Best Pitchers Poems
Cat and mouse
Within a garden somewhere out there,
butterflies were dancing free from care.
Thousands of flowers loving the dance,
love the lovers and loving romance.
A lot of butterflies full of lust,
drinking and dancing in love they trust.
Daffodil pitchers filled with the wine,
drinking that wine was wholly, divine.
Roses and jasmines fully bloomed,
enchanted aromas sweetly perfumed.
From its hiding a devious mouse,
saw the butterflies right from his house.
He ran to the garden, chased the fly,
grabbed him tightly, bit him to die.
Ate him like candy tenderly sweet,
the smell of jasmines made it complete.
Loving his food and loving its taste,
the mouse was happy nothing got waste.
Until he saw a ghostly shape,
scary giant, he couldn’t escape.
There was a cat with a smiley face,
growled and meowed and started the chase.
Running like wind, he didn’t gave in,
hunting for food is never a sin.
He grabbed the mouse in a playful way,
ate him so fast then rested all day.
The mouse tasted like jasmine and rose,
the flavor of butterfly joined with those.
The cat was happy and licked his paws,
adored his power sharpened his claws.
Until the next day there was a dog,
with big shaggy tail, fat like a hog.
Ugly and old he ran after cat,
hunted the cat and ate him like rat.
The dog was old and his fate foretold,
he died in winter when air was cold.
He died and buried and turned to dust
nothing can escape from time and rust.
The months have passed and years gone by,
what else can we do except comply?
Living and dying is a part of life.
Life and death are in constant strife.
The flesh of the dog made the jasmines grew,
butterflies came with their lives renew.
Roses and lilies grew one more time,
butterflies dancing, dancing in rhyme.
Another mouse and another cat,
the playful cat, that ate up the rat.
Another dog and another feast,
after a while the death chose the beast.
Life is a circle, circle like a chain.
Everything goes and comes back again.
There will be death for me and you,
like roses and jasmines lives renew.
3/12/16 Haloo
Drink Down The Deepest, Darkest Reasons For Me To Stay...
I sin in shapes while the dozer beats us both down
By one or two, my thumb is fingering my cell phone
After 3 or 4 I've got your voice choking the airwaves
Baby the beat in my heart is much greater than the beating you've given me
So I'll charm on
I'll be the burden to your apple tree
Your appetite is not right
Anymore
The pitchers here are for drowning out equality
The lights are dim so we can all pretend that we are someone else
The songs are loud because the only way to shake you off
Is to beg them for a headache, and I'm...
...waking up (waking up)
With headaches and pieces lost from the night before
BUT WHAT THE HELL ARE FRIENDS FOR!?
Tap me out like a quarter in the slot machines
I've made a mess of your ragged little magazines
Trendy eyes are the spies for the latest scenes
And now my buttons are cut to look like pine trees
(it makes sense to me, it makes cents for me)
So write me off with your shoulder to the jukebox
I've been here once, not twice
And still I've got you figured out
The whore
On the dance floor
Waiting for the biggest score
DARLING!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
(ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!)
DARLING!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
(ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!)
DARLING!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
Fields of stars blanket warm summer skies
Songs of crickets and cicadas overwhelm the senses
In reply, fireflies dot the lawn
Full of dandelions and buttercups waiting for dawn
Far away flashes of summer heat strike with no sound
Showing distant lands and tops of massive thunderclouds
Soft shadows decorate the walls
upon silent ears quiet murmurings fall
a transistor radio blares its tiny sound
of ballgames in concrete stadiums ,
bright lights and a pitchers mound
Overhead fans stir dark sleepy rooms
Screened in porches give way to fleeting cool breezes
Heavy lids with dreams in flight
Soften those warm summer nights
Make me a flower delicate and sweet,
spewing fragrance into the blowing breeze .
Make me a violin from whose strings
melody flows to soothe the ailing nerves .
Make me a rain cloud sailing over the breadth
and length of the skies showering cooling droplets
on to the thirsting mouth of the Earth.
Make me a lamp shedding beams of light
dissipating darkness from the mazy depths of gloom .
Make me a vessel full with love to pour out
into all the empty pitchers.
Make me a yacht with sails filled by the wind
that I can ferry the sinking souls to safer shores of life.
Let every atom of my being throb with Thy filling love
Let it spring forth in jets to form the gushing stream
Let many drink from that fountain and taste
the sweetness of Thy nourishing love
Let the land be watered, let the dirt be cleansed
Let the Earth wear a celestial charm
Let the plants celebrate the carnival of colors
In my basket shall I gather many a fragrant bloom
to be offered at your feet with love
and remain squatted in Thy presence ,
not losing in the pageant of this transient life.
Winter Wishes Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Chantelle Ann Cooke
> >
> > A RECIPE FOR FUN
> > Author: Dennis Howe
> > February 2001
> >
> > Take ten
> > seasoned ball players and throw
> > in a large pinch of leather and aluminum.
> > Put the mix on a dirt field in the shape of a diamond
> > and add some green salad grass for color. To this, add
> > another ten seasoned ball players with a large pinch of leather
> > and aluminum. Raise the heat slowly to about 80 degrees, with a
> > few clouds for partial shade. No mud. Slight breeze, but no wind.
> > Add two pitchers of medium grit. Marinade some team spirit and
> > sportsmanship. Dice some Twinkies, sunflower seeds and chewing
> > gum. Sprinkle with water and soda pop to taste. With a white ball,
> > at game time, stir all these ingredients together with grounders,
> > foul balls, fly balls, base hits and home runs, and garnish with a
> > strike-out or two. Do not add sliding. Sugar, sweat, and verbal
> > spices can be chopped in at this point. Scoring is to taste and
> > recorded for future reference. Pour these flavored items
> > in to a large softball bowl, and then separate into
> > individual servings on Saturdays at Clark Park.
> > Finish with a handshake, pat on the
> > back, and a hearty..............
> > "see ya next week"
> >
> > The ASU Intra-University Softball League thanks "Chef" Dennis Howe for his
> > role in organizing, supporting and participating in this League since 1987.
THE PITCHER SHAKES OFF ANOTHER SIGN.
I START TO WONDER WHATS ON HIS MIND.
WITH SWEAT RUNNING OFF MY BROW,
I NEED A HIT AND I NEED IT NOW.
BASES LOADED WE'RE DOWN BY THREE.
THE GAMES OUTCOME DEPENDS ON ME.
THE CATCHER RUNS OUT TO THE PITCHERS MOUND.
THEY NEED ME TO HIT IT ON THE GROUND.
I CHECK THE DUGOUT, THEY'RE ALL ON EDGE.
THE INFIELD DEFENSE FORMS A WEDGE.
I STEP BACK IN THE BATTERS BOX.
A FAN SHOUTS OUT, IT'S TIME TO ROCK!
THE TENSION'S THICK AND STARTS TO MOUNT,
BASES LOADED WITH A 3-2 COUNT.
THE PITCHER NOD'S TO CONFIRM THE SIGN.
THEN HE GO'S INTO HIS WIND.
IT'S A FASTBALL, IT LOOKS FAT.
I MAKE CONTACT WITH MY BAT.
CENTER FIELDER STARTS RUNNING BACK.
NOW HE'S ON THE WARNING TRACK.
HE LOOKS UP, IT'S OUTA HERE.
THE CROWD ERUPTS AND START TO CHEER.
ALL MY TEAM MATES SWARM HOME PLATE.
THIS IS WHAT MAKES BASEBALL GREAT.
Half of the teams are headed to Florida.
The other half will journey to Arizona.
Yes fans, everybody can let out a cheer.
Another baseball spring training is here.
Pitchers and catchers report first to duty.
They are followed by the other players shortly.
It is just the beginning of a seasonal pennant chase.
The players go through calisthenics at a rapid pace.
They have to scrape off that winter rust.
Getting back to top physical shape is a must.
As the tulips and the hyacinths are growing in the spring,
all those baseball players are doing their thing.
drinks wine after school
has far too many
eruptions from
small pitchers
small bowels
paper cuts
budget cuts
that terrible mother
racism filtered
a 6 year old prism
and crayons
all over
the floor
pitchers never hit
except for the Babe of course
hello DH Rule
Bengali women squatting
Pitchers, bangles,gossips
The river Barak indifferent
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
When spring is here,
Baseball is near.
Nigh April 1,
Season’s begun.
Opening day
‘Cross USA.
From Young(1) to Spahn(2),
Pitchers were drawn.
The Babe(3) or Hank(4)
Home runs they’d crank.
Hits by Cobb(5), Mays(6)
Filled summer days.
Decades of games,
Other stars’ names.
Legends in fall;
Baseball—good call!
Footnotes:
(1) Denton True “Cy” Young, a right-handed pitcher who played for teams in
the National League and American League between 1890 and 1911, won
more games (511) than any other person in U.S. Major League history.
U.S. Major League Baseball’s top award for pitchers is named after him.
(2) Warren Edward Spahn, a left-handed pitcher who played for several teams
in the National League between 1942 and 1965, won more games (363)
than any other lefty in U.S. Major League history, despite missing three
full seasons (1943-45) serving with distinction in the U.S. Army during
World War II.
(3) A reference to George Herman “Babe” Ruth Jr., who hit 714 career home
runs (HRs) between 1915 and 1935 while playing for teams in the National
League and American League.
(4) Henry Louis “Hank” Aaron hit 755 round-trippers (HRs) between 1954
and 1976 while playing for teams in the National League and American
League.
(5) Tyrus Raymond “Ty” Cobb accumulated at least 4,189 hits (second all-time
in U.S. Major League history) playing in the American League from 1905
until 1928.
(6) Willie Howard Mays Jr. collected 3,283 hits playing in the National League
from 1951 until 1973.
The longing grew up on the handkerchiefs of my passion,
And all Songs of love spells
are not but a sail
Fighting the billows of my beautiful concerns.
From the wind I light the poem bleeding up,
And the time remains
Pitchers from wich I pour
The nectar of the words .
The outfield Yaztremski Lynn and Evans
Is the greatest Red Sox outfield all time
Red Sox never had Seavers nor Ryans
Clemens and Tiant did shine in prime time
Francona is the man that made them shine
Winning two world series with him in charge
They had plenty of reasons to drink wine
Their pitchers are winners and their bats large
Nineteen-Eighty-Six was Buckner’s nightmare
Today Varitek is behind the plate
Helping Papelbon with his scary stare
The mighty Red Sox has somehow changed fate
Boston Red Sox are champions always
They’ll even make a few more double plays
This is a sonnet I wrote a few years ago.
This was a night all pitchers hate.
He had trouble getting the ball over the plate.
When he did, the batters displayed their power.
The manager yanked him for an early shower.
This pitcher wanted to hide in an ivory tower.
In a few days, another game will come, fortunately.
Pitchers have no need for any memory.
He will just have to try all over again.
All baseball players are mere mortal men.