Playful Poetry

Stopping to Smell the Fresh Grass

Before the fans fill the stands
The speakers blare and the eagle lands
Before the vendors come around
And the grounds crew prepares the mound
No wind-ups, called strikes or stolen bases
Not even a chance to tie a cleats’ laces
The game will commence
Balls pulled over the fence
Hot shots up the middle are likely today
Line drives, high fives, the chance of a triple play
The highlight reel will reveal the best
From this one spectacular baseball content
But unless you first stop to smell the grass
You’ll miss the fresh start and the moment will pass.

The Natural

The crack of the bat makes my heart skip a beat
The force from the wood sounds too sweet
Unified in silence for that brief second
The audience holds their breath, I do reckon
I came to witness this inexplicable thrill
Where an athlete so effortlessly displays his skill
How rudimentary it must seem to swing
A stroke perfected long ago, a natural thing

Ode To Lou

Decades gone by but the words and pictures remain
You were special back then and more revered now
It wasn’t the glove or even the bat
But the well-mannered expressions, humility and grace
Enchanting, exciting, elegant, strong, solid, proud and pure
Your breath was bliss, but cut off too soon
And after you spoke, the fireworks never seemed the same
Good for you, Lou
You accepted your fate
And instilled in all of us
A lesson and legend to date


Sacrifice

How do you bunt a guy to third
When “homerun hitter” is all you’ve heard?
How do you hand the ball to him again
When last time he let down the entire pen?
Why do you hit a high fly to right
Just to tie the score on Opening night?
Why do you tolerate a hit-by-pitch
Just to enable the carving of your teams’ nitch?