just spoke to a friend
who wants to see the Staten Island Yankees play
Another A - Division team
Some fans won't go to see a minor league game
I think they are missing out
When in Puerto Rice I saw the San Juan Senators
play the Ponce Lions
A band in the stands and liquor being served as well
Didn't need any intoxicants - the green field, the cheerleaders
and the frozen ices and hotdogs along with the battle
were enough to sustain me during the hot New York City summer
I was born
in October of
1955
One could hear
the World Series
from the hospital room
The famous series where
the "Brooklyn Bums"
finally defeated
the incredible Yankee machine
This upcoming year
I intend to go
to some games
I may even go to a
minor league game
At Keyspan Park
the Brooklyn Cyclones
delight the crowds
My thoughts drift back to
Banner day at Shea
Had sparkles on my banner
My experience with playing the game
consists of a being a catcher
for a short while
in the little League
Never a great athlete
Yet an intense Mets fan
I view them as the descendants
of the Brooklyn Dodger and New York Yankees
Pass the Canyon of Heroes
on my way back from work at the
community college
where I hear they have a good
baseball team
Gotham needs its baseball teams
they are part of the glue which
hold it together
Part of the dreams of stick ball players
of those(including myself)
who went to the batting cages at Coney Island
Play ball, man
Small stadium built in the late forties,
minor-league once, but has been left behind,
built with girders and backless, wooden seats,
a local relic of an older time.
The players look so young, barely can shave,
the pitching is rough and some balls are dropped,
a few have been drafted by big league names,
one has promise, at ninety-four was clocked.
Young kids run around, and between innings
some do wacky races upon the field,
but have fun even if they’re not ‘winning,’
and the high-fives from the players are real.
So far not a hit has yet cleared the wall,
but six bucks is still good for live baseball.
Went to see a minor league game
in the fabled borough of Brooklyn
Ate hot dogs at Nathan's
then headed to Keyspan park
home of the Brooklyn Cyclones
The team won in 11 innings
The crowd was filled
with characters who yelled their approval
at every good play
Pretty cheerleaders with silver pom - poms
brightened the evening
The borough of Brooklyn
is no longer home of the fabled Dodgers
But I saw the Cyclones battle hard
and celebrate their victory in grand style
There is something to be said for hot dogs
and baseball
There is also something to be said for Brooklyn
An integral part of the place millions call home
Gotham - New York City
Econo Lodge sign
High
On
Its
Pylon
Best we can do
For you Tedeschi Trucks
To put a moon in the sky
Over this interstate interchange
Jammed with cars and a decrepit minor league hockey stadium
Advertising the glory days and beer swigging of The Wings
Glows over the deadbeat semis and construction cones
Tearing apart I-94 between Chicago and Detroit
Gleaming casino next city over
Mocking us all by suggesting
I’ll see you over here
The last great guitar players and their dwindling fans
In just a few more years
Yes it’s 2024
And for good our children have left the house
Its couches beds and kitchen table chairs
Like unstraightened frames holding all our wall photographs
Our dog doesn’t mind
Wags his tail with the additional luxury choices
For his many daytime naps
My wife and I look for familiar friends
Though we understand the band are total strangers
During these glorious last 14 years together with us
We don’t want to be creeps to Derek and Susan in love on stage
Though we were the first to love them both up there
I give a hearty wave anyway from the front seats
And I think through the spotlights there’s a smile or wink returned to us
The silhouettes
As the two and their band watch one another
Still mesmerized as they saw and sing the epic Shame
And we the audience smash our hands and shake our tambourine heads
How can the whole world not know more
About this travelling family of musical magic?
We know in our minds they’re the best band in the world
On the scale of Zeppelin or the Stones in their prime
But in the now
And here they are
Still looking good and cool and willing to share something better
Kind enough to stop over
Say hello
Between Red Rocks and Milwaukee
To this little rustbelt university town
Stadium filled only three quarters of the way with 4000 people
I’m sure a sop financially for somebody
But the masterful musicianship we joyfully hear
And we respond with whistles and cheers
As good as anyplace
As loud as ever
Afterward
Outdoors
The Econo Lodge moon buzzes and blinks in our rearview mirror
For our long drive home on I-94
Back to Lansing we go
Chasing breadcrumbs the dotted lines
Our hearts filled our ears ringing
Through the quiet speeding dark.
Last Sunday
I went to see
a minor league game
took the ferry to
Staten Island with two friends
Nearly everyoen is reeling
from the two mass murders
in our land
But we will recover
New Yorkers will - so will the rest of the
USA
Saw a good ballgame and
enjoyed myself
Sporting events can free the soul
from the dark clouds which have
descended on the USA
Baseball is the quintessential
American game
and we fans belive
it is a joy to watch athletes perform
The forces of fear will be no match
for the forces of light
in the American experience
Maybe I’m just being petty
let me state my case are you ready
When we first met your swagger
made me stagger honestly
I stammered over your use of grammar
Like a hacker who was
attacking with your rap....
Your words were so deadly....
Such a clever endeavor
whenever your around
a bearer of wealth and treasure
leaving me bound
Silently you’d sit,
yet righteously you’d come back violently
leaving those who tried you, lifeless
Your very vibrancy excitedly delighted me
How they would think themselves majorly
Lol but truthfully only minor league
Always hittin what you were spittin
don’t you agree
We were a dynasty
I say that modestly
Always being the talk of society
we were their delicious tea
Over time now I wonder
do you still notice me
Or perhaps Im just too devoted see
I’ve promoted my motive endlessly
Lowered my guard just a poetess,
writing poetry
Noted all the unknowns graciously
As I’m steadily trying to
write impressively
Countless pieces I bring in
a myriad unnoticed seriously
So curiously am I petty?
You got me
I guess that’s it
point, blank, period
that’s the tea
Mr. Sandberg has a very impressive claim:
He is a member of Major League Baseball’s Hall of Fame.
Ryne put together an impressive playing career a little while ago.
He was the second baseman all Wrigley Field fans would know.
Ryne is now managing the Iron Pigs from Lehigh Valley.
The play of this minor league team has impressed me.
They are playing quality baseball that appears quite fine.
In a large measure, they all have to thank Ryne.
She felt she was in the minor league
Not quite brilliant or pretty enough
Her therapist had to triple dig
To learn her childhood had been extremely rough
What makes a poet?
I might be curious how the world function, but in that case
it is better to be a scientist or a cook, don’t underestimate,
when alone in the kitchen while the broth brew he does think
why some ingredients harmonise, or some do not.
Most of the time poets are sons and daughter of the upper- middles classes
with big gardens to dream about butterflies and beautiful flowers.
Of course, they have a connection to get published
and regarded as famous.
Poets of the minor league meet at poets gathering read their mediocrity
to an applauding audience, but they would instead write a novel.
A good poet does not bother with harmonious lines,
he wrestles with his inner self the good, the bad in his mind.
He will not be read of course, but he will still go on writing
The big green ones are everywhere,
next exit in half-a-mile,
they seem almost reassuring,
all done up in the same style.
Then smaller ones bordered in blue,
with promises of food to eat,
the big chains and local diners,
places to stop and take a seat,
then more such signs with the same look,
but this time it’s lodging and gas,
don’t really need a place to sleep,
though I could really use some snacks…
A small sign with a stadium
for the minor league hockey team,
there’s rumors they might move next year,
happens every decade, it seems.
And then there is a really big sign,
it stands tall in a farmer’s field,
hawking Indian casinos,
with their fantastic weekend deals.
ever so often, by exits,
I see symbols on a high pole,
visible near a mile off,
telling me here burgers and sold.
And sadly, there’s a blinking sign,
a warning to slow for road crews,
it never fails, they’re always out
when I have got something to do.
I come through the birth canal alone but I have never really ever been alone I have knowledge man's knowledge it is substandard the words are finite I speak and spell them out but it's not quite I have God's word and I'm not alone I have a saving a savior who took all my sins he died for me I have Christ Christ alone upon redemption in my minimum faith minor league I stand for fixed I have God the grace I have grace alone with the faith of a mustard seed I have faith alone other than God's glory I have God's glory alone ~and when it's all said and done I am never ever alone
3/14/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022