Mother joins baby
Replenishing energy—
Growing together
Past memories teach
Navigating one more storm—
Ship staying afloat
Every flowing verse
Drawn in deeper with each sip—
Not wanting to leave
Spring training arrives
Baseball swings away
Dreams forever fill
Grown men now at play
Life’s daily fabric
Clothed around baseball
Game’s timeless rhythm
Umpire shouts, “Play ball!”
Bambino’s shadow
“House That Ruth Built” shrine
Yankee Stadium
Writes daily headlines
Pennant race forecast
Veterans lead off
Each rookie follows
Game always shows off
Who’s in center field?
New Yorkers look out
Mick, Duke, or Willie
None better, no doubt
National pastime
Newspapers proclaim
Box scores filled with stats
Deep love for this game
Nation’s beating pulse
Another home run
Mantle, Maris chase
Ain’t this really fun?
Each autumn’s classic
Baseball measures up
World Series broadcast
Greatness bats cleanup
Memories still stand
Precious trading cards
Hall of Fame’s legends
Baseball’s honor guard
A few of the stanzas deserve some additional notes. The “Bambino” refers to baseball legend George Herman (Babe) Ruth. The center fielders are Mickey Mantle (Yankees), Duke Snider (Dodgers), and Willie Mays (Giants). All played at the same time during the 1950s. Mantle and Maris refer to Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, who played for the Yankees. In 1961, their personal home run derby propelled Maris to hit a then-record 61 home runs for a season, with Mantle close behind with 54.
Ever homeward
Waiting destination
Year after year
Leaving last train station
Traveling forward
Allowing no backward glance
Final ticket punched
Cashing in for final dance
Journey’s sunset
Saying “hello” once more
Second chances
Taking life’s encore
Garden filled with dreams
Sprouting memories of home
Season to season
Riding free, ready to roam
Yesterday’s clues
Arriving with each breeze
Earmarked answers
Lighting up home’s marquee
Infinite sunrise
Forsaking final “good-bye”
Irreplaceable
Greeting Montana’s Big Sky
This poem reflects upon many memories of my native state of Montana, which will always seem like home. Perhaps each reader will experience his or her own homeward journey of memories, just waiting to be revisited again.
This poem embarks on an emotional journey, and I hope that my words have been respectful to all. For some readers, these verses may bring back painful memories. For others, a greater awareness of war’s images may come about.
Forceful, overnight tears
Halting rhythm to dreams
Shrouded in darkness
Dreading war’s extremes
Night’s stillness collapsing
Watching another scene
Filled with emotion
Fighting war . . . obscene!
Memories burst apart
Reliving fateful night
Cherished love taken
Losing precious knight
Distant battle breathes
Recalling sacrifice
Honored for courage
Paying supreme price
Sorrows of rain salute
Weeping nation holds fast
Gathered now as one
Clutching future’s past
Baseball: It follows the seasons, beginning each year with the fond expectancy of springtime and ending with the hard facts of autumn.
It is the great arrogance of the present to forget the intelligence of the past.
Ken Burns (born 1953) is an American filmmaker who specializes in documentaries about American history and culture. Many of his works have been presented in PBS.
Reasons to finish
Overcoming challenges—
Never giving in
Time’s quiet moments
Opening each memory—
Never forgotten
In searching life’s depths
Finding intended nuggets—
Few others shall see
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com
Dusty top of the kitchen fridge
No worries about cleaning
Unless . . .
Taller guests come to play bridge
Windshield wipers, broken and worn
Needing to be replaced
But never . . .
Attempt when rain becomes airborne
Congested and overmatched table
Keeping life healthy and in order
Looking like . . .
Walgreens, filled with pill labels
Remembering school days past
Time to take another test
Pausing . . .
Hoping the “ditto” smell will last
Self-driving cars, soon to be the craze
Sitting in one, with perplexed look
Pondering . . .
Will the back seat driver be unfazed?
Raiding the freezer for a midnight snack
Hunger disrupts blissful sleep
What’s this . . .
Cookie Dough ice cream has been hijacked
Installing a terrific app on her “hip” phone
Grandson helps his Grandma out
Meanwhile . . .
With his flip phone, Grandpa feels quite alone
Finding a parking spot is tonight’s mission
Free valet parking
Guaranteed . . .
When you drive a manual transmission
So many toilet paper choices and sizes
What ever happened to having just one?
Confusing . . .
Mega and Super Mega waiting in disguise
Enjoying a late night film on television
Fearful of falling asleep
Always prepared . . .
Setting an alarm, allows for night vision
Reading and proofreading, reading once more
Retired English teacher
Never satisfied . . .
Writing a “perfect” text with words to adore
If you have enjoyed this bit of fun
Wait for the next round
When . . .
Doughnuts and coffee for everyone
Photo by Alfredo Alvarado on Pexels.com
Originally published March, 2020.
Hidden in forest’s midst
Ancient homestead’s landscape
Under winter blanket
Wakening, day takes shape
One more snowy morning
Old barn wrapped up in white
Barely able to stand
Making for quite a sight
Corral broken, rails split
Livestock forever gone
Snow-painted grass smiles back
Waiting for spring’s new fawn
But wait, life still stirring
Chimney’s smoke drifting high
Rustic cabin’s fireplace
Warming urge to drop by
All welcome, step inside
Plenty of room to share
Coffee’s hot, feel at home
Sitting on kitchen’s chairs
Hilltop looking back down
So many years ago
Memories slowly fade
Covering up in snow
What you remember saves you.
We are asleep with compasses in our hands.
William Stanley Merwin (W. S.) was an American poet with over 50 books of poetry and prose. Over his lifetime (1927-2019), he was honored with numerous awards: including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry (1971 and 2009) and becoming United States Poet Laureate in 2010.
One’s love of the game sharing
Encouraging life’s new vision
One more summer of baseball
Boys answering their final call
Autumn’s sandlot football days
In field’s dirt, drawing up plays
Collecting each baseball card
Keeping all, never will discard
Playing catch with dad each night
Pitching finds home plate in moonlight
Playing high school football games
Friday nights bringing lasting fame
Playing one final season
Retirement waits in postseason
Wrapped up in competition
Respecting each sport’s traditions
Memories of each game played
Never allowing time to fade
Dreaming of playing again
Competing in life’s senior lane
Remembering each mentor
Always open, each coach’s door
Enduring fabric of sports
Our love of the game playing out
Big Sky Buckeye 