Long Baseballs Poems
Long Baseballs Poems. Below are the most popular long Baseballs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baseballs poems by poem length and keyword.
Georgie
His was a pudgy boyish countenance,
With rounded river eyes and an Alfalfa smile.
He wheezed like a sick tern with repeated asthma attacks,
Playing hard at the various outdoor games and chases,
Of our fleeting childhood years in the inhaling sun.
He perspired profusely in 1964 as he sat with beads of sweat which
Gathered like a water pox above his lips, all in a wheezing row.
Bespectacled Georgie was the curlicued, black-haired boy
who lived two houses up from ours; the one with the green hedge.
He wore converse sneakers, a white tee and blue denim, with
Thick black-framed glasses astride his chubby white face.
His was a temper not sought by anyone, including Elsie his mother.
Georgie was her little boy, but when angered, baseball bats went flying.
Curse words were screamed loudly with one’s birth name questioned intensely.
Stones and large rocks were heaved at innocent windows and nearby statuary.
Baseballs were hurled at the heads of other little boys, with misses near and far.
Toy darts were skipped across baking sidewalks to the bare feet of his playmates,
Producing more loud voices shrieking in pain when the darts impaled their feet.
Oranges and lemons were rabidly picked for the purpose of pummeling one’s nose;
But gentle mother Elsie loved her little Georgie, and his little blue inhaler.
Years and decades sailed by like lost boats in a starless harbor.
Little Georgie grew into a pudgy man with nothing changed except, the drugs.
Marijuana odors hovered like invisible swarms of masticating locusts,
Lurking above the silent brick houses of our street, with old Georgie lighting up.
With a pipe and a baggie in his pocket, my old friend gave up on his life.
He decided not to work, but to take aimless walks down deserted avenues;
Day after empty day he took his drifting strolls into a personal oblivion.
We subsequently lost contact in the ensuing decades, and I forgot about him.
Until recently… I found out…
Georgie’s funeral took place 25 years ago at Rose Hills Cemetery.
Rest in piece old friend, old tormentor, with your little blue inhaler.
Thoughts of wisdom.
Now grandpa was a guy
A man I held up high
Everything he told me
I knew it was no lie.
All those facts he told
While lying in his bed
Waiting for his God
To claim that he was dead.
I was twelve years old
As green as green can be
But Grandpa always said
That I could see and see.
The stories that he told,
His good one liners too
They opened up my mind
I knew that they were true.
Do you want to know
What he would converse?
Like that backward poet
He always writes inverse.
He would often say
“you are like me son,
Just like an acupuncture
A good jab well done!”
Did I know that camels
Could always find an oasis?
Like Bakers only trade a recipe
On a knead to know basis.
Sometimes you carry stress
Until you feel encumbered,
But just you watch this space
A calendars days are numbered.
There are those that seem quite lucky
But they bloody cheat.
Just you think of this
A boiled egg is hard to beat.
Never go for credit
No matter how well dressed,
For like the Exorcist
It will end up repossessed.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
It did cause a commotion,
The silly bird was oiled
A poultry in motion.
Oh, see at Xmas time
You think that time it pauses,
But watch those Santa’s helpers
There only subordinate little clauses.
As for shopping centres
I know that they do sprawl
But once you’ve seen a big one,
I think you have seen a Mall
Never be a thief
Or take a quick backhander
You’ll end up with twelve months
Just like a calendar.
Grandpa he liked baseball
And going to the gym
That baseballs getting bigger
Then the ball hit him!
When it comes to writing
Don’t get in a mess,
To write with broken pencil
It really is quite pointless.
His last conversation it really was profound
Before he climbed Gods steps,
He said “Son,
Go get my Gin and Schweppes,
Appreciate the time you have
It is only Manana,
For Time flies like an Arrow
But fruit flies like a Banana.
Cheers Grandpa.
A tornado comes and goes so quick
Sometimes revisiting on the same day
Air humid, breathing hard and thick
Best advice given…get out of its way
Sounds like freight train bearing down
Delivers this –Varoommmmmmmmmm
Next best advice--don’t live in a valley
Respite from twisters in Oklahoma town
Not possible— it’s tornado alley
Here’s the scoop
May 5, 1960…The date of the natural crime
Wilburton, Oklahoma…quiet and boring
Me…my life, smooth and in my prime
Outside, trouble brewing, rain pouring
No wind—then dark---storm clouds
Sudden change and all so loud
No way to stop---nature makes it way
Tornadoes F4 hit twice that day
Up one hill, down in the valley, another hill
A path right through main street
Wiped out fifteen blocks with shocking skill
Score tornado 16, town 0…no receipt
Sadly, sixteen dead, hundreds hurt
Think disaster, destruction, devastation
Hail equates baseballs—certain disconcert
Wind 250 miles per hour, an aberration
On a personal note
Mom, sister, and I alone
Little sister told to put football helmet on
I get only, “You better pray. Don't groan."
Three females in bathtub…no put-on
Scared, hoping this was a no drop zone
First cyclone over…it was no spoof
Uh, oh, second one took the roof---
But not us…Prayed and prayed
God was there, though fear stayed
What happens next...nothing good
Can’t drink the water…
Dysentery, typhoid, cholera—it could
Can’t go to school
Smushed-–classes postponed
Can’t go to church
Smashed---future unknown
Can’t find food
Red Cross helps pick up the tone
Friends hurt, one killed
One man up in the swirl…
Carried him about a mile—life unfulfilled
No limbs left—no head to twirl
People scared another will hit
The normal long gone—some split
Build shelters, that's the name of the game
Yet, life did go on... but nothing ever the same
It's not easy becoming a Legendary
Major League Baseball pitcher.
It never was and will never be.
You get put through the wringer
and hung out to dry.
From time to time you'll get little or no
run support.
You may have to face Legendary Icons
of the game 2 and 3 times in a game.
Come face to face with undisguised
Batting Champions.
Silver Slugger Award Winners.
Members and potential Members of the
500 Home Run Club.
Members and potential Members
of the 3000 Hits Club
A few Future Members of
Baseballs Hall of Fame
as well as Iconic MLB ALL STARS.
You will face monumental challenges.
You'll get worn down and roughed up
being on the road 82 games a season.
As a Major League Baseball Starting Pitcher
you suck it up, go out on the mound
and challenge history.
You bring your "A" game
You bring your best fastball
your best curve ball
and your best change up.
When you average 33 starts a season.
Average 10 complete games per season.
Average 3 shut outs per season.
Throw a No Hitter every 3.857 seasons.
Face an average 972 batters per season.
Average 232 innings per season
Through hot , cold , humid and sticky weather.
Give up an average 169 hits per season.
Average 232 innings per season.
Average 82 earned runs per season.
Give up an average 14 home runs in 33 games
over 232 innings per season.
When you average 120 walks per season
Strike out an average 246 batters per season
for a career total of 5714.
It kinda looks like this.
6.6 hits per 9 innings
4.7 walks per 9 innings
9.5 strike outs per 9 innings
Over 27 seasons.
When you do that for a total of 27 seasons
The critics will call you the next
Nolan Ryan.
The Legendary Strike Out King
Member of Major League Baseballs
Hall of Fame.
Michael E. Harris
02202022
We were happy as could be
We were so great, we were as one
then something happened and changed all for me
that moment was frightful and gone was the sun.
He came to me a dark night at work
To tell me some news of sadness
knowing that I would cry and jerk.
He kept reassuring me we’d get past this.
Months turned to weeks
and weeks turned to days
The reality was cold and bleak.
We started parting in our own sort of ways.
The kids and I took him to the airport.
Hugs, kisses, tears of sadness, and crying.
I hollered at him to let us know what fort.
He said, “OK” and waved as he went flying.
A year went on with e-mails and phone calls.
Our daughter went up a grade in school.
Our son had a birthday with bats and baseballs.
Was I one or were we many a fool?
I did not follow through as I had promised.
There we guys in the house and I went to a club.
I came clean and met anger, spit, and ready fist!
I didn’t save any money, and for that, I feel like a flub.
Now we argue all the time.
Constantly crying over our happy past.
When someone ask, I say, “Ah, I’m fine.”
We were so happy... it was a blast!
The kids see him yelling.
They see me crying.
“It’s OK mommy, I’m not telling.”
Come the words from my daughter~sighing
He now can’t stand the sight of my face.
He goes to sleep angry, and wakes up mad.
He walks the house with a slow steady pace.
not knowing our future makes me real sad.
So what am I to do now?
Am I to go on and suffer?
Why should I and how?!
With my insanity, they’ll say, “Grab her and cuff her.”
Now I must make my own decision.
I don’t believe l will go to hell.
I hope heaven’s real and not a vision.
I’ll find out, here I go, now...
all will be WELL!
Form:
Our lab named “Blackjack”, looks just like a bear
Jet black and grey, the color of his hair.
He’s an English Lab, with the big wide head
We bought him instead, of buying a bed.
He wouldn’t come in, in the barn he’d live
“Jack” ran and he played, lots of love to give.
While we were at work, my dad would hang out
He’d come to the farm, let “Jack” roam about.
One day dad was mad, he fell in the stones
He was so lucky, he didn’t break bones.
He called “Jack” to come, to feed him his treat
“Jack” came from behind, knocked dad off his feet.
This happened again, no brains did he lack
For he was quite smart, just don’t turn your back.
“Jack” loved taking off, to the field he’d run
He thought this a game, and found it quite fun.
When he would get mad, the barn he would chew
Where the nails went, we hadn’t a clue.
He grew up quite strong, protector at that
He chased off foxes, and sometimes a bat.
He had his own house, when we moved to town
He’d take everything, if not all glued down.
Knives, hats and helmets, and many a shoe
Footballs and baseballs, and newspapers too.
He thought it was fun, to set up his house
Probably even chased, out many a mouse.
Tried studding out “Jack”, the poor guy was old
The female was smart, he couldn’t get hold.
“Jack” went out for runs, snuck out of the gate
We’d catch him most times, or else we would wait.
“We just saw your dog”, “but he wouldn’t come”
“Tried giving him bones”, he sure wasn’t dumb.
He’s one of a kind, we love and adore
And when you pet him, he falls to the floor.
He’d sit up quickly, and hand you his paw
You know he’s special, from what you just saw.
You are dreaming of a bright sunny day,
and you get this feeling that you just want to stay.
You’re skipping and running up a big hill,
when you get to the top, you lay down and chill.
Guessing the shapes of clouds as they pass,
but you are distracted by the soft, green grass.
You hear laughter from kids all around,
running and playing and falling to the ground.
You get up and begin to fly,
you feel so free that you start to cry.
You look down and see your house,
it looks so tiny, the size of a mouse.
You fly to the park; your friends are there,
hitting baseballs everywhere.
You play along and have some fun,
Then you hit a home run.
You run the bases and laugh out loud,
deep down you feel so proud.
wishing and hoping that this could last,
it’s the time of your life, having a blast.
Then you wake up to the sound of a crash,
you fly through the window and get a road rash.
You’re lying on the ground, in the middle of the street,
you try to stand up, but you can’t feel your feet.
Looking back at the terrible sight,
you knew it would be your least favorite night.
You hope to God that your family survived,
but you then find out that you’ve been deprived.
You live your life year to year,
every now and then you shed a tear.
You think of the past, what was taken away,
you try to forget, but it’s stuck on replay.
You're standing in the dark, all alone,
and you feel a chill all the way to the bone.
You get a sense of actuality,
you’re not in a dream, you’re in reality.
“I just shot a fiver” my friend said. “No you didn't” I replied. “It was only four”. “Was so” he said. “Was not” I repeated. And so it went as two young boys stood at the waters edge, skippin stones.
Time was not so precious then and hours could be lost in simple games with rules made up as you went along. You entertained yourself, limited only by the constraints of your own imagination. Some old wheels off of a cart and a few pieces of wood became a racer, hand powered of course. A piece of rope became a swing and inner tubes were prized.
It was a time when you did not buy your fun. Every neighborhood had one football, and between us we had a collection of baseballs, bats, and gloves. Pick up games were commonplace, springing up spontaneously, and yes, upset the wrong kid and he would take his ball and go home.
I thought of these things the other day while strolling along the shores of Crystal Lake near my home. From somewhere within the reaches of my memory, I heard a voice say “bet you can't shoot a fiver”. Not one to forsake a challenge, real or imagined, I stooped and picked up a few smooth and flattened stones, and proceeded to skim them across the water. Years vanished and for just a few moments I got lost in yesterday.
I'm sorry to say I did not shoot a fiver. In fact, the only thing I got was a sore arm, and, of course, the satisfaction of knowing that the kid in me was just fine.
Bob Quigley
October 7. 2011
MY SIBLINGS' FATHER
JUDGE BURDON
other children feared monsters under their bed
i feared the one living under our roof.
his hair was nimbus black
with a storm's thunder in his voice.
his fists were freight train brown
ball bearing knuckles
frostbite blue was his touch
with empty icebox eyes
his smile untrusted
growling words spoken like tangled spaghetti
he was my mother's husband
my siblings' father
a childhood of baseballs never thrown
bruises and shattered bones medicated with lies
happiness diluted with tears
in a house with screams undetected
when asked what i wanted to be
i testified "far from here"
now, fiber optic home front news
faceless words
cancer eating away at your life
with the fury of a piranha
your disease now my champion
fighting with the courage i was unable to muster
your epitaph written in my adolescence
while plotting your midnight homicide
again you leave
unaccountable for your actions
i'm left to wrestle with the demons
not the strenght to forgive
my memory too scarred to forget
i'll keep the battle lines drawn
your monument
let the puzzle piece fall where it may
good bye old man
you'll be missed like a pit vipers bite
your pain can no longer touch me
from the grave.
I see all of the tragedies all around as even the tallest mountains shake
Who says this is stable ground as now in Nepal yet another earthquake
I seen floods and their wicked path the tsunami that is coming ashore
The hurricane in all it's wrath yet an arsenal that contains even more
I see hailstones the size of baseballs and drought that's only just begun
As each past whether record falls yet the Earth is certainly not yet done
For the storms seem to get worse yet no one's really paying attention
Like our own self style created curse as morals are but a mere mention
Three thousand died in America yesterday but oh yeah they were unborn
And let the world also add their say and why His people are under scorn
Three thousand more today with a sky so blue and 3,000 more tomorrow
The world having taken your soul from within leaving you with no sorrow
We can't predict such disaster as we should have learned from the past
The Lord is King and Master who'd dare break but even one of His cast
To many there is no connection in direct contrast to The Creators Word
Psalms 22:31 is of God's election despite from man what you've heard