Best Pitcher 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?
The Lord poured me, a pitcher of time.
For my personal use, it was only mine.
A generous portion, it seemed I got.
I wasted so much, I poured out a lot.
Exchanged for things, not a bargain in the end.
I can't get time back, it's not something I lend.
My pitcher's half empty, thankfully not too late.
I finally come to learn, what really satiates.
Time spent with people, poured into their lives.
Nourishing their spirits, makes my soul thrive.
Flowers now bloom, as I walk on life's path.
People are my pleasure, I smile and I laugh.
Thankful for each drop, a gift from on high.
Connected to a source, that never runs dry.
My waters of time, are converted to wine.
I give it back to God, it is no longer mine.
When this life is over, I will leave this land.
Off to eternity, as God takes my hand.
Drakes response inspired the wine stanza.
Pitcher deals.
Center snaps.
Forward volleys.
Captain kneels.
Wing traps.
Road team rallies.
Runner steals.
Driver laps.
Bookies watch at O'Malleys.
Coach jaws.
Goalie paws.
Mothers pray.
Midfielder moans.
Winners eat macaroons.
Fathers look less gray.
Refs tally the time left
'Til the moon rises.
Fans leave, bereft,
Searching for further surprises.
Jesus Aquando
learned all about pitching from Brando
coulda been a contenda
till Stella decided to question his genda.
When the pitcher of that little girl broke
And the nectar-like water she’d carried from far shed;
Some smiled; some laughed; some scolded her carelessness,
Some walked on their way as its normal happening;
It’s the poor neighbor boy, who was carrying two of such,
Gave her one; erased her embarrassments; out of pure love!
06 November 2021
BITE SIZE POEM no25 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
THE PICTURE
Edwardf Clay
Jan 1991
Someone stepped out of a picture one day,
Having watched the world go by,
To see what he could learn in the world,
Of earth and wind and sky.
He stepped right out and walked away,
To experience life out of the frame,
And as he walked, he didn’t expect
A world so full of pain.
The poor fellow did not understand,
So he turned around and fled,
Running right back into the picture frame
And tears he would have shed.
Now there he stands inside his frame,
Never again to come down,
Instead of the smile he was painted with,
All the world sees is a frown.
I never knew a pitcher like the one I met today,
he nibbled at the corners, then brought it hard and fast.
Though others have been on the mound, I really have to say,
I never knew a pitcher like the one I met today.
I was trembling in the batter’s box, completely blown away.
This was our first encounter — it will not be our last.
I never knew a pitcher like the one I met today,
he nibbled at the corners, then brought it hard and fast.
Pitcher of Beer
While we will not ever disagree,
Under tree each one wanted to see,
Where there pitcher drawn had gone;
Did dawn on them when on front lawn,
It happened to be inside of me
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Now there is quite a rhyme scheme
for you. See if you can beat that one.
Pitcher on the shelf
In your scared body covered with paint
The capacity to love and live again remain
Caught trapped from years of abuse
Hurt impossible to explain
Even family can't see through to the pain
Right will win but when
The empty scared pitcher
Nicked, cracked, and in need of paint
Trying to fill it with water
It leaked on the sink
Spilling forth to wet
The surfaces and the floor
A little prayer to God above
Filled the pitcher with his love
Now repaired and just like new
Water pours forth
Not spilling on the floor
But going forth to people who
Are also filled and repaired
Now they do not despair
But let their water overflow
Others are touched because it shows
In her heart just beneath her skin lays a tin pitcher.
The spout along with it's sides covered with frost from the coldest of water.
Parched lips long for a drink.
But without cup or glass.
I implore that I have swallowed fear of the utmost; Diving in head first.
A slow sip that eases the insecurity of rejection.
Another sip that interjects that you could be everything that I need.
One more to ensure that I would gladly drown to be loved by you
Purple Pitcher Plant
Stem on a pinwheel,
An origami bonnet,
Organza petals.
Diving for the ball,
Balling into a dust-
Orange roll,
The catcher tossed it back to the pitcher
After a ball three, and walked up to him.
The descent of the night's sky
Made the ballfield lights a sudden relevance.
The catcher's cleats hit the ascending tip
of the diamond. He threw back his mask:
"You got this."
"I know I got this."
"Just throw how you normally throw."
"I know. I will. I know."
"You know what to do. Let's do this."
"I got this. I got this."
Then something was said
From the catcher to the pitcher
Not even the poet's ears were privy to.
Anyway,
Catcher ran back
Behind the diamond
And squatted, throwing out
His target glove with a deft pause
So not to tip the batter off.
The next pitch was a swinging strike
High up in the zone.
The pitch after that was a home run
Caught by a nun
Out on Yawkey Way.
Oh well, there's always the next day.
By the way,
She blessed the ball
And gave it away.
Written By: D. Collins 10/25/24
Don't pitch to a pitcher, they know how the ball drops.
What spin is upon it, to put it out the park.
Don't pitch to a pitcher, if his name is Shohei.
Your ball might end up in the Frisco Bay.
The Dude has eyes that none of us have seen.
Knowing what pitch is coming to raise the team.
There's nothing 'mo betta than putting juice in the tank.
Then, one of them crack, cracks in front of me and Gang
You know that's what's coming because that's what he do.
CRACK, CRACK right in front of me and you.
Don't pitch to a pitcher with name like Otani.
San Juan Capistrano may become Camp Shohei.
Poor Batter and Pitcher
Have often wondered what is the matter,
With the Mariner Pitched including batter;
Errors made;
Into past fade;
Which has been the worst former or later?
Jim Horn