Long Ballpark Poems
Long Ballpark Poems. Below are the most popular long Ballpark by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ballpark poems by poem length and keyword.
Jackie Robinson and I go way way back
To the spring of nineteen forty-six
A Montreal ballpark on a April afternoon
The day the world was transfixed
The colour barrier that existed in baseball
Was about to come crashing down
After many decades of ugly discrimination
Jackie would become renowned
It would take a special kind of individual
To withstand all the slurs and abuse
Young Jackie knew what he'd have to endure
But it was not his nature to refuse
Having a strong and tenacious personality
Not known for giving up a fight
Jackie settled in for a long tough struggle
On which he had long set his sights
It's a time in history I'll always hold dear
That momentous day back then
Forever after ingrained in my psyche
I witnessed this champion of men!
© Jack Ellison 2013
My Dad and I were late arriving. When we
got there it was the bottom of the first.
As we emerged from the passage way to the
bleachers, the crowd was cheering wildly!
I looked to my right and believe it or not
Jackie Robinson was stealing home!!!
This image is ingrained in my memory!
A FATHER, HIS CHILDREN AND BASEBALL
A father remembers years ago taking his children to the ballpark on a bright and sunny day.
They sat together in the stands and watched grown men at play.
They’d been sitting for a few innings when he heard his daughter exclaim
“Daddy, this is boring...what do you like about this game?”
It seemed at their young age his children didn’t share his baseball adoration
and he wasn’t sure they were ready for a lengthy explanation.
As they basked in the sunshine eating hot dogs with ketchup and mustard on their buns
He could have explained the rules of the game, about strikes and balls and runs.
He could have taken that opportunity surrounded by his children and his wife
to explain how baseball, if they let it, can teach them about life.
He could have pointed out although it is individual player’s names they scream
baseball teaches people to work together as a team.
That baseball teaches humility for no matter how hard you work, or what path you choose
Sometimes you’re going to win...sometimes you’re going to lose.
That baseball teaches perseverance, determination, tenacity and grit
That you shouldn’t worry when you strike out for you’ll get another chance to hit.
That you must endure the slumps in life and the havoc they may wreak
if you’re also to enjoy the jubilance when you’re on a winning streak.
He wanted to say no matter how many bases they run...no matter where they roam
that life will circle back and they’ll always be safe at home.
All these thoughts went through his mind as they sat in the park that day
Wondering what to tell his children as they watched grown men at play.
“What do I like about baseball,” he said smiling for suddenly he knew
“What I like best about baseball”...is sharing it with you.
His children are all grown now and as far as baseball...that’s a shame
because he never got to explain to them the intricacies of the game.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY
Another baseball season begins and as teams vie for fortune and for fame…I’m reminded of the time I tried to teach my children….
THE INTRICACIES OF THE GAME
It was years ago when we took our children to the ballpark on a bright and sunny day.
We wore baseball caps, sat in the stands and watched grown men at play.
We’d been sitting for a few innings when I heard my daughter exclaim,
“Daddy, this is boring...what do you like about this game?”
It seemed at their young age my children didn’t share my baseball adoration…and I was sure they weren’t quite ready for a lengthy explanation.
As we basked in the sunshine eating hot dogs with ketchup and mustard on our buns…I could have explained the rules of the game, about strikes and balls and runs.
I could have taken that opportunity surrounded by my children and my wife to explain how baseball, if we let it, can teach us about life.
I could have pointed out, although it is individual player’s name we scream, baseball teaches people to work together as a team.
That baseball teaches humility…for no matter how hard you work, or what path you in life you choose…sometimes you’re going to win...and sometimes you’re going to lose.
That baseball teaches perseverance, determination, tenacity and grit…that you shouldn’t worry when you strike out because you’ll get another chance to hit.
That you must endure the slumps in life and the havoc they may wreak…If you’re also to enjoy the jubilance and the joy of a winning streak.
I wanted to say no matter how many bases you run...no matter where you roam…that life will circle back and you’ll always feel safe at home.
All these thoughts went through my mind as we sat in the park that day…wondering what to tell my children as we watched grown men at play.
“What do I like about baseball,” I said smiling for suddenly I knew “What I like best about baseball...is sharing it with you".
Our children are all grown now and, as far as baseball...that’s a shame…because I never got to explain to them the intricacies of the game.
I sat on the beach sifting time through my hands.
I felt like a slot machine whore.
The ocean was preaching her Siren’s demand
I abandon my past at the shore.
So, I shook off the sand, turned my back to the surf,
Locked up my anatomy bones, took a number two pencil,
A number nine cloud and set off for the mountains alone.
There was nothing but traffic stretched bumper to butt.
Gave a thought to a change of career.
I was stuck on I-80, my foot on the clutch,
Feeling life slip away in first gear.
Had to exit the freeway and find my way home.
Didn’t miss it, just favored the sound
Of someone I know simply saying, “Hello,
Been too long since we’ve seen you around.”
Found a town full of hipsters with hats made of whims,
And jeans that screamed, “Don’t let me down!”
Spliced the mainbrace on Bank Street and wandered about.
Crossed the bridge to the north side of town.
Grabbed my bat when I got to the ballpark.
Checked my stance when I stepped to the plate.
Eyed a runaway fastball aimed straight for my chin.
Up and in, slammed it far and away.
Felt hard in between and hard in betwixt.
Been disavowed and eighty-sixed.
There’s broke in me that can’t be fixed.
I’m bad, and I’ve never been badder,
But I wonder was it worth it,
The cost of all I had to lose to get here.
I’m a fish out of water that learned how to walk.
A fish out of water for sure.
But I’m living it up like the Duke of Burgoyne
And my Duchess is luscious and pure.
It’s been a long hard road to Easyville
Where I manage my domain on Tunnel Hill.
And I haunt the ravines between Cromby and Mingo,
My barony a triumph of the will.
Reuniting with old friends is always lots of fun,
Because it’s been years since we’ve seen each other.
Back at the ballpark again for baseball in the sun
Swapping stories about our new lives as mothers.
It’s hard to believe so many years have gone by,
Yet, we all still look the same…well, almost the same.
We should keep in touch, even if it’s just to say, “Hi,”
And meet once a year to see Mike and Pattie at the game.
Although we live in different parts of the country,
I’m glad we all made it to our little gathering.
This get together means so very much to me
And the fact you all call me your friend is flattering.
So, as the weekend begins to come to an end,
I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed it very much.
Reminiscing about the old days with my friends
Keeps me young at heart…and it’s that heart you’ve all touched.
If I had an IQ of 17,
would this be normal?
My son,
with cerebral palsy,
no language capacity, no LeftBrain ability to read or write
or speak using linguistic tools,
with no hint of verbal or violent dominance issues,
has an angelic peace-loving IQ
in the 17 ballpark
On several behavioral measures of IQ
(does he have a swallow reflex?
Does he flinch
if his toe is pinched
or his foot is tickled?).
For him,
this IQ is normal,
when he’s feeling healthy,
relatively free of trauma
(including social
and political
and economic
and ecological
and theological
and biological, etc.),
Having a good win/win cooperative,
synergetic,
unconditionally warm regarding day.
And, for me,
his IQ seems normal,
or he would not be
the magnificent young man I know
and love
and care for
and listen to,
As he most times sits in silent
(hopeful bliss?)
Yet sometimes roars his verbal agency
to be seen
with unconditional warm regard
and heard with warm and sacred prophecies,
Our indigenous EarthTribe time
will never be less wisdom
than restoring ecojustice
compassionately co-invested
healthy and safe enough
for all organic species.
We used to be huge baseball fans
(The Yankees, but, of course!)
And followed all their games and cheered
Until our throats were hoarse.
Our fervor somehow waned and now
We couldn’t even name
The players on the team, although
We still enjoy the game.
While visiting Milwaukee,
We learned there would be a match
Of the Brewers and the Pittsburgh Pirates
Which we (pun!) could catch.
The Pirates pitcher, we found out,
Had quite an arm to wield,
So my husband got us tickets
And we headed to the field.
Their ballpark is a beauty
And we joined in with the crowd
Rooting for their favorite Brewers
As instructed – very loud!
At inning six, a race is held;
Five “sausages” compete.
The winner was Chorizo,
Bratwurst,* sadly, in defeat.
The final score was 4-2,
The Brewers with the prize,
The Pirate pitcher taken out,
Which was a big surprise.
Despite not being N.L.**fans,
We had a lot of fun,
For certain sayings hit the mark
And “When in Rome…” is one.
*The others include Hot Dog, Italian and Polish
**National League
I intend to enjoy summer
and the sun, warming my ancient skin.
Once, I said goodbye to summer
because one season must yield to the next,
and it was time to attend school and learn.
I said goodbye to seemingly endless beach days,
crashing waves, sand crabs, frisbees, hot dogs, and portable radios singing
about suntanned California girls;
lazy mornings, bike rides to the ballpark,
and balls, flying off my bat and over walls.
I said goodbye,
as I said goodbye
to the excitement of youthful romance,
to my son's childhood,
and as I will say goodbye,
one day, to you,
dear friend.
I intend to enjoy summer.
Tongue Tied in Clichés: A Blessing in Disguise
A blessing in disguise,
a double-edged sword—
a far cry from peace,
yet all in all,
at the drop of a hat
we reach for a ballpark figure,
beat around the bush,
break new ground,
burn the midnight oil.
By the book we cut to the chase,
play devil’s advocate,
fill the void with food for thought,
start from scratch,
then get cold feet.
Give the green light,
go down in flames,
hit the nail on the head,
find ourselves in over our head,
jump on the bandwagon,
keep something at bay,
leave no stone unturned.
Out of our depth,
past the point of no return,
we read between the lines,
take it with a grain of salt,
see only the tip of the iceberg—
until at last we throw in the towel.
Spring hasn't sprung: No bees have stung;
No painter's fallen off a ladder's rung.
No miner's contracted black lung.
Spring hasn't sprung: No batter has swung
At a strike three pitch that no hurler has flung
In a ballpark where Opening Day Game banners
have yet to be hung.
Spring hasn't sprung: No dry parched tongue
Has yet been clinged or been clung
To lips burnt by the rays of the sun.
Spring hasn't sprung: No song has been sung
Off-tune and off-key in an obscure mother tongue
By a lone crooner bereft of a love unstrung.
Yes: It's ok that Spring hasn't sprung:
--If certain particular news is not brung.
March 30, 2018
Contest entry in "Spring Fling Zing Thing King (or Queen)"
Sponsor - Michael Vacek