Satchel Rage

by Michael X. Ferraro

The loose luggage of Jonathan Lucroy
Makes it tough for Brew fans to enjoy
.    This stretch of the season
.    As they squirm with unease ‘n
Wonder why a valise would destroy?

Mets Haiku

by patrick

David Wright scorching
Teddy Ballgame shakes his head
Summer slump ahead

The 1982 (2012) Yankees: The Poem

by Hart Seely

Steve Balboni at the plate,
Dave Collins really swings the bat.
Juan Espino? He’ll be great!
Roy Smalley fields just like a cat!

This Yankee team, remember when?
Those future talents, to be found.
It’s nineteen-eighty-two again!
And Dave LaRouche is on the mound.

Here’s Tommy John, age thirty-nine.
And Lee Mazzilli, batting first,
Is there, by chance, a stronger wine?
I’ve grown a Bobby Meacham thirst.

Curt Kaufman’s warming in the pen,
Another save shall not be blown.
It’s nineteen-eighty-two again,
Now batting, catcher Rick Cerone.

It’s only May; we’ll start anew,
We really can’t be in such shambles.
We’ve Jeter, ARod, Swisher, too.
Not Hobsons, Dents and Oscar Gambles.

Alas, I feel intense new fears.
It’s twenty-twelve… or am I wrong?
If eighty-two, I need some beers,
The next Depression’s twelve years long.

Please provide some hope to kids like Hart Seely, and purchase his new book, The Juju Rules: Or How to Win Baseball Games from Your Couch.

Father Knows Worst

by Hilary Barta

Wrigley’s burning, the stands filled with pickets
Fans are spurning the clan they call Ricketts
.     If their pop’s Super Pac
.     Will not stop the attack
They’re returning their damn season tickets

 

Hilary Barta likes to stir up trouble at his limerick blog, LimerWrecks.