Long Shortstop Poems
Long Shortstop Poems. Below are the most popular long Shortstop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shortstop poems by poem length and keyword.
OMG! What do you mean that
There's no service at this time?
Well my provider better be ready,
To pay a pretty penny or a dime.
At least they were kind enough,
To send a quick text to let me know.
That they need a few more hours to
Try and restore my lost bloodflow.
Well what the hell do they expect me
To do, now that I'm left all alone?
I mean, no TV, no internet, no music ...
Does life go on as it's been known?
Now I'm trying to search my memory,
Of how we all survived before these days.
Whether battling dungeons and dragons,
Or being a shortstop making plays.
So as I'm forced to stop surfing my digital waves,
I'll turn back the clock and go 'old-school'.
Where opening a book and using a pen & paper,
May substitute for interaction and be new fuel.
This might lead to more face-to-face meets,
Even those I'd rather avoid.
As my options seem limited, but damnit,
I can't be more annoyed!
Yet here I sit confessing my anger,
Feeling inept to accomplish anything more.
While I try to find some creativity,
Awaiting the nets return, just as before.
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.
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 first time I thought of him
His name was playing shortstop;
Too few siesta’s spent, he’s found eighteen.
Stingy Time did swiftly pass us forth,
Spinning nurture, spanning missteps,
Till foundation definition was writ soul-side.
Sparkling child, Number One,
All expectations overthrown
Set the mold against the measure
No one can meet, nor treasure find,
To manifest such precious boy,
Announcer of next family tone.
Since crawling days no motor
Stopped the quest for dinosaurs and sharks.
Pets for none, terror for most,
Hardly fodder for a lesser lad,
As he pursued magnificent fiendish friends
At intensity predicting future scope.
Relentless, that full pursuit, the intrepid ‘tween
Dog-chased antiquities' cold blooded beasts
And much maligned circling jaws of wet death.
High School contributed a Docent step,
To hear, close beside, bold lion roar at feeding time.
No tremble there, nor sweating palm, just awe-filled chill
Affirming joy in long sought thrills
Replaced with focused urgent yearning,
Bent to learn to read the fearful roar as script
Acknowledging coexistent travels
‘round stale Earth’s ailing wonder grounds,
Emulating lost garden’s destiny Divine.
And so, forthwith, traveling north to
Lumberjack U. to accelerate in craft,
Prized manhood horizon near at hand,
We’ll follow unabatedly our rising squire
As, pursing lip to coronet, coaxing contemplative calm,
He envisages trumpeting Eden’s second dawn.
Just as any durable and competent shortstop,
you cleanly field practically anything coming on the hop.
Your athletic ability shows when you throw to first base.
Among the best major leaguers, you have taken your place.
You hit equally well from both sides of the plate.
Your surge of power in recent years has been great.
On the base paths, you have been a constant threat.
As a base stealer, you are among the best ones yet.
Proven to be a player of the best kind,
to the Phillies, you have been quite a find.
May you continue to play baseball for many more years.
Among the home crowd, you will hear many cheers.
There is a lot of responsibility for a shortstop.
Many times, I field the ball on the hop.
As sure as I breathe and am alive,
I often have to snare a hard line drive.
I become a catalyst for a double play.
We must keep the opponents from scoring and save the day.
I field the ball up the middle and throw to first base.
There is no time to think, but react in haste.
To get the runner out, I have no time to waste.
I must get the ball to first with a strong arm.
That way, I can protect our lead from harm.
I must be the team’s wizard with the glove.
It is hard work, but a labor of love.
I lead my team out on the field each day.
When it comes to winning, I must always find a way.
Hooray!
Wet grassy feet fill my soccer cleats.
Hot sweaty teens run fast track meets.
She skis down sugary mountain tops.
He begs his coach to play shortstop.
Footballs, field goals, fumbles.
Touchdowns, tackles, tumbles.
My mother keeps warm with hot brown drinks,
as I learn to skate on chilly rinks.
A sadly splintered hockey stick, from a two-quick hat trick.
A winning catch is cradled in a well-loved mitt.
Tiger wins with a hole in one.
Miniature golf is much more fun.
Double dribble the whistle blows.
Excitement on the court grows!
Busy balls dunked in their hoops.
"Hooray" the three cheers for the ALLEY -OOP!
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.