SPORTS POETRY

Here is a sampling of some of the sports poetry I have written over the last year. It's a goal of mine to do another sports poetry book that includes work about other sports other than baseball, since I have already done a collection of baseball poems.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please use the feedback form to send along some comments.

Check out my book of baseball poetry and prose in the Books section

World Series Deja Vu

Yogi had a saying
For times just like these
When he was playing:
"It's like deja vu all over again."
There are other sayings
That may apply, too,
That Yogi might have uttered,
Once or twice, or not.

What goes around comes around,
Or, history repeats itself.

Most certainly, those phrases,
Wouldn't have made the bigs
Bartlett's, the quote hall of fame.
Nevertheless, parallels
Between seasons 01 and 23
With the Diamondbacks in the Series,
Certainly create that been there feeling.

Johnson and Gallen hit
Not batters, but birds,
All the stars were out in Seattle,
All the game dates all aligned,
George W threw the first pitches.
So tune in for the Series in 45–
If Yogi were here, he'd say it better,
With a Berraism like this:
"The future ain't what it used to be."

The Arizona Diamondbacks and the Texas Rangers faced each other in the World Series in 2001 and 2023, and there were some remarkable similarities in those two years.

Tennis Exchange

Grunt! Pop!
Tap.

Over and over,
Baseline to baseline.

Grunt! Pop!
Tap.

Like two boxers,
Toe to toe,
Mightily swinging,
Searching for vulnerability,
Pounding shot after shot,
Hoping for a winner.

Grunt! Pop!
Tap.

One player moves.
Shuffle, shuffle,
Stretch, shout,
Racket reaching,
Yielding just a little.

Soft pop. Held breath.
The ball floats, like a feather,
Angling miraculously away,
Lands, barely over the net,

Touching down while
Player two applauds,
Hand to racquet,
Catches towel from ballboy,
Curses sweat away,
Readies for the next volley.

Photo: Moises Alex on Unsplash

Basketball Sounds

Shrill whistles.
Foul calls.
Coaching chatter.
Squeaking sneakers.
Dribbled balls.
Grunting players,
Rim-rattling dunks.
Trash talking.
Hissing and booing
Clapping, and…

When a shot's truly right,
Snap follows swish –
Overhead, shooter's
Arm high moments longer,
Hand in lasting goodbye–
Crowd, zero to 60 in milliseconds,
Erupts. Above all else,
For a single tick,
You know just how sweet
The game can be.

Photo Credit: Patrick Fore on Unsplash

Pull Hitter Doubled Up

Between pitches, he takes three,
Four steps toward home plate,

Smooths infield dirt with cleated toe,
No pebble, no divot, no bad hop.

Satisfied, he glances 'round the infield,
Man on first, man on second, step on third.

He's ready now, locked in on what's next;
He chatters at the pitcher bearing down,

As catcher signs at the mound, slightly,
His mitt moves, signaling inside pitch.

This hitter pulls everything; it'll be on him
To go round-the-horn, to end this nailbiter.

As the ball screams down the line over his bag,
He doesn't even know he's moved, til flat out

In backhanded dive, he feels webbed inside
The ball. He's quickly on his feet, throwing

To first baseman, slipped behind fallen runner.
With his mates then, he's lost in crowd's embrace.

Photo Credit: Clay Brown on Unsplash

Page updated

Google Sites

Report abuse