Best Pennants Poems
It was a very humid day.
However,the leaves are waving at the sun.
Like pennants at a football game.
The branches of the trees doing a belly dance
at close of this day.
The kitchen smells like a diner with
fresh meatloaf.
My cat, licks her jaws happily after her
dinner.
Almost time to put down my quill.
To bathe, to dream, above all, to love.
And most importantly, to be grateful
June 14, 2020
8pm PST
Poem # 1241
Categories:
pennants, home, sunset,
Form:
Free verse
Homage to Johnny Bench
The greatest catcher ever was
With one hand 'hind his back
Was Johnny Bench. Yep, that's the buzz.
And never did he slack.
He broke ole Yogi's home run hits.
"The Little Colonel"'s claim:
Three hundred eighty-nine and gets
The Baseball Hall of Fame.
His Cincinnati Reds they won
Four pennants in the League
And twice the Series! OK.'s son
Had baseball under siege
He had big hands and he could hold
In one hand seven balls
But more than this, he speaks, I'm told
At charities and malls;
Awards for college athletes;
He writes and sings on pitch.
While teamwork makes a job complete,
A dream made Johnny Bench.
©deborah burch
3.24.2013
Categories:
pennants,
Form:
Quatrain
After chewing shoe leather they called steak,
in the Pencey cafeteria,
Mal, Ackley, and I enjoyed a winter afternoon on campus,
on the bus, and in a restaurant.
We walked across a puffy white quilt
as students conversed, laughed, and threw snowballs.
I held my snowball until the bus driver told me to leave it outside.
We had intended to see a comedy with Cary Grant,
but Mal and Ackley had already seen it.
We hung out in the restaurant played pinball and ate burgers.
Arriving back at our dorms at a quarter to nine,
Mel left for a bridge game
and Ackley shoved his acne ridden face into my pillow
until I told him I had a paper to write.
I couldn’t write what Stradlater wanted.
I couldn’t describe any rooms without elaborate furniture.
I couldn’t describe sporty rooms
with trophies on dressers and pennants on walls.
My brother Allie played baseball.
He wrote poetry on his catcher’s mitt with a green pen.
He stood in right field and recited verse from his imagination,
in his mind.
He died from leukemia very young.
I fell into a depression,
a garage,
a gym with windows to punch out.
I broke my hands against our station wagon’s windows.
I cannot make a tight fist.
I curl my fingers enough to type excerpts of Allie’s poetry
for a paper that will never be appreciated.
My red headed brother Allie,
such a good natured kid,
he had a good combination of extrovert and introvert,
avoiding anger.
Sitting on his bike fifty yards away
with his hair shining in the sun
as I teed off,
hoping to make a distant green and shoot under par.
Mom had scored a hole in one with him.
I still try to overcome unidentified handicaps
on a hazardous course.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are intrigued by this work read and review G. D. Master’s book, “Interpretations,” free in PDF format on SmashWords.com. Enter “gd master” or “interpretations” in the search bar of SmashWords to find it.
Categories:
pennants, appreciation, brother, cancer, death,
Form:
Prose Poetry
In October of 2004,
“The Curse of the Bambino” was no more.
Boston Red Sox fans had never seen
a World Series victory since 1918.
It seemed ever since Babe Ruth was sold,
only Red Sox fans who were very old,
would ever see their team take it all.
Elusive would be the World Series in the fall.
The teams would win pennants for many years.
However, World Series contests would bring tears
to many a Red Sox fans’ eye.
It seems winning always passed them by.
Since the days of Ted Williams and Carl Yastrzemski,
Red Sox fans would never see
their favorite team achieve victory.
However, in the season of 2004,
the losing ways would continue no more.
They met the National League team from St. Louis.
This team possessed great baseball prowess.
When the Red Sox met the Cardinals at Fenway,
this time, victory would not get away.
Red Sox fans expressed great elation.
They all rejoiced in jubilation.
Categories:
pennants, sportsworld, red, red,
Form:
Rhyme
I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
So you bought a curse named Ruth
Not to mention 26 Octobers to boot
Did you do it to spite this game
Integrity sold for the price of fame
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
You built a cathedral from which to boast
Helped the Babe exorcise Gehrig’s ghost
Buried Maris beneath a Mantle of shame
Sleeping with a bottle and two dames
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Joltin Joe swinging that Marilyn clout
The mighty Casey you struck out
Too old for a springtime affair
Welcome Jeffrey Maier
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Three times a charm in the Bronx zoo
Reggie’s knockin them out, Billy too
Who needs a bookie if you have a boss
You can bet you’re fired after a loss
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Beware the seduction of pinstripe sin
Immortalized by Jeter’s cocky grin
Four more pennants in five years time
Selling out is winning’s soul crime
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
So tell me George, when will it end
Is 200 million a salary cap or a trend
If it’s a general manager you seek
I hear the Devil comes real cheap
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I pray
Damned Yankees
I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
Categories:
pennants, angst, history, introspection, sports,
Form:
Ode
" Red White & Blue "
Let's sail now boys for our flag~
Into gales down great waves~
Come now lads don't ye lag~
Who fights now our shore saves~
Take ye now your grog in hand~
Merry thus ye hearty band~
Aloft to set her greatest sail~
A'sea we go to warship hail~
Cannons ready powder black~
Cutlass honed scabbard slack~
Keen our eye for enemy found~
Into battle we're thus bound~
Our ship she flies her flags so high~
Atop tall masts beneath our sky~
Pennants sewn for they our krewe~
Naught but colors red white & blue~
SeaWolf
©
Categories:
pennants, adventure, red,
Form:
Rhyme
I sit in the sand
With my knees in my hands
Just staring out at the sea
Contemplating
The meaning of life
And maybe the meaning of me
For all that I've done
And all that I've won
Is that the meaning of life
To live and to build
To follow the guild
With a family and a wife
I picked up some wood
And then as I stood
I swirled it around in the sand
I drew up a picture
A plan for a fixture
Then gathered some sand in my hand
I mounded and moulded
I creased and I folded
I piled the grains way up high
I cut and I sliced
I poked and I diced
Then held out my thumb for my eye
I sculpted some turrets
Then planted some pennants
With the seaweed that lay all around
I marveled at how
My hands could endow
Such a sculpture upon sandy ground
I returned to my place
And sat in my space
Where I wrote this poetic gem
As the waves crashed ashore
I thought about more
And how poetry is my Zen
I can model some clay
Then write troubles away
All with the use of my hands.
I can also defer
To the grounds by the shore
And build castles out of the sands
Rockman :-)
Written for the contest by Gail Doyle, "Sandcastles By The Seashore".
Categories:
pennants, imagination, introspection, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
91
91
CharlaXFabels
23Skeedo
This is a cliché. That's my name for an old aside or an adage here we go into the
world of CharlaXFabels once more gentle reader ewe 23 Skeedo. 23 skidoo
(phrase)
23 skidoo is an American phrase popularized in the early twentieth century, first
appearing before WWI and becoming popular in the Roaring Twenties. It
generally refers to leaving quickly, being forced to leave quickly by someone else
or taking advantage of a propitious opportunity to leave, that is, "getting [out] while
the getting's good."
23 skidoo has been described as "perhaps the first truly national fad expression
and one of the most popular fad expressions to appear in the U.S," to the extent
that "Pennants and arm-bands at shore resorts, parks, and county fairs bore
either [23] or the word 'Skiddoo.'"
The exact origin of the phrase is uncertain. PHRASE. OH. Okay today we learn
some old phrasers YOCK YOCK YUCK. All Wet - describes an erroneous idea or
individual, as in, "he's all wet." This works better if you can remember the ABBOT
bud and Costello lou he said an aweful lot of these phrases as everyday
wordage. Abbott: Well Costello, I'm going to New York with you. You know Harris,
the Yankee's manager, gave me a job as coach for as long as you're on the
team. Costello: Look Abbott, if you're the coach, you must know all the players.
Abbott: I certainly do. Costello: Well you know I've never met the guys. So you'll
have to tell me their names, and then I'll know who's playing on the team. Abbott:
Oh, I'll tell you their names, but you know it seems to me they give these ball
players now-a-days very peculiar names. Costello: You mean funny names?
Abbott: Strange names, pet names...like Dizzy Dean Costello: His brother Daffy.
Abbott: Daffy Dean...Costello: And their French cousin. Abbott: French? Costello:
Goofè. Abbott: Goofè Dean. Well, let's see, we have on the bags, Who's on first,
What's on second, I Don't Know is on third...Costello: That's what I want to find
out. Abbott: What? Costello: I said I don't give a darn! Abbott: Oh, that's our
shortstop.
http://www.baseball-almanac.com/humor4.shtml
Categories:
pennants, funny, nostalgia, parody, people,
Form:
Prose Poetry
********
We are all Welcome
To His Kingdom
When the Kingdom
Shall Come'
- Fore -
It is what we truly seek
From the Heaven's Above
------
High and Low
We brave Tribulation
As steady as we be
As the Cold Wind blow
As steady as we go
-------
Beseeching our Destiny
------
Doing our Pennants'
Destined to be free...
-----
And the Cold Wind
Doth' blow you know
AS Faith in the Lord'
Doth' grow
Far removing us from
Freedoms' pain
As we pay our Solitary Tributes'
To the Lord
Just the same..
As we thank Him for every-thing
------
Blessed be Thy Lord
Blessed be Thy Name
Amen
GF
Categories:
pennants, faith, forgiveness, life, nostalgia,
Form:
Bio
Swells of nitrous climbing walls, cirrus pennants slowly flag..
Cerise in the lining, richly glowing halls are leading
Onto stairs with eternally deep & steep stooping falls
magenta hued cotton surround me in fields on every side
I'm Floridian dreaming, under bearded trees with the river nearby.
Categories:
pennants, creation,
Form:
Free verse
outside
inventoried oval-stoned
cathedrals appealing
chiming crimes of passion
woke citronella
fog
hung in cement-hamocked snowdrifts
cloaked slow on slick-stained windowsides
tenement sheets
with the pomegranate notes
of rhythms unrhymed
while all the uptown laundromarts
rising up
from insomniac-scrambled sidewalks
corked-copper moon tumbling earthward
like a sweet
sweatshredded pennants
of sun-saliva silks on rain-dribbled cotton
then
cherry-flat footsteps lust-percussive
under shamble-wracked sills
pause and then pass on
momentarily appeased in time by
blued bars on fly-fouled panes
bell tower-balanced above
taverns abutting back alleyways of
need
by fireplace mantle-pieced nooses
of nylonic shirts and poly slacks
and musts dusted-down
past stockinged-lidded faux plastic lampshades
passed on past magnolia movements
of fingertips on muscle surfaces
in-side
defoliate-spun spinnakered islands
chocked choked
in passing lynched adhesion
ignoring nicotine-papered stripteasing walls
or scotch-spat skirtings
creeping pedestal for
a moulded tangerine ceiling stuccoed into sudden mute
breath
rinsed down a night-scented-taking-stock
split-mirrored motel door
they go lunging over greasy chapels of
grit-grained
breakfast jasmine-tea-stained mock vinyl rugs
squeaking cot now like some
concreted river bed's of slump
of stun-spurned wants broken down
consciousness half-considered
stirring
Categories:
pennants, life,
Form:
Free verse
Not sure how fond I am of this write very different style to my usual genre. #experimenting
Well look whos back again
My old compardra
My closest companion chronic pain
What a lovely way to see in the new year
And spend new year's Day
Alone rolling around the bed
Unfortunately in agony
How romantic I bet it said
Maybe it is all in my head
My imagination running wild
Shame it's come up with something I dread
Why can't it just leave me alone
Is it intent on constantly reappearing
Till it's isolated me from everything
and everyone one I've known
Maybe I don't want to be alone
Maybe I don't want to be stuck in my head
Listening to all the negative things it's said
I just want to be free,
free of the pain and misery
It teased me for a time
I thought it had said it's goodbyes
But like a predator
It just allowed me enough time to recover
So It wouldn't all be ended and my casket buried
Before it pounced like a panther
And it sunk it's teeth in
right next to my gugular
Its not finished with me yet
like it would grant me a quick painless death
Why won't it just leave me be
or do the kind thing and put me out of my misery
Surely I've done my time served my servitude
Paid my pennants for whatever crime
Will it not be satisfied till it spills my blood
Or has me hung drawn and quartered
In one last final act of vengance
To inflict the ultimate pain on my broken body
Must I scream like William Wallace for freedom
Will it then relent and show me mercy
I think not, I think it thrives on my cries
Like a psychopath It smiles at my demise
I bet it loves to just sit and watch
Yes it's back again
But this time I don't think it sees the need for a reprieve,
this time it's never leaving it's not stopping
Because it has no plans on ever getting going or being gone.
Obviously I've got a lifers debt left owing,
it would no doubt say sing.
Categories:
pennants, anxiety, dark, emotions, fear,
Form:
Free verse
While your walking around the world
In your own world
Looking up to the clouds
Let them hypnotize you
Watching time move into different shapes and forms
Watching them
You become them
Your energy transfers into the clouds and vise versa
Slowly floating into space
Space is space
Is that really simple of a name for such a mind bending world?
It's another level for a world
People like to think they know it all
Their not going to know what hit them
I wonder how its all going to end?
Hundreds, thousands, millions of pennants and animals running in fear
Right at that moment nothing has any meaning anymore
But the realness trying to fight it's way from the terror
The questions always 'why'
Why can't the answer just be
'because it just is'
Technically its not lying
Humans have to be curious about every damn thing
Didn't curiosity kill the cat?
(What does that even mean? Why a cat? Can't it kill anything?)
Humans are still like children
Always on the go
Won't ever be satisfied with one answer
IS it actually written in stone that humans are the superior race?
Ego trip; out of whack
Will it ever stop?
Categories:
pennants, time,
Form:
Prose
A Lenten Dirge
Ash Wednesday I saw Quinn again,
first time in years, sailing the streets,
weaving through people,
his collar up, his head cocked, his arms
like telephone poles sunk
in the pockets of his overcoat,
the brilliant pennants of his long red hair
waving over the stadium
where years ago he took my handoff,
bucked off guard, broke two tackles,
found the free field and heaved
like a bison into the end zone.
Today, when Quinn wove by me muttering,
I should have handed him the ball
and yelled, “Go, Quinn, go!”
With the crowd on its feet,
he'd stiff-arm the lamppost,
take the free field in stride,
leave all in his wake to gawk
till he hit the end zone
and circled the goal posts,
whooping and laughing,
flinging the ball like a spear
over the cross-bar, into Iraq.
Donal Mahoney
published in print at
The National Catholic Reporter
115 E. Armour Blvd.
Kansas City, MO 64111-1203
March 6, 2009
Categories:
pennants, confusion
Form:
Free verse
Billowy mast with fluttering sails
Along copse strand your arched brow wails
Brigand bough stretching from stem to stern doth vigor extoll
Your steady rudder anchored to the tenuous shoal
Your searching roots navigate through availing streams
Nutrient-rich moisture funnels through your porthole
Sprouting tendrils spurt through your balmy seams
Gallant pennants on your burnished deck stroll
Your brackish-green banner with new luster beams
From each slender trelis, a fruitful pod springs
Lance-like talons form arcing shield that in the soaring breeze swings
In the swaying breeze, each pleated eave solemnly sings
A plush perch your feathery reams dole
A quilted cover for all who under your velvety loft troll
Categories:
pennants, nature
Form:
Rhyme