Best Softball Poems
She comes to bat with the score tied three to three.
Staring out at the pitcher,
she goes into her stance,
just hoping the ball will come over the sweet part of the plate.
Into her motion, the pitcher winds and fires.
Gathering all of her strength,
her eyes lock on the fast approaching yellow softball.
Like a gladiator ready to charge, she coils her body ready to strike.
Swinging with all her might, she connects
and the crowd goes wild as the ball sails
over the center fielder's head and to the fence.
With the crowd cheering,
she takes off like a young cheetah toward first.
A smile on her face and a gleam in her eye,
she looks up and catches the coaches signal to go to second.
Seeing the ball is still in the outfield
and the third base coach waving her on,
she rounds second and heads for third.
Fans fired up cheering,
mom and dad hold their breath and pray
as she rounds third for home.
Looking up and seeing a good relay throw to the catcher,
she throws on her brakes and reverses to third.
A bullet throw from catcher to third base
has her in a rundown.
Like a ping pong ball, they have her running back and forth,
but she’s not worried with her speed.
Then it happens,
the third baseman overthrows the catcher
and she is off for home.
Heart pounding and breathing hard,
knowing it will be close,
she dives feet first and slides into home base
under the tag to make a home run.
The crowd is roaring in the stands,
jumping up and down, hollering and clapping their hands.
Her team mates run out of the dugout and mob her with joy.
She’s made the winning run to break the tie.
By:5/23/2015
A true story of my nine year old granddaughter making the winning run.
Striekouts
On Base Percentage
Foul Ball
Teammates
Batting Average
Averages
Leadership
Love for the game
> >
> > 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.
Jesyca
A little girl full of life with so much love
for her papa. It was love at first sight
when papa laid eyes on her at her birth.
He was her nanny; papa never laid
her down but cradled her in his arms
until it was time to leave.
He was mama until she was two.
When he would correct her, he'd say,
"No, "Papa."
She was unbending and would repeat by saying,
"No," Mama."
He taught her to ride her first tricycle,
taught her to throw her first ball,
he helped her with homework when she started school.
Once in a while she'd call and asked,
"Papa would you come to school today
and have lunch with me."
and of course Papa couldn't never say no to his little girl.
Her first baseball game she played on,
was a t-ball team of all boys and one girl.
Of course, she outshined them all
and took home the winning game ball.
She has been playing in the All–Star Softball Team.
Now eight years old,
coaches are watching her to get her on their team.
By Eve Roper 9-10-2014
To know just where your're going
You must know where you've been
You must respect the history
The things others have seen
It's true in all things relative
Be it music, sports or life
If you don't know where you came from
You're just dancing on a knife
Gherig, Ruth and Robinson
May, and Mantle, Seaver too
Respect their contributions
And don't just say Ruth who?
Respect where things have come from
And the players of the past
Because you learn and make things better
It's what makes the damn game last
Jimmy Foxx, Bob Gibson, Kaline
Nestor Chylak and The Goose
They made baseball special
They gave the game a little juice
Orr, Richard and Gretzky
Gordie Howe and Howie Morenz
You have to know about them
You need the beginning to your ends
Bob Baun and Bill Barilko
Connie Smythe and yeah...the Chief
You have to know their history
They're what it is to be a Leaf
The game has changed immensely
Things can not go back in time
But to me...the old alumni
Made the game I know as mine
Respect the ones before you
The ones who laid the groundwork down
The ones who made it special
The non-pretenders to the crown
Elvis, Buddy, Harrison
Played the songs inside their heart
Lennon, Wilson and the rest
They all played a real big part
Every single generation
should learn from the one before
For if they don't know where they've come from
Then what has it all been for?
Nicklaus, Palmer, Bobby Jones
Sarazen and Hogan too
They pushed the gameright to it's limits
Now the pressure's upon you
The new breed are the teachers now
They're the ones to lead the way
When twenty or so years from now
You'll hear somebody say
"Respect who came before you
The ones who made us so damn proud
LIke Nash and , Perry and Taylor Hall
They played the game so loud
Pudge, Jeter, and Verlander
they brought it up a notch
They were there to stretch the limits
Not to just sit by and watch
Rory, Justin Rose and Mahan
Bubba, Dustin and the rest
They are the players of the future
They all respected the games best
So, to know where you are going
You must know where you have been
Respect, past through the future
And all that's happened in between.
This maybe a contest of sorts
But she said I can't write about sports
'Cause it's not funny of late
To see a man's ball deflate
And have to debate it in court.......Hahahahhaahh It's still funny
ERITREAN SOFTBALL GAME - 1959
One painful hot, and Eritrean day,
More happenstance, than anything we'd planned,
Our softball field, was moulded in the clay
Of Africa, the time forgotten land.
Behind a chain link fence, they came to see,
We sailors of the Ocean having fun.
While they, ten hundred, maybe more, than we,
black faced and wringing sweat, laughed at the sun.
Anticipation we'd not heard before,
Rose to their high, just when the ball was hit,
And made us give our best, of ship and shore,
Because we knew they were enjoying it.
How sad to know, we've lost the friends we'd made,
Down through the years, for lack of any shade.
© Ron Wilson
Hopefully the fly-ball catch
And around the bases dash!
Out for fun and maybe win
Play and play over again
Play Ball (Softball)
My daughters use to play softball
I wish I could have been to them all
Since my daughters don’t play anymore
I don’t have a team to cheer for
I do watch some games on the TV
The girls have lots of great energy
When the girls are in the dugout
You can hear them cheer and shout
You can hear them chant and scream
To win a world series starts as a dream
For one team to lose comes sorrow
And they may not have a game tomorrow
I’ve seen many girls being sad
I can’t recall any of them getting mad
Lots of girls playing softball
Good luck to them all
It sure took me a while to get the hang of that bat.
The grip just wasn’t right.
With a friends’ help, I swung and hit;
probably, hundreds of times.
In the end, I felt that I could,
smack a mountain and send it sailing for yards,
with that bat.
Softball was a blast, when I was a teen;
Every swing of that bat; every ball that I smacked;
swelled my chest with pride.
A dusty slide into home base;
Jettisoned me into ego-space;
oh, it took awhile to come back down to earth.
There were, cheers from the bleachers
and the smell of popcorn,
hot dogs and soda pop permeated the air,
like a winter fog.
Perhaps it was those succulent scents, more than the cheers, that kept us winning.
She’s a daughter of those West Virginia hills.
Each morning she comes down from the holler,
And catches the bus going to another county.
She goes to a fancy, newly consolidated school
Some of the teachers think she’s a slow learner
Her shyness punctuated by a bothersome lisp,
On the playground, however, she’s in demand
For her slow pitch is even better than grand,
With each strikeout her whistle is low and crisp
She convinces her skeptics; she’s a page turner,
And she knows the meaning of The Golden Rule.
Not given to girlish ways, she’ll never be dainty
In the face of adversity, no youngster is calmer,
She’s a daughter of those West Virginia hills.
written January 26, 2022
[my unique Reverse Rhyme
abcdef gg fedcba]
If baseball were life and
innings were seasons,
I'd sometimes play the Center-
a neutral spot with few extremes,
time enough for Short Stop dreams.
Don't care to be First-
it takes too much ego
Second is always forgotten.
Three is definitely, surely out
evading the Third degree.
Right is that nev--er/ne--ver land--
a place your brain goes to die.
Of all positions and spaces of Play,
I prefer to be out in Left Field.
There's no place Home.
(Always keep the ball on your eye.)
Oh, how I love a good game;
I anxiously await my turn,
And then I make my play.
I also love a good play;
Good scripts, for which I’m always game;
Stories with a good turn.
When the tides of stories turn,
It just makes the play
Afterwards, for coffee I’m game.
On weekends, I love a good poker game; it’s a game that can quickly turn on a wrong play.
Silence isn’t always an empty space driven between two.
It can be a deeper meaning of understanding.
Silence isn’t always filled with anger.
It can be the lull that speaks harmony.
Silence, It’s often confused with absence.
But it’s presence can fill wounds,
And heal the worn.
It’s associated with dark and dreary,
But rather provides peace and upliftment
Hooray!
Wet grassy feet fill my soccer cleats.
Hot sweaty teens run fast track meets.
She skis down sugary mountain tops.
He begs his coach to play shortstop.
Footballs, field goals, fumbles.
Touchdowns, tackles, tumbles.
My mother keeps warm with hot brown drinks,
as I learn to skate on chilly rinks.
A sadly splintered hockey stick, from a two-quick hat trick.
A winning catch is cradled in a well-loved mitt.
Tiger wins with a hole in one.
Miniature golf is much more fun.
Double dribble the whistle blows.
Excitement on the court grows!
Busy balls dunked in their hoops.
"Hooray" the three cheers for the ALLEY -OOP!