The two most dominant baseball pitchers of their eras
On the mound, neither was cute or clever
Each reared back and fired
No matter if they were dead-tired
Sandy Koufax and Nolan Ryan
Most batters gave up even tryin’
The great Yogi Berra once said
I understand how Koufax won 25 games last year”
But how he lost five games just isn’t clear”
Koufax deemed Ryan’s lack of pinpoint control his secret weapon
He labeled Ryan a wild bombardier
Who won games because his wayward 100 mph pitches instilled fear
Scorpion Sting
I hide in the dark.
With a sting, be alert.
I can vanish in the light.
I hunt in the night.
I can draw some blood.
The anguish is just enough.
I am manipulative.
Don’t touch, with temptation.
I know that I’m kinda creepy.
At night it’s time to feed.
Don’t hesitate to attack.
I could be brown or black.
You're all unforgiven in the end.
Through haunting methods, I will feed again.
I’m just a bug with pitchers.
All have you for dinner.
Don’t underestimate me.
I live through the rain.
I can crawl here and there.
With a sting, I am everywhere.
Your flesh is a bite to eat.
I will be next to your feet.
I live underground.
I will appear with no sound
Oh my lord
Will you ever shush
Always aching and moaning
With your constant push
...to speak
Your mouth is evil
Always gets us slapped
No one wants to hear
How your life is mapped
...in TRUTH
Who shiz a git
If you get touched, mauled
Yes their corners are stuffed
With secrets that have called
...to innocence
Poor baby got broken
By big bad boisterous boys
No sighs or infant cries
Because little pitchers hear every noise
...scream for help
Thanks, body, for your use
Don't pelt me with sorrow and pain
I wasn't the one seeking
Illegal gain
...from the naive
With every roar you make
I will medicate with prescription
Letting educated men, guess
At cause for dereliction
...of duty
Survival demands my attention....
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-22-2026
Scorpion Sting
I hide in the dark.
With a sting, be alert.
I can vanish in the light.
I hunt in the night.
I can draw some blood.
The anguish is just enough.
I am manipulative.
Don’t touch, with temptation.
I know that I’m kinda creepy.
At night it’s time to feed.
Don’t hesitate to attack.
I could be brown or black.
You're all unforgiven in the end.
Through haunting methods, I will feed again.
I’m just a bug with pitchers.
All have you for dinner.
Don’t underestimate me.
I live through the rain.
I can crawl here and there.
With a sting, I am everywhere.
Your flesh is a bite to eat.
I will be next to your feet.
I live underground.
I will appear with no sound.
~ To the tune of 'Everybody Loves Somebody Sometimes ~
Sung by Dean Martin
Everyone can lose a ballgame sometimes
Even good teams go down to defeat
Tonight, we’ll drown our sorrows
Tomorrow’s win ~ so sweet
Not every game’s a shut-out or no-hitter
The best of pitchers throws some home runs too
And when might Casey swings – and misses
Whatever you do ~ Don’t say boo
The holidays are history and winter settles in with
its pain-in-the-rear wind chill; a light covering
of snow finally brightens the mood for a day or two
until it’s washed away by rain. The sump is broken and the
north end of the basement floods.
The overdue heating bill on the desk screams at me,
telepathically, for attention; a red circle on the
calendar says a check is coming and my crusty eyes
begin to widen. But since it’s already been spent,
they quickly narrow and re-crust.
The soothsaying marmot sees no shadow, and my mood
stays low as the thermostat stays high; hey folks:
it’s February and things are supposed to get warmer,
right? Pitchers and catchers report, but I’m not there,
so I might as well be in Helsinki.
Things should get better in March, but we’re greeted
by a mother of blizzards; however, the next day it warms
and snow drifts disappear like vanilla ice cream on hot
pie. By six-thirty, the sun still hasn’t set. Sump’s still broken,
but I have wide eyes and a smile.
Let us celebrate this season in song
"Away In A Manger" on thus "Oh, Holy Night"
" Joy To The World" came to our delight
"What Child Is This" Mary did ponder
"While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks"
'Twas a "Silent Night" until "Hark, The Herald Angles Sang"
"Go Tell It On The Mountain" until His return
From me and my family to yours, "We Wish You A Merry Christmas And A Happy New Year"
We have electricity and are warm but no water except for what I bought and caught up in some pitchers and pots. God is good. Hardee's was open so we had hot food even though a little stinky ourselves. LOL
Spoon-fed by
Manifestations of
Truth-like truths
Partial particles
We have stopped
The pursuit of search
Sense of
Subtle satisfaction
Has put a lid
Onto the otherwise
open pitchers of
Our minds
We follow now
The mere rhythm
Of the half-filled
Half-empty pitcher…
===
Thoughts –
Picked like fallen plums
Have filled our heads
Thinking
And the process of
Logical reasoning
Has gone out of sight…
===
We utilize
What someone else
Has discovered
Discovery and
Inventions
Have become
Mere dreams for us…
===
Desires have
Dominated
True joy and
Fulfillment
Have flown from us
Search is shut
Search is shun
Stunt will be our growth
Till we start
Searching…
22 November 2022
A drop tickled his head; he ran like a rabbit;
Showed each one; they rubbed off as it's his habit;
He collected his pitchers and pots and stood out,
Morning went; noon went; evening too; same drought, O, drought!
It's one drop on his head next day; other on cheek;
In aromatic breeze there's unique streak and squeak;
Pitchers and pots doubled; Clouds seemed to roam in doubt,
Morning went; noon went; evening too; same drought, O, drought!
Third day went; the fourth and fifth flew away as well;
Drops many fell on him; who could he freely tell?
Monsoon, for them, is like surprise wedding dine-out,
Morning went; noon went; evening too; same drought, O, drought!
Lo, like a dam broken, rain torrents poured at last,
Was it owing to his prayer, penance and fast?
None thought of any umbrella; they can leak rout,
Morning went; noon went; evening too; where are you, drought…?
10 November 2022
Inspiring Rainy Days Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
because it's springtime
all pitchers and balconies
revel emotions
I once was in a pickle between 1st and 2nd base
I wasn't in a jar but I saw the pitchers face
It was a sour type of game and quite dill
I ran to 2nd to persevere my place
With a sent if vinegar and brine dripping on my face
The umpire yelled with a loud voice
Your Safe!!!
Contest: It’s a Pickle Party
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Date Created: 08/31/2022
Poetic phrases permeate passions perfect pictures
Phonemic philosophers' personal pitchers
Planets placed prominently propelling possibilities
Poetry providing, producing, proclivities
Promoting productive procedures properly
Preparing, presenting psychological property
Preposition pointing practical precipitation
Peaceful profound powerful prayers presenting Poetrysoups population.
Date: 07/04/2022
Hands move hastily, yet gentle
Perfecting the design
With creative fingers, sensitive
To the clay, the substance
That will be brought to life
With the subtle hints of wonder
Hands shift clay into pieces
Of earthen vessels, vibrant pottery
Terra cotta turned into graceful
Jugs. Pitchers and bowls
Delicious works from strokes
Both tender and persuasive
Hands change clay from soft
Supple mud to delicate formations
Brought to life by enchanting
Hearts who give their best to craft
Out containers worthy of the word
Perfection, flawless, whole, finished
Like God above who works with us
Creating something wonderful,
Something complete and whole
Because He gives the very best
To those He ingeniously changes
From dirty mud to miraculous creations
Jeremiah 18:6 (KJV) O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as the potter? saith the Lord. Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.
Make me a flower delicate and sweet,
spewing fragrance into the blowing breeze .
Make me a violin from whose strings
melody flows to soothe the ailing nerves .
Make me a rain cloud sailing over the breadth
and length of the skies showering cooling droplets
on to the thirsting mouth of the Earth.
Make me a lamp shedding beams of light
dissipating darkness from the mazy depths of gloom .
Make me a vessel full with love to pour out
into all the empty pitchers.
Make me a yacht with sails filled by the wind
that I can ferry the sinking souls to safer shores of life.
Let every atom of my being throb with Thy filling love
Let it spring forth in jets to form the gushing stream
Let many drink from that fountain and taste
the sweetness of Thy nourishing love
Let the land be watered, let the dirt be cleansed
Let the Earth wear a celestial charm
Let the plants celebrate the carnival of colors
In my basket shall I gather many a fragrant bloom
to be offered at your feet with love
and remain squatted in Thy presence ,
not losing in the pageant of this transient life.
Winter Wishes Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Chantelle Ann Cooke
It isn’t my hand that runs down the pews.
It is the boys with emptied hearts
The girls with arms full and rocking
The treatable gone.
Plastic jugs are more dangerous than they seem.
Knives don’t carve secrets like kerosene does.
Pitchers with pungent swirls jostle as I walk.
They have never before felt a holier water.
Down the aisle to my fate as many did before me.
The Blessed Virgin lies not within the marble form above me
Christ did not die on the wooden wall hangings
And the gold adornments had God melted out of them long ago.
This is not a holy place, but a husk.
The lessons drench the priests’ robes.
What nests here cannot be allowed to breed another season
To gorge themselves on tinkling laughter
Have your god strike me down. I hold the noose and will cinch it as I go.
My God makes matches.
I need only swipe them across a stone.
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.