Long Third base Poems
Long Third base Poems. Below are the most popular long Third base by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Third base poems by poem length and keyword.
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....WOMEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, GIRLS, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle Fickle - For Every Man in a Pickle
Fickle fickle…. Broads are fickle
Get a man into a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…. Yes they tickle
Treat us lower than a nickle
Chat up chat up does belie
Gives us bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty… grows the storm
Disappears like the norm
Riding riding is her wave
Naughty naughty to her grave
Touch up touch up where she can
Making sure that he’s a man
Swish and sway, what a sight
Thinking she is dynamite
Tries to see how far he’ll go
Gets to third base, she says no
Fickle fickle, fizzle…. Strop
Mess with me, I’ll make you stop.
In Response to Auntie Eileen Ghali
For her Fickle Fickle poem
Form:
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....FAITHFUL MEN! ;)
(THIS IS FOR FUN, MEN, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle, fickle…men are fickle
Get the women in a pickle
Sweet talk, sweet talk…how they tickle
Treat a treasure like a nickle
Chat up, chat up, and then lie
Sugared bites of ego pie
Flirty, flirty….brew a storm
Dissipate just like the norm
Riding, riding on her wave
Naughty, naughty to the grave
Feel up, feel up where he can
Make her think that he's a….MAN
Swagger, swagger, what a sight!
Thinks he carries...."dynamite" ;)
Tries to see how far he'll get
Up to third base is his bet
Fickle fickle, fizzle….POP
Mess with me, I’ll make it drop!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
A repost. My Muse is still on holiday in Greece. Can't write for the life of me....but I miss community. So...here it goes...
To all of you fans sitting close to the field:
When you see a fair grounder coming, please yield.
That means that the ball coming is still in play.
If you interfere, you just might ruin the day.
The umpire will say it’s a ground rule double.
Take the ball away, and you’ll be in trouble.
The runner on first must go back to third base.
Your team may lose the game, and that’s a disgrace.
That runner may have scored your team’s tying run.
They’ll be losing a game which they could have won.
Sure, you’ll have yourselves a wanted souvenir
However, that baseball’s cost might be quite dear!
One thousand dollars fine, and you’ll be kicked out.
The players and fans won’t like it; there’s no doubt.
That ball must be foul before taking it out.
So think before you interfere with that ball.
A game must be a pleasure for one and all.
they built a ballpark over my bones,
laid asphalt like a priest's last lie—
no headstone, no name,
just beer guts and baseball caps
spilling nacho cheese
where I once bled.
I was twenty-three,
shot twice in the alley behind Leroy’s Bar,
the paper called me
“suspected.”
that was all they needed.
the morgue forgot me,
the state ignored me,
and my mother—
she wept
until the flies outnumbered her prayers.
now they cheer a double play
while I sleep beneath their roars,
rootless and rotted,
a ghost who never swung a bat—
but still waits
for justice
to round third base and come home.
For generations, she has been the envy of nations large and small.
In lively colors, red, white, and blue, Old Glory waved at us all.
Like Miss Liberty, she stands erect, strong, and tall.
She has a giant's heart, but is not too big to fall.
I still pray the short prayer, "God bless America".
But more than ever before, I pray, "God save America".
She became great since her birth, but is now losing the race.
Many are rooting for her as she heads for home from third base.
But she has haters who despise and long for her demise; yet she survives.
Debating, delineating, and discussing are not enough to quell the assault.
If we cease to pray and trust in God, the seasoning will depart from her salt.
Dismissing God will make null and void all the battles that have been fought.
God must always be recognized as The First and The Last, The A and the Z.
Anything less, and we will surely be overcome and conquered by the beast.
042522PS
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.
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.
"Take me out to the ball game"
that anthem of great fame,
one lyric is clearly off track-
"I don't care if I ever get back".
It's the only game after all,
where the defense controls the ball.
It's so unique, so revealing,
that's what makes it so appealing.
Who could abandon a game they love,
without permission from up above?
It would take a lot to walk away,
from a game millions love to play.
True, we all want to get to home,
on the way often stranded alone.
To really score, it's what you've earned.
That's what life teaches, what we've learned.
In our culture, there's a special place
for people who are born on third base.
Fortunate ones, who thought they'd hit a triple
whose actual efforts never made a ripple.
Got in the right schools, joined the best clubs,
Mommy and Daddy cushioned all their flubs.
In their lives there was little pain,
on their parade, it never does rain.
So unaware of their illusion,
they miss the obvious conclusion.
This is how truth goes off its rails,
creates some of our societal ailes.
Here everyone should be safe, nobody out:
that's one thing America's all about.
Your team success is never under debate,
if no one gets to cross home plate.
So as we set these words to rhyme,
always respecting our nation's past time
that spawns character in those who play:
we need leaders who think this way.
The final score is always just the same,
not win or lose but how you play the game.
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....MEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, MEN, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle fickle…men are fickle
Get the women in a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…how they tickle
Treat a treasure like a nickle
Chat up chat up and then lie
Sugared bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty….brew a storm
Dissipate then like the norm
Riding riding on her wave
Naughty naughty to the grave
Feel up feel up where he can
Make her think that he's a….MAN
Swagger swagger, what a sight!
Thinking he's got dynamite
Tries to see how far he'll get
Up to third base is his bet
Fickle fickle, fizzle….pop
Mess with me, I’ll make you drop!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Never was good at humor! This is as good as it gets with me!
She comes to bat with the score tied three to three.
Staring out at the pitcher,
she goes into her stance,
just hoping the ball will come over the sweet part of the plate.
Into her motion, the pitcher winds and fires.
Gathering all of her strength,
her eyes lock on the fast approaching yellow softball.
Like a gladiator ready to charge, she coils her body ready to strike.
Swinging with all her might, she connects
and the crowd goes wild as the ball sails
over the center fielder's head and to the fence.
With the crowd cheering,
she takes off like a young cheetah toward first.
A smile on her face and a gleam in her eye,
she looks up and catches the coaches signal to go to second.
Seeing the ball is still in the outfield
and the third base coach waving her on,
she rounds second and heads for third.
Fans fired up cheering,
mom and dad hold their breath and pray
as she rounds third for home.
Looking up and seeing a good relay throw to the catcher,
she throws on her brakes and reverses to third.
A bullet throw from catcher to third base
has her in a rundown.
Like a ping pong ball, they have her running back and forth,
but she’s not worried with her speed.
Then it happens,
the third baseman overthrows the catcher
and she is off for home.
Heart pounding and breathing hard,
knowing it will be close,
she dives feet first and slides into home base
under the tag to make a home run.
The crowd is roaring in the stands,
jumping up and down, hollering and clapping their hands.
Her team mates run out of the dugout and mob her with joy.
She’s made the winning run to break the tie.
By:5/23/2015
A true story of my nine year old granddaughter making the winning run.