Long Batters Poems
Long Batters Poems. Below are the most popular long Batters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Batters poems by poem length and keyword.
Where do you begin with Ravichandran Ashwin...intellectual impresario
Red ball romeo... conceptual maestro..the Kingpin of spin..leather lothario
Perpetual taunting...teasing..bubbling cerebral cauldron formenting..haunting
Troubling.. flaunting...tormenting..vaunting..fermenting..pleasing
Luminosity...but another one of the band of badger brothers
Reeks of unique chic tweak at its peak
Bare faced cheek of genius geek cavorting
Discerning pastor preaching while yearning for learning
More about turning…..curiosity pique...sleek sporting freak
Mythical master of disaster..have many if any been reaching 500 wickets faster
Viral spirals about this sage despite his age still taking centre stage
Batters like budgies trapped in a gilded cage
As though he had planned to grandstand the Ravinchand bandstand brand...stealing the back page
Revolution masquerading as evolution...cogitating...searching for a solution
Ruminating..problems to fix with his swag bag of tricks..spinning absolution
Precision physician with constant revision...each edition
A new rendition.. high jinks with winks.. and nods to tradition
Wondering...that furrowed brow..pondering how
Career of seams caressed with finger finesse ... architect..engineer without peer…
Can't debunk the magic funk…just respect from a Test tragic monk
Scientist enthrall..sorcerer gall...still one of us...the best of us all.
So hold your head high Ravichandran..still don't know why you were so often the fall guy
Fans vicarious view..our meme..you part of our team...daring to dream..your art of derring do
Iconic booty of noble probes…lush lullabies...strobes lapping global lobes
Sagacious..loquacious oratory...the tonic...fruity frolic
Fresh from laboratory duty..bodacious bucolic beauty
Even naysayers can't deny they relish that conjuring charm from your cherished right arm.
Let's zoom to the elephant in the room...is Ashwin the don of Indian spin
With the skill and will to top the bill and still pip Anil?
Kumble also a defiant giant on whom they were so reliant
Hot to trot just not as savvy as Ravi
The Don's got the lot..takes number one spot
Wealth of stealth...doyen among men..but never ever about himself
He loves cricket just for the cricket itself..zen then..
Life – a churning maelstrom that batters the senses, the emotions
Ceaseless, never waning as it pounds endlessly on our soul
An eternal storm, lashing continuously against us
Beating at us, wearing down all resistance
Consuming us with its unstoppable power
Swirling with both uplifting and crushing forces, unseen
Some can embrace it, feeding on the energy it can provide
Living for each moment, enjoying, as it feeds them
Absorbing the never ending influx that fills their very being
Seemingly impervious to the darker clouds within
Their soul battles always to keep the crushing power at bay
Trying to feed only on the positive – always battling but surviving
Others find a safe harbor, somewhere to ride out the worst
To mend and patch their battered and beaten resistances
Not always safe, but never far from security, safety
Never wandering far from shore, forever seeking the calm
Building strong walls, keeping all but the strongest surges at bay
Never experiencing the thrills, the adventure – but always safe
But in the wildest, darkest parts, towards the centre of the hurricane
Some survive, fighting to the core of their being
Battered, bruised, their resistances all but destroyed by the ceaseless fury
They search, always looking for the right path, the way to peace
Few find a way, sometimes alone, sometimes with others
Battling to stay afloat, slowly finding a way through the chaos
But there are always the lost, seemingly caught forever in the maelstrom
Enveloped by the darkness, no beacon to guide them, no walls to shield them
Never noticed, ignored, feeling alone, adrift in a sea of despair, lost
Few will be saved, pulled and dragged to a safe harbor by caring souls
To survive, to live, to rebuild stronger, hoping against hope
Building their resistance to the constant storm, staying close to safety
For many, there is no respite, drawn further into the raging darkness
Feeling there is only one escape – the darkness at the very heart of the storm
Quiet, calm darkness, holding them steady while the maelstrom rages
A place they feel safe, free from the outside, free from the torment
Darkness, peaceful, completely enveloped, feeling free, total escape
It shelters them; somewhere they can be free from all - from life
Oi Oi ..saveloy…caps do doff..bless Joffy boy…with injury woes and blows…
From the off some did scoff…Joff can no longer bowl for toffee…clearly not really…
Not being coy but some of those press hoi polloi said Ben had chose..
A risky ploy against our Indian foes…but seeing him let rip
For the fans unbridled joy..a trip to our favourite offy..
It must have been hard..his comeback marred..alright scarred
By what the keyboard warriors deposited…despite his trouncer
Bouncer calling card…was abused.. and accused of being coddled..
Even swaddled and cossetted..
While everyone in the stand thought it was grand…
Our corn row mane not dread lock..spearhead…
Gold chain warlock.. with the ball they all dread
After four sore years to once more..
Adore pure pace grace so raw..
Watch the speed gun soar…
A hardcore encore we saw for sure..
You can’t really match it…the Jofra creed…
Watching batters in tatters..can't relax..sow the seed..
The champ axe in our camp does ramp it up to the max…
Trying to face our flying ace hatchet who when he does need
Can just ratchet up his speed..
No faking…Joff did always say he would do his best..
In his quest to play another test…the ultimate contest..
Can’t be forsaken by those mistaken that he would just be taking..
The cash for some crap brash slap and dash bash..
Fleeting greetings from the future..where we will all being well ..
Will be meeting our speedster suitor…us.. amorous
About our glamorous Jofradamus..his blizzards will neuter..
Have willow wizards by the gizzards..our tearaway tutor..
So a quick nod to the bowling God…giving him another
Chance to prance and dance..sod each odd bod..
Getting sniffy or spiffy.. Joff somehow iffy..
Cos it was bloody lubbly jubbly..
To see you back having a crack on the track …
Like the scene of that 2019 tiff between him and piggy Smith…
Us again getting squiffy in a jiffy..with this new riff..
By our corker stalker.. wicket hawker…..the bliss
We did miss due to his injury abyss..
A new era ..finally coming…Joff still strumming …humming..
Nice one my son…so come on let’s open the bubbly…
So exciting, I'm next, I'm next
My turn up to swing, make that bat sing
Don't think it gets any better than that
Your chance at a home run to bring
Oh No, they're switching pitchers
She must be that NEW girl at school
I have no conception or Clue... of her technique
Wonder if those well defined muscular arms
are any indication... That little girl don't appear weak
Silently sweating in the dug out,
listening to all my peers frantically shout,
"That girls throw is like a tornado invader,
It's been told she clocks off all the radar!"
Her last season was historically undefeated
All the batters were left feeling depleted
Every rival team ultimately conceded
I'm starting to feel a 'lil cheated
"You there, Your UP", shouts the ump
"Make sure to secure your Cup
as you approach the mound,
been told this little girls throw is faster
than the speed of sound,
"She'll leave you writhing
in awful pain upon the ground!"
The catchers mask is fastened in place
Perspiration beads break out on my face
My team mates expect me to place
How can I lose to a girl, with grace
I'll never be able to show my face
"Play Ball", is called, "Strike One"
This suddenly doesn't feel like fun
Muffled shouts within the crowd
"You suck", is all I hear quite Loud
Her team cheers effervescently proud
In a split second, Whiz," Strike Two"
Our catcher falls back from the thrust
Up in the air is his shoe, pretty sure I am threw
If I don't hit the next one, it's a definite bust
I think I even heard my grandmother cuss
This last shot at bat will determine the game
The scores are tied, no innings remain
My palms are sweaty upon the bat as I get ready
Oddly, I think that girl is pretty, as I hold my bat steady
As the crowd is chanting, my breath heavily panting
In the fastest whoosh I've ever Seen,
" Strike Three"
That pretty girl is now The towns Baseball Queen
Yup, So it's a tie, and I'm not exactly sure why
But at the pizza party tonight that shall follow
After a big gulp and unusual pride swallow
I'm gonna ask that pretty girl to Marry Me !
There is a strange cool breeze blowing from the East and
it is telling me that the journey is complete.I have to
put on my Sunday best before I journey to the West.
The strange sun heat is circulating around the galaxy
with a message that makes me feel extremely unhappy
It is crossing from border to border and it is creating
a mysterious disorder.The beaches are getting hot
and the sun is burning their backs.There is no need to go to the
beach you can get a tan before the day is complete
I just wonder what is going on in the air, something
is happening that is causing me to fear
The sun is falling, the heat is raising and the people are swearing
Hot backs, hot frocks, and hot stockings hanging
on the door steps.
The people are moving about, and they began to shout
You can hear the agony in their voices
And the broken melody when they sart to sing,
they are standing on the bridges
And they are crying out for mankind's sin
The futile tale of the banana boat lining upon
The shore while the scorching heat is tearing up its
sails before they cross the rails.It batters
against the wind, with broken sails held together
by six inches nails, cords and strings wraped around
them while destiny creeps slowly around the bend.
The sky stands still and the heavens crys and
forward a woeful sigh.The seagulls have
Disappeared and the mountain stand bare
with a rythm that is very hard to imagine
They tell me to dance before daylight goes out
They tell me to dance before the ocean starts
to shout they say to dance when you are in doubt
The sun heat is creating havock in the street
And the traffic is creating a miserable sound and
black birds in the trees are dancing around to
the honking horns and chaos in the street
The trees are perishing in the heat and the
Fish are burning up in the sea, the dessert sun is
getting stronger and the universe is getting bigger
Heaven is weaping around the corner and the
open river bed is waiting patiently for mercy
To fall into its woeful gut.
The heaven is wrapped up into the sun
And the villian is on the run.
I remember the day of my nine pitch inning.
Though it happened over forty years ago.
The day was hot, yet cloudy,very little breeze.
I went through my usual stretching and running.
The guys knew to leave me alone before the game.
The stadium was slowly filling, an early crowd.
It had rained in the morning and the grass was damp.
The fresh cut grass was sticking to my cleats,
which meant the mound's clay would too.
I didn't know much about the other team,
except they were from the Red's organization.
Then again they'd never seen me either.
We were the home team, so I took the mound first.
My catcher and I had just met, me having just been brought up.
We decided to go all fast balls to get into a rhythm.
The first batter stepped up, a tall right handed hitter.
Tom my catcher set up with the center of his body,
six inches off the outside of the plate.
This meant if I hit the glove where he had it,
it would be a ball.I used a two seam grip,
putting pressure on the outside finger.
This would make the ball appear futher out,
before breaking about seven inches towards the hitter.
Still a ball, but something for him to see,
to leave in his mind.To our amazement the umpire
set up directly,behind my cathcher.
The call, strike one!Tom and I looked at each other and smiled.
I immediately changed to a four seam grip,
which stays on a truer line.The next two pitches were six inches off
yet called strike two!Strike three!
The next two batters were set down in order.
Three pitches apiece.All balls.All called strikes.
After that inning and a few helmets slammed,
along with a few bats.We never got that pitch called
a strike again.The umpire had called those pitches,
not by the plate, but, by the center of my catcher.
We thought it funny to strike three guys out,
on nine pitches, none that were actually a strike,
And none that were swung on by any batter.
contest..Batter Up
Our own hagrid (in the corporeal essence of marital relatives) heaves livid rage
like real life harry potter dementors dead set on wreaking havoc
mainly from the zison matriarch in a mental and physical decrepit stage
attributable in part to her four score plus years on a depression riddled life
but mainly on account that her least favorite son in law lacks any income or
wage.
Venomous rage spews forth like a smoldering volcano about to explode
threats to vacate the premises likened to toxic emotions
that bear down like the sword of Damocles or how atlas bore earth as a heavy
load
which chronic onslaught of fiery livid (red hot poker) rage
sets the entire collective family psyche in an awful tortured soulful mode.
Animosity brewed and festered for well nigh going into the eighth year
scant mutually agreeable resolutions prolong this debacle
at the corners of our ability to cope do rent asunder and tear
and last shred of sanity that remains whereby nightmarish demons leer
like haywire bots with maniacal grins their trademark flair.
Wrath batters and assaults without merciless cessation lathered with blame
that we supposedly bleed dry this elderly octogenarian dame
criticism and insults indiscriminately hurled burns like hellish flame
no matter both myself and spouse experience inherent weaknesses
any explanations describing efforts to reaching goals accepted as lame.
Angst permeates while hopelessness drips from every cell
dealing with malice (from blood kin no less) with no salvation this place we dwell
synonymous with living among the dead in I did believe in hell
whereby these retaliatory barbs tossed like hand grenades pell mell
because the old lady this ramshackle house she wishes to sell.
If anybody who read this help us please
An affordable rent such a deal this guy would cease
as a permanent place to live our plight t’would appease.
Our own hagrid (in the corporeal essence of marital relatives) heaves livid rage
like real life harry potter dementors dead set on wreaking havoc
mainly from the zison matriarch in a mental and physical decrepit stage
attributable in part to her four score plus years on a depression riddled life
but mainly on account that her least favorite son in law lacks any income or
wage.
Venomous rage spews forth like a smoldering volcano about to explode
threats to vacate the premises likened to toxic emotions
that bear down like the sword of Damocles or how atlas bore earth as a heavy
load
which chronic onslaught of fiery livid (red hot poker) rage
sets the entire collective family psyche in an awful tortured soulful mode.
Animosity brewed and festered for well nigh going into the eighth year
scant mutually agreeable resolutions prolong this debacle
at the corners of our ability to cope do rent asunder and tear
and last shred of sanity that remains whereby nightmarish demons leer
like haywire bots with maniacal grins their trademark flair.
Wrath batters and assaults without merciless cessation lathered with blame
that we supposedly bleed dry this elderly octogenarian dame
criticism and insults indiscriminately hurled burns like hellish flame
no matter both myself and spouse experience inherent weaknesses
any explanations describing efforts to reaching goals accepted as lame.
Angst permeates while hopelessness drips from every cell
dealing with malice (from blood kin no less) with no salvation this place we dwell
synonymous with living among the dead in I did believe in hell
whereby these retaliatory barbs tossed like hand grenades pell mell
because the old lady this ramshackle house she wishes to sell.
If anybody who read this help us please
An affordable rent such a deal this guy would cease
as a permanent place to live our plight t’would appease.
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
Throwing back the sun light to shower the world
Skin stretched out as much as possible, trying to flood the universe with his infinite cheer
Little feat scurry around, little hands wave up and down
Seeking more, finding an earth ready and welcoming
The air they breathe, the wind they feel
Laughs back at the
m as they cheer in joy
It tickles them when they trip
But they always rise back again; they always want to run again, they never think they’d fall
again
And even if they do, the wind will always carry them back up
They cry, each tear falls down and echoes through the soft earth they tread on
Tears of joy, tears that sprout around them a garden of happiness, a garden of warmth
Warmth that seeps in all around them, warmth that beats away the shivers and lets them
snuggle to sleep
As they frolic and play, a shadowy mist creeps in, white as their glistening teeth
A rugged mist with age worn eyes and an experience gnarled touch
As the mist rolls through the gardens that engulf them, that warmth they emitted turns
menacingly cold
The garden their tears had sprouted wilts and decays, weeds and thorns rise up to trip them
and prick them
The wind is angered; it blows through the mist, but as it soars down to defend its charge
It turns out of the mist a haunted demon
And batters them with hail and rain
It roars them to tears, tears of fear and pain
The air is filled with dust, they choke and cough and no one is there to help
The earth shuts its doors to the horror it sees
Little feat pound at the earth in frustration, little hands grow claws and rip at their assailants
Smiles turn into grins as they relieve their anger
Their fangs concealed, they shut out any sunlight and cheer that they once wielded
Corrupted dark.
© Samir Georges
2008