Short Outfield Poems

geese in the outfield
bluejays in the batter's box
stealing signals


John G. Lawless
4/6/2020...

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Chipper Jones
has suggested a use for outfield drones
they should accompany the ball
giving a general indication as to where it might fall....

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The spring has arrived
In Arizona
and in Florida
The teams get ready
to train for baseball.

That time again
for bats and balls,
batting helmets,
gloves and spike shoes.

The infield
and outfield
get ready.

baseball
is here.

PLAY!...

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A fraction of my sense of humor 
retains and loves full blown sarcasm mode.
I have to watch it at work.
I deal with children.
They are experts at it.
At home my husband catches my barbs in his glove
Winging them past outfield to hit the fence
So we can remain in love....

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The color of lemonade washing the sky—
Popsicle memories revive
Of  baseball connecting with ash wood, hit high
In an arcing, outfield drive.

Are summers forever?  Or only a day?
Moth-eaten , major-league hat…
December’s the umpire, miscalling the play,
And there’s ice on my Louisville bat....

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Daddy, please take me out to the ball game
running the bleachers, enjoying the fame 
buy me some warm peanuts and crackerjacks
let the ball fly to the outfield with a whack!

Daddy, can I go play with my friends in the field?
There are lightning bugs, and they easily yield.
I want to chase and run and twirl and spin.
I don't care about baseball, the sport or the win!...

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When they call Batter Up, I fill with dread.

Back in the outfield I would rather be!

Pop ups, not Grand Slams, I hit instead!

When they call Batter Up, I fill with dread.

Don’t count your chickens. They’re already dead!

With bases loaded, it’s all up to me??

When they call Batter Up, I fill with dread.

Back in the outfield I would rather be!...

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My youngest daughter passed in 2003.  She left me the memory of the crescent moon, "God’s Thumbnail." She loved “Angels in the Outfield” and always said, “Look Mommy God’s Thumbnail.” Whenever I see this lunar event, I hear my angel.


Strangely the last day
your touches were like velvet
samples of heaven

7/2/2020


A MEMORY Poetry Contest  1st place
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier...

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The outfield boy stands waiting all alone,
playing the game that many children love.
From the pitcher’s mound, a ball has been thrown.
The outfield boy stands waiting all alone.
The ball has been hit. See how it has flown
straight into the glowing boy’s baseball glove!
The outfield boy stands waiting all alone,
playing the game that many children love.

Written Dec. 2015 for the Oil Paintings 4 & 5 Poetry Contest of Eve Roper...

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I bought a pair of yoga pants 
Without the slightest urge
To practice yoga, but it wasn’t 
Too much of a splurge.

Reminds me of some other clothes
Designed for active wear.
My ski coat’s never seen the slopes
And I don’t really care.

I walk around in running shoes
And in my baseball cap,
I’ve never hit a long ball
Into any outfield gap.

I even owned some cowboy boots
But never rode a horse
And my husband wouldn’t dare to wear
A “wife beater,” of course!...

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Clean uniforms all lined up
One set on each side.
Two flags- state and country-
Salute from across the field.
Swing, swing, swing again
And a thick clink,
Everything moves at once. 
The ball- outfield, second base,
First base, third,
Shortstop and then the mound.
Is he out?
You bet, tagged at first.
Good boy.
Batter up, tap tap tap on the ground,
Swing around to ready.
Swing, swing, swing again
And again and again.
That's three, my boy, you're out.
Change sides....

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