Maris Poems

Time To Judge

When a record might be broken,
All the fans are on their toes.
Will it happen now or later?
Well, nobody really knows.

So the Yankees are expecting
Aaron Judge to do to the deed
If he hits just 2 more homers,
Which is never guaranteed.

Roger Maris holds that record;
Back in 1961
He surpassed Babe Ruth’s achievement,
Sixty homers, by just one.

Judge has 60 at the moment
And each time he’s up at bat,
There’s a buzz throughout the stadium,
Just waiting for that stat.

But the pressure is enormous;
So far Judge has not come through,
Yet all baseball fans are hoping
He will do what he must do.

Though the Yankees won, most watching
Would have sacrificed that win
To see Judge tie up the record
So the breaking can begin.

Tarnished Heros

That bright young President shot down in Dallas
who turned out to be an addict and philanderer.

And don’t get me started on our most
recent former President and his insurrection.

That hundred-meter sprinter who held an Olympic 
Record overnight until his urine tested positive.

That cohort of steroid taking home run hitters who 
demolished Maris’ record and now in the Hall of Infamy.

That Bills back who still holds rushing records but
might well have got off Scot-free with murder.

That person you though you would become 
who became the person you are.

Regards In Sweetness

M-y
A-crostic
R-egards
I-n
S-weetness

A-pply
N-ame
U-sing
L-ines
A-bout
O-ccasion

Topic: Birthday of Maris E. Anulao (March 11) 
Form: Vertical Monocrostic

Splendor of the Sun

M-ist and fog are gone, 
E-vading the beacon's rays, 
A-s the warm light shines.

Topic: Birthday of Maris E. Anulao (March 11)
Form: Haikustic

Regards In Sweet Theme

S-imple
C-omposer
H-appily
I-mplements
N-atal
E-xpression
L-etting
L-ines
E-mploy

M-essage
A-s
R-egards
I-n
S-weet

T-heme
O-ffer
R-emarkable
R-apture
E-ndorsing
R-eader's
O-ccasion

Topic: Birthday of Schinelle Maris S. Torrero (February 09) 
Form: Vertical Monocrostic

Shining New Day

M-orn
A-lters
R-ain
I-nto
S-unshine

A-s
N-ewness
T-ransforms
O-ld
N-ight
I-nto
O-penness

Topic: Birthday of Maris Antonio (May 13)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic

Noble Truth

M-essage
A-bout
R-ighteousness
I-s
S-imply

A-dvancing
N-oble
T-ruth
O-f
N-otable
I-nstruction
O-nline

Topic: Birthday of Maris Antonio (May 13) 
Form: Vertical Monocrostic

Most Amazing Remark

M-ost
A-mazing
R-emark
I-s
S-aid

A-s
N-ote
U-ses
L-esson
A-bout
O-bedience

Topic: Birthday of Maris E. Anulao (March 11) 
Form: Vertical Monocrostic

Life Support

The church has given up on me.
Giants of bureaucrats sit on their thrones
Referred to as justice
They have their agendas
Call it by any other name
I call it prejudice.
No family to call my own
Empty mansions
Unoccupied rooms
The halls are empty
My car has no passengers
I live alone,
drive alone
dine alone
die alone
In death, they’ll be no contending
my last rights
No one to mourn over my remains
Sad day when
The swimming pools are empty
No one to listen to my stories
Books go unread
The only thing left to share is a four by eight room.
I feel the noose getting tighter around my neck
I picture my life slipping away.
There’s no life to speak of.
Gone away,
all I have left is my memories
Some haunt
Others hurt
No legacy,
Gloating over my death
While going through my spoils
Only to find
The biggest lie ever told to me
Doesn’t exist.
In life and in death.
Love is unimaginable
God is unimaginable
Two excuses
That are unforgivable.

Catholic School

I was taught to run,
to shun, avoid.
My falling down, my scrapped knee was the punishment of my betrayal.
I suffered guilt for having too much, 
shame for too little.
Love was earned through penitence, 
some of those and these, 
by rosaries
The notebooks were in order, 
the same as my attire.
Sister this and farther that, never speaking out of turn, 
for our souls would surely burn.
Traditional replies, with repetitive lies, 
blackboards, rulers, skirts, and shirts.
We all looked the same,
In Catholic School

Willie Mccovey

Willie McCovey
Baseball great
Baseball glory gone

Hank Aaron
Home run king
Passing by Babe Ruth

Say hey Willie Mays
Basket catch
Superstar

Micky Mantle plays
Baseball world
Roger Maris twin

Flying Potatoes

Flying Potatoes
By The Potato of Terror 28/3/05; revised 1/2/14

Flying potatoes permeate my days,
Float gently through the attic of my brain;
Winging their way through smoochy summer haze
And tapping tarantellas in the rain.

I want to romp where tuber dreams ignite,
Where pomp is caught with naughty circumstance;
I yearn to flit where reverie takes flight
And lunacy leads love a merry dance.

Flying potatoes infiltrate my nights,
Making me dream of all unnatural things;
Like evil gnomes in capes and fishnet tights
And Maris Pipers with great scaly wings.

Flying potatoes tell me "Be afraid!
We are such dreamers as would stuff a maid!" *



(*With apologies to Shakespeare)

Christmas Turned Holiday

Christmas,Holiday, George Maris
The angels were singing, hallelujah.
The people were crying, don't let them fool ya.
The manger was turned,
The barn was burned. 
Three kings left a stray, when Christmas was called a holiday.
Store keepers frown, there is no crown and songs they did not play. Caesar was content with the people's money they spent. 
When Christmas turned to a Holiday.

I Am

Maris
              Curious, confused, growing, reaching
              Family to all those who wish to be connected
              Who loves equality, justice, and those who try their best in doing good.
              Who fears being alone, and never being able to relate and help make a difference, that everything is crashing down.
              Has accomplished more goals than expected, and continues to do so. Showing the real me, and helping others.
             Who wants to experience perfect life and love.
             Born in the United States. Living in this  world.
             Oliver.

The Baseball Mitt

My father's Roger Maris mitt
Was kept in perfect health.
It showed no wrinkles no blemishes
Nor flakes of skin.

Its limber fingers were sheathed in leather, 
Its pocket was well stretched
As it yawned with each breath.
Bathed in linseed oil, 
It was a dark jersey cow
As it slept like an oyster
With a pearl cradled in its palm.

My father's attention was precious as gold; 
His time was well spent with little to spare.
He was my coach, he was my father
Playing catch on our field of honor.
Years passed by with a blink of an eye; 
His fraying attention became unraveled
By his job, by money, his family's health
And his aging body.
His golden mitt seldom saw light; 
Snaring a baseball was wishing
Upon a starless night.

With patience and compassion
My father guided my life, 
By catching a baseball my self-confidence grew.
But, his life was snatched by death
His game forever ended.
He was part of my foundation
Which will never fade from sight
As long as I remember, a baseball
Caught on an autumn night.

Standing in my backyard, I see my father's mitt
Cradling me; 
Like a baseball I recline
In his loving arms forever.

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