Best Third Base Poems
Little lights begin to shine
Tiny heartbeats in the dark
With a glowing hope inside
To shine brighter than the stars
But their possibilities.....
Suddenly come to an end
Echoing in their silent screams
All they could have been
I see a doctor, I see a preacher
A loving nurse...A home school teacher
A little boy rounding third base
That home run smile all over his face
They would change the world we're living in
If only they could be.....
All they could have been
We explain it all away
A thousand reasons for their fall
But they can never be replaced.....
Listen close....and hear the call
'To welcome all the angels
Heaven chose to send....
Let all God's children be
All they could have been
I see a priest...a president
The hands of an artist...a pilot's accent
Mom's joyful tears--graduation day
As her baby girl walks 'cross the stage
Yes, they would change the world we're living in....
If only they could be.....
All they could have been
Just a chance to be....
All they could have been
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Love bites took me to a new place
tiny teeth marks I can't erase;
Laid back you looked for my entrance,
passing third base, passing third base;
Hungrily you nipped at my soul,
ripped the lace of my camisole;
Whispered on my skin 'Keep control..
stay in your role, stay in your role.
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.
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....MEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, MEN, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle fickle…men are fickle
Get the women in a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…how they tickle
Treat a treasure like a nickle
Chat up chat up and then lie
Sugared bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty….brew a storm
Dissipate then like the norm
Riding riding on her wave
Naughty naughty to the grave
Feel up feel up where he can
Make her think that he's a….MAN
Swagger swagger, what a sight!
Thinking he's got dynamite
Tries to see how far he'll get
Up to third base is his bet
Fickle fickle, fizzle….pop
Mess with me, I’ll make you drop!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Never was good at humor! This is as good as it gets with me!
// Apologies to all who do not follow the sport of baseball. My team is in the playoffs for the first time since 2006 and I wanted to celebrate the occasion //
fans came
big game
they scream
cheer team
the boys
love noise
gloves wield
on field
defense
makes sense
line drive
great dive!
ground ball
close call
third strike
we like!
three outs
coach pouts
down one
need run
fast guy
hits fly
drops in
legs spin
he'll race…
third base
big slide
throw's wide
"He's safe!"
they chafe
sac fly
to tie!
fans roar
at score
game tied
nerves fried
next up:
the pup
young Matt
swings bat
big one…
home run?
don't scoff -
walk off!
team wins
huge grins
our score
was more
our scamps
are champs!
// big thanks to Panagiota who inspired me to do this, also to Brian Strand who invented this form and Jan and Tom who are fun and brilliant advocates of it //
written 1 Oct 2020
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....FAITHFUL MEN! ;)
(THIS IS FOR FUN, MEN, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle, fickle…men are fickle
Get the women in a pickle
Sweet talk, sweet talk…how they tickle
Treat a treasure like a nickle
Chat up, chat up, and then lie
Sugared bites of ego pie
Flirty, flirty….brew a storm
Dissipate just like the norm
Riding, riding on her wave
Naughty, naughty to the grave
Feel up, feel up where he can
Make her think that he's a….MAN
Swagger, swagger, what a sight!
Thinks he carries...."dynamite" ;)
Tries to see how far he'll get
Up to third base is his bet
Fickle fickle, fizzle….POP
Mess with me, I’ll make it drop!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
A repost. My Muse is still on holiday in Greece. Can't write for the life of me....but I miss community. So...here it goes...
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....WOMEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, GIRLS, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle Fickle - For Every Man in a Pickle
Fickle fickle…. Broads are fickle
Get a man into a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…. Yes they tickle
Treat us lower than a nickle
Chat up chat up does belie
Gives us bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty… grows the storm
Disappears like the norm
Riding riding is her wave
Naughty naughty to her grave
Touch up touch up where she can
Making sure that he’s a man
Swish and sway, what a sight
Thinking she is dynamite
Tries to see how far he’ll go
Gets to third base, she says no
Fickle fickle, fizzle…. Strop
Mess with me, I’ll make you stop.
In Response to Auntie Eileen Ghali
For her Fickle Fickle poem
Baseball and beer and a beautiful woman
Baseball and beer
and a beautiful woman
Tonight, such a
wonderful date
Two teams are playing,
while one love we're sharing,
who cares who is up
at the plate
Her team gets a hit
and I can't help but smile,
seeing the look
on her face
The batter starts running,
he hopes for a single
while I begin rounding
first base
Holding her tight,
as we kiss between pitches,
keeping an eye
on the score
I slide into second,
my heart quickly beating
here with the one
I adore
"Stee-rike, you're out!"
I can hear the ump yelling,
the shortstop just went
down in three
I pull her in close
all the while I am thinking,
I'm glad he's not
yelling at me
Now to third base,
oh her skin soft and tender,
the infield, the lights
up above
I can see home,
as I lead off a little,
then dart in a sprint
to her love
Crossing home plate
is a magical feeling,
breathless the two
of us cheer
A beautiful woman,
an evening of baseball,
and let's not forget
about beer
** Note: The Astros won the game**
For the National Pastime poetry contest
Sponsored by: Phillip Garcia
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.
Strangers giving each other
a motoring, inquisitive eye
Jotting down digital information
as they recklessly pass by
Inhibitions are placed under
chemical arrest
Club Le Box is playing jailhouse music,
making sweaty bodies confess
Weekend pheromone prisoners
with their feet handcuffed to the dance floor
Looking for the key to release them,
unlock the chastity cell door
Sexually magnetic
coded words are the key:
loose the cuffs, open the door ...
set the passions free
Having an escape party good time
with a new, casual partner in crime
Scan options on the getaway menu,
select tactile facial sensation
Seeking more privacy to continue
those opposite sex flirtations
He suggest going to her place,
he says there she will feel safe
Got penile thoughts on his hormonal mind,
however, she is not yet so intimately inclined
So she tells him no,
a simple monosyllable rebuff
Her desires are getting turned off,
as his demeanor is becoming too rough
She gives another emphatic no,
and brushes his hand away from down below
She raises the stop sign in his face,
as he was attempting to round third base
No means no,
she says with a firm tone of finality
If he don't respect her change of heart,
truly ...
he'll be
practicing pick up lines in a penitentiary
For a team to compete in a pennant chase,
they need quality at first, second, and third base.
Players are needed that can hit and field.
Three more are required to complete the outfield.
To field line drives or grounders on the hop,
any team also needs a quality shortstop.
No squad can ever be considered great
if they don’t have a good catcher behind the plate.
Any club needs four or five dependable starters.
To finish the game, a good corps of relievers.
A contending team has a fine pitching staff.
Anything less than that would be a laugh.
In order to reach the top position,
a team has to outscore the opposition.
They need more wins than the competition.
This is any team’s annual mission.
The team from Philadelphia is considered great.
They put it all together in 2008.
The season ended with a World Series victory.
That’s what meeting expectations means to me.
Mark Reynolds, Arizona Diamondback.
With a baseball bat, you take a healthy whack.
You can hit home runs without a doubt.
Why is it so many times you strike out?
There was a ballplayer named "Ron",
I would always run home to watch him on television.
He batted fourth and played the third base spot,
That's the corner they always called "Hot".
As a power hitter and great fielder he stayed,
Fifteen years in the big leagues he played.
An "All Star" player many times over,
Because he was a perennial "Gold Glover".
He wore the number 10 on his uniform,
But his emotions for his team on his sleeve were worn.
Ron Santo was this player's name,
He should be in baseball's "Hall of Fame".
He was tenacious about his life's view,
Ever positive, as he fought Diabetes and Cancer too.
I had the good fortune to meet the man,
And listened to his story of the "Black Cat"....SCRAM!!!
He raised awareness and millions for JDRF,
Gone now to the ages, this his legacy would be left.
One thing that all of you should know,
Wherever he went, he put on a great show.
On a "Field of Dreams" he now will play,
Where he can click his heels every day.
Swollen with tears now our red eyes we rub,
At the endearing loss of "This Old Cub".
We'll miss his radio groans, his sighs, and his laughter too,
Because like us, his veins ran only with "Cubbie Blue".
I go hard in the paint like "Olajuwon"
Taking the last shot like "Lebron"
I see how they think I got a Magic "Wand"
Cause how Magically I'm running with the "Baton"
Running a "Marathon"
No Quran but I'm like "Farakon"
Telecasting a "Telethon"
I'm Liu Kang spitting Fire "Bombs"
At These Shao "KHONS"
Shaolin flow meditating with a "Bong"
Jujitsu waves of my "Arms"
Into a stance remaining "Calm"
Swinging of my "Charms"
A King against these "Pawns"
With wings of a "Swan"
Like an Angel sent to "Respond"
For "GOD"
The beats of the "Ipod"
Turn me into a "Tripod"
Got enough bars for ya whole "Entourage"
An I'm fresh like I'm goin to "Prom"
Today I'm not the "Don"
Unless I'm feeling like "Machavelli"
Killuminati for Illuminati against all "Odds" On my "Belly"
Got a set time clock "Alarmed"
Cause my time about to "Dawn"
I'm the "Spawn"
Of "Ahsan"
An my name "Laquan"
MUHHAMMAD but no "Islam"
Yeah I got two names one English one "Arabic"
An a few "Alias"
I'm something like a "Alien"
An "Immigrant"
Descendants on a slave "Ship"
The Great One is the name I "Inherited"
For my "Greatness"
How many you know with the name "Elevation"
I'm not good the best cuz I'm "Great"
Morale of the story is we not "Comparate"
Why these Bugs Bunny think they shining wit a few "Karats"
Not knowing the Turtle winning the "Race"
More like Doug Funny they comfy with a Clown "Face"
Cause when I walk the ground "Shakes"
Not even on my worst "Day"
Born on a "Thursday"
Since I'm first "Born"
First "Sworn"
To be in First "Place"
I'm three times the charm you just in Third "Place"
Third "Rate"
Since I'm Three Times a Charm I'm on Third "Base"
On my way to the Home "Plate"
Underestimating me was ya First "Mistake"
bunt down third base line
runner on third sliding home
close play at the plate