Long First base Poems
Long First base Poems. Below are the most popular long First base by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long First base poems by poem length and keyword.
Regardless of which field of endeavor you happen to be in, never say never, and never say, "It's over'' until it's over. I was in my garage during chores better known as this, that, and the other, but I don't remember what.
Two outs, bottom of the 9th, and the home team was down one run. Being announced by one of the greatest announcers in Major League Baseball, it was the first game of the 1988 World Series between two California rivals, one representing Northern and the other Southern California.
That 9th inning, especially the last at-bat, was being played as if it was a game to end all games and certainly among the greatest that I ever witnessed, but I don't remember why I was listening to the game over
the radio and not watching it on TV.
Anyway, the visiting team, most-favored to win the series, was ahead 4 to 3 with the best closer in ML Baseball. However, He was matched against one of the game's greatest clutch-hitters. Moreover, the home team had a great base stealer on first base which was critical to the game because the great clutcher, not in the lineup and not expecting to play, could barely walk, much less run, which meant that he had to hit a long ball for a single or hit a home run.
With the clutcher at-bat, the base runner stole second base which was a great boost, and it also meant that a long single would tie the game and take it into extra innings, or a home run would win the game for the home team which is what happened. 8 pitches were thrown at this at-bat: two strikes, three balls, three fowl balls; 2-run homer, and the home team won 5 to 4. I tell you, it was one amazing one-third inning.
040620PoSpCtest, Strand Pick 6, Brain Strand
"Thoughts of a Sexual Nature"
Vivid thoughts of you,
in your birthday suit.
Sprawled on my living room floor,
anxiously you wait
for what you came here for.
Long toned legs,
a rippled mid-section.
I want to hear you beg,
you caused this ********.
Incense burn!!
Sex on the Beach
heightens the mood.
I allude,
to a massage.
A mental mirage,
a dream.
Vivid thoughts accrue,
as I knead your birthday suit.
skin like a rare passion fruit,
and I'm working for your nectar.
You're my aperitif,
and I have a sweet tooth
for your vermouth.
_________________________________________________________
Strumming your neck,
my tongue is the pick.
Hearing you moan lightly, "Oh your so thick."
So eager was the lass,
for me to.... hose down her fire.
You see, the blaze I intensified.
I knew her desires.
Slow down I pleaded,
hasten your pace!
We have all night baby,
and first base is my face.
I had overdosed on her Vermouth.
She poured without a care!
Enveloped in lusts rapture,
it was, to soon to conclude.
Ambiance is important, so I'll set the mood.
Red lights, mirrored headboard
& playing softly in the background,
a love songs
interlude!!!
_________________________________________________________
Soft moist lips lick you're ear
whispering words of delight
pursuing my plight for your might,
my tongue rolls down your neck
peck on peck,
as my goal unfolds
kissing chest nipples
your dimples of gold
tanned bronze like a god,
excitement,
ecstasy
extension to explode,
the ride enhances as liftoff begins
tastier than sins,
searing flesh on flesh emotions
enmesh juices of love in thrombosis,
in oceanic osmosis,
as we fall...
spent ...
content ...
in orgasmic opulence.....
"This is a collaboration written by three different poets... Starting with Me...
Samuel Brooks has the middle section, and Linda Marie Bariana concludes...
This turned out well and I am sure all of you will agree..
Jared Pickett---Asavvy1
Samuel Brooks----ChocolateWoW-------------------------1/27/2010
Linda Marie Bariana------Sweetheart
She lay there ever so still
Pulling up the blanket as she begins to feel a chill
Eyes rolling to the back of the head
As she rolls over in her bed
Body functions slowed down while her mind sped
As she lay ever so calm her mind decides to open
The first sight is that of rose petals floating
As they land on a bed made for a king
Walking through the big wood door
The sun shines through the windows from the ceiling to the floor
A light skinned man standing 6 feet tall with the most cut muscles is something she could not
ignore
He starts to close the shades to darken the room
As she sits on the bed starring at him she has no idea what he has in store
One thing she did want to do is explore
As he starts to light candles to give the room that dim light
She thinks in her head I am going to have fun tonight
He looks at her and says “do you have your passport because tonight we are going to take
flight”
Asking for her permission as he wants to be polite
She thinks to herself no need to ask your going to stay overnight
He approaches her and she licks her lips has her heart begins to race
Laying her down on the silk sheets he knows he is going past first base
His hand going up her shirt as he lands that first kiss on her lip
Taking heavy breaths and she has boarded and about to take a trip
His hands working his way down and her pants he begins to unzip
Slowly touching her body all over she cant take it anymore as she yells strip
Two bodies pressed together under a silk smooth sheet
Gripping his back while biting her tongue as the plane is now in the air
The dragon no longer defends as the knight has entered her lair
Eyes rolling to the back of her head full of pleasure she can’t bare
She couldn’t help herself “don’t stop” was her declare
She was finally getting what she always wanted which was a love affair
Penetrating to the back of her lair he goes
Reaching her climax her body shaking she froze
The plane landed and up she arose
Fully satisfied in his arms she lay
She only wanted his treats but she got the whole buffet
No longer wanting to be closed she gave him the key
The best night that she has ever had is something she must agree
She woke up suddenly to realize it was just a fantasy
© Jeremy Fennell
Erotic Errata
by Michael R. Burch
I didn’t mean to love you; if I did,
it came unbid-
en, and should’ve remained hid-
den!
***
Less Heroic Couplets: Marketing 101
by Michael R. Burch
Building her brand, she disrobes,
naked, except for her earlobes.
***
Negligibles
by Michael R. Burch
Show me your most intimate items of apparel;
begin with the hem of your quicksilver slip ...
***
Warming Her Pearls
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Warming her pearls,
her breasts gleam like constellations.
Her belly is a bit rotund ...
she might have stepped out of a Rubens.
***
Cover Girl
by Michael R. Burch
Cunning
at sunning
and dunning,
the stunning
young woman’s in the running
to be found nude on the cover
of some patronizing lover.
In this case the cover is a bed cover, where the enterprising young mistress is about to be covered herself.
***
First Base Freeze
by Michael R. Burch
I find your love unappealing
(no, make that appalling)
because you prefer kissing
then stalling.
***
Nun Fun Undone
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
Abbesses’
recesses
are not for excesses!
***
Less Heroic Couplets: Sex Hex
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
Love’s full of cute paradoxes
(and highly acute poxes).
Published by *Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online* and *Poem Today*
***
Retro
by Michael R. Burch
Now, once again,
love’s a redundant pleasure,
as we laugh
at my childish fumblings
through the acres of your dress,
past your wily-wired brassiere,
through your panties’ pink billows
of thrill-piqued frills ...
Till I lay once again—panting redfaced
at your gayest lack of resistance,
and, later, at your milktongued
mewlings in the dark ...
When you were virginal,
sweet as eucalyptus,
we did not understand
the miracle of repentance,
and I took for granted
your obsessive distance ...
But now I am happily unbuttoning
that chaste dress,
unhitching that firm-latched bra,
tugging at those parachute-like panties—
the ones you would have gladly forgotten
had I not bought them in this year’s size.
Originally published by Erosha
We Will Tell Each Other Everything
*
We will not keep anything from each other
We will not have secrets
We will not lie to each other
We want our friendship to take flight
and soar like an Eagle
*
Hey girl
What boy
Wanna go to the big cities
Ye...aah boy
Wanna go with me girl
Of course silly boy
Cool girl
Hey boy we will go to museums see musical shows
And walk in the park
Yea I'm with you girl
And ball games too boy
Cool girl I'm in the stands with you
*
We will not be afraid to ask questions of each other
We can talk about anything
The sky's the limit
We will have a friendship that is
Keen and heartfelt
*
Hey girl
What boy
I can run the bases faster than you girl
Of course boy you got longer legs
You can start at first base girl
Okay boy now my legs are a little longer...go
*
Wherever we go
We will take photos
The photos will help us
When we travel Memory Lane
*
Let's climb that tree boy
I'm with you girl
I have a bird's eye view boy
Birds have the life girl
*
Hey boy I like to go high on the swings
I'm with ya girl
Hey girl I'm leaning back and looking up
Cool boy I'll do the same
*
We understand the fear and dread
When our world is empty of compassion and love
With every fiber of our being
We want to help others
*
Hey boy you can't keep me up here forever
Oh no girl and what are you going to do about it
Spit I will spit on you boy
Hey girl seesaws are supposed to be fun
*
Our spirited conversations
Will follow college lectures on literature
An admired Directors new film
Attending the new play in town
*
Hey boy do you want me to
Buy you an ice cream soda
Girl is Babe Ruth the greatest
That is a yes boy
*
At the end of the day we are in each other's arms
We yearn to hold on forever and never let go
We will sit and talk about the Cosmos
And making the world a better place
*
Boy you are blowing into the straw
I like making bubbles girl
You are crazy boy
Crazy about you girl
*
National Belt Time For The Bros
tell me this didn't happen
it did
lil bro and big bro are fast at it, again
two tapes, a plastic, a tennis ball, a golf ball
all batted by the bros onto the neighbors roof
across the street
bros are thinking what to do
what to do next
there's no more balls to play with
think, think
this is national past time
baseball, baseball
two outs in the ninth tie score
Kristina's looking on, blowing kisses to the both of us
she's our neighbor's daughter, when we grew up in Norway
she's fun, she's first base most of the time
bros come up with an idea
games still on
both look inside at dad's pool table
and grab a cue ball
hmm. it's white
nothings going to happen
bros say to themselves
no,no,no
oh please listen
this isn't happening, bros
your dad's recreation
where he invites all his friends for weekly pool games
no, stop
think, think ...
... the bros do think, somewhat
it's okay. dad won't know
angels, angels please zap them
stop them, stop them, please
before ...
it's too late
it's too late
big bros winding up,
leg high in the air
lil bro's in the batter's box
focusing on the sweet spot
the cue ball sails towards lil bro
a speeding bullet train
he swings with all his might, misses
big bros won, big bros won
hands high above in the air
oh, oh
there's a glass shattering sound
hands sadly sagging low now
see i told you
both bros look at the hole in the window
double panes of glass laughing at their youth
Kristina runs home, smart
both bros look at each other;
tears running down their faces
it's too late bros
thinking the obvious,
what were we thinking
yet in the heat of the moment
it was baseball
national pastime ...
until when dad arrived home ..
national past time hurt
let me tell you, let me tell you
it hurt the sweet spot
connie pachecho
2/17/17
You’ve got to listen close now girls and boys
Just between you and me, I have a tale
It's all about money and human decoys
Fast cars, decadence, and leaders for sale
You see, about thirty years ago today
Fifty men held as hostage in Iran
Uncle Sam figured, we needed to play
Needed our man to pitch it in the fan
So, we hired a fellow who I won't name
We knew he was crazy and a killer
But hey, that was the whole point of our game
Twas our future ticket at the tiller
We gave him weapons and a lot of cash
He attacked those hostage takers for us
A sovereign state he gave a big bash
Then he gave us our ticket for the bus
We rode on the big white horse with a gun
It had all been planned for years, from first base
Our man went back home and we stayed for fun
We moved in and set up shop just in case
He remained the curse of that rich region
But, we were the kings of the neighborhood
He would be bad and we sent a legion
Baby, what a ticket, our man was good
Trouble is, some locals figured it out
They had to do something very drastic
Crusaders they knew they couldn’t have about
They sent some planes, explosions fantastic
But Uncle Sam said, not a real big deal
They just provided us with a ticket
Afghanistan, give terrorist a feel
We moved in with a charge, just like Picket
Then, when our man was of no use to us
We told the world that he was really mad
Gonna build nasty weapons, cause a fuss
We punched our own ticket and he was had
Now here we are all at war, to be free
Hey, so what if a few innocents died
The dividends are worth much more, you see
We earned rolls of tickets after we lied
You’re wondering what this is all about
For you and me, Uncle Sam will serve us
Let’s hope the sleeping sheep never find out
And pray we don’t lose control of this bus
Crying in the rain
Letting go of all this pain
I do not want to see again
How we came crashing to an end
I do not want to see why
We were forced to say good bye
I have watched it and I have lived it
Been crushed by such a low hit
I’m crying in this rain
My eyes red with raw pain
The tears are flowing
Just not going
And I’m left all alone
I beg for your forgiveness
I scream with all I’ve got
But when it comes together
What I have is not a lot
I walk alone down this street
Strangers’ eyes are following
But I just keep on walking
Head down and never slowing
I pace these roads and hope to find
Something that means anything
Something that’s familiar
Until then I’m just left hanging
I’m still crying in this town
The rain pours on my face
Trying to forget you
But failing at first base
I cannot help but remember
Your face and how you smile
Just keep walking strong
It might be easier after a mile
Your eyes and how they glowed
Are burnt into my mind
I close my eyes and see them
Staring back right into mine
I’m crying on this night
And will on many more to come
I’ll stumble forward without you
Looking for my fortune
I cannot ever forget
The feeling that I had
When you put your arms around me
And chased away all the sad
I will try but fail to forget
How you loved me through thick and thin
I will wander through my life
But always still in love with him
He was my world and I can’t forget
He makes me who I am
Although he’s gone and lost from sight
I will not become a sham
I will always try to forget
How brilliant he made me feel
Made the world seem wonderful
And that maybe this world was real
The pain I feel when I remember him
Is cutting deeper still
He’s left a gaping hole in me
One that no one could ever fill
I try and try and fail again
My baby is still gone
I’m crying in this rain again
Cold and all alone
I’m trying to write a poem about my dad
Which is weird because all I want to say about him is the things he’d done bad.
Then there’s the whole problem with this rhyme scheme...
I’m not actually sure what I’m doing.
My dad wasn’t home much, but he kept a roof over our heads
That’s cool, I guess I don’t much like the idea of being dead.
I’m a little conflicted still, though
He was sometimes a jerk but an expert at pulling splinters out of toes.
I guess you can make bad decisions but be a good person
Yet sometimes I don’t answer his calls just to hurt him.
It’s my own loss though,
If I was nice he’d probably pay child support and we’d be rolling in dough.
Not really, but it’s nice to dream!
I wonder if he ever reflects on life’s schemes
His kids live 210 miles away
He’s lucky if he gets two of us on the phone on the same day.
He’s different now, which is kind of nice.
I’m pretty sure sometimes his attempts at reconciliation are aided by online forums for advice...
I don’t care, really.
I don’t like to wear dresses that are frilly!
There goes that rhyme pattern,
Trapping me in a stanza with words that far from flatter.
Where was I again? Oh yes! My Father!
How could the poem get any odder?
My dad wasn’t there before, and he’s trying now
It doesn’t matter how often or even how.
He’s a dad and he wasn’t swinging so good while we ran to our adolescent first base
But time heals all wounds, and sometimes our greatest savior is space.
I do love my dad, even though he’s far from perfect.
He’s bipolar and can have the emotional capacity of a brick.
He’s trying, and I know now that’s what matters.
Maybe this fathers day, instead of missing his calls, I’ll send him some flowers?
Form:
ARTE MAYOR*: Neither Cricket nor Football
Is this the way to prop A-first
Sock not oval ball overhead
Slam not round ball with drumstick dead
Cut not corporate tax: the worst
Hundred millions sweat till tv burst
Swamp Super Bowl cheer-leaders' tights
The day England scorned Wales' rights*
Would arméd football rugby durst
Catch not ball in leather-gloved hand
Watch how slip-fields pluck balls from air
Out-fields brave boundaries debonair
That's what cricket's in any land
Trumped-up charges make no A-men grand
Nor soft base balls stop eyes grow sore
A-1 Nation must make World soar
Hail Rugby! King Twickenham brand!
Throw missile back You Quarter-Back
Take no step beyond the Red line
Referee draws to keep the front-line
Push no further than ball in pack
The Golden Rule's not to kick back
Unless you're in scrum cheek to jowl
And lick the foe if he must growl
Block those horns in grid-lock Am-track!
Curve ball's By Gad no in-swinger
Reach first base sans one lone strike
Home runs no match sixes through dike
Stop runs coming through huge bouncer
Best way to take the World over
Scrap apéd games from lean memory
Learn to play ball gentlemanly
You'll need no Vinson carrier!
*Arte Mayor (Sp. Major Art) stanzaic form, the art of Archiprest de Hita (12th-13th c.): eight syllabic lines in eight-line stanzas, rhyming abba acca.
*England beat Wales in epic match at Cardiff to win Six-Nations' Rugby 2017 Trophy; the same day the Super Bowl was watched by 125 millions on TV. If the same audience could have seen the match at Cardiff, I'd wager that would have been the very last Super Bowl event in history.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017