by Bill McCurdy
The gossamer wings of baseball soul
Float gently in the breeze,
Soaring high, from here to the sky,
On the winds of thoughts that please.
We grew up reflecting, wistfully back,
To moments measurable in time,
From Big Six Christy to Babe Ruth’s 60,
Each memory soared sublime.
Then came the voice of Barber
To mind sketch on our brains
The frames of sculpted sentiment,
As “the catbird seat” explains.
We bought the face of heroes
On colored baseball cards
To float in what we could not see,
In the words of the radio bards.
We took these winds and ran with them
On vacant lots and streets.
Our bodies hugged the earth’s sweet crust,
But our spirits soared in sheets.
In sheets of high plane color
Filled in by all who soared,
Our souls reached out and found our wings,
Life’s breath was not ignored.
And now when things like drugs and greed
Hi-tech us from all corners,
Attacking all the sweet spots,
Sometimes I fear we’re goners.
Gone from the floating hope
For a better world above
That we once found with baseball,
Bare feet – and a ragged glove.
So fight for all worth keeping.
Baseball gave us our start,
There needs be no loss-weeping,
For our game’s a thing of the heart.
Bill McCurdy writes about baseball, with a particular focus on the great state of Texas, at The Pecan Park Eagle.
Published in Fans, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself, Youth | Link to this poem | No Comments