Browse all poems and songs in the 'Food' Category


Roger Angell Needs His Sleep!

by James Finn Garner

Loitering near history’s portals,
The aces proved to be mere mortals
And all the vaunted firemen
Sprinkled gas again and again.
No margin safe, no lead secure.
“Mighty Bregman”? Why not, sure!
Houston’s muggy, the balls are juiced
Hitters snort antler of moose.

Whate’er excuse, my answer remains:
Baseball is the greatest game.

 



Getting His Licks In

by James Finn Garner

Does it matter that
Yasiel Puig licks his bat?
Something, I mean,
Apart from hygiene?
Is it nerves? Is it taste?
An act done in haste?
When speculation’s void,
Ask Sigmund Freud.

 



Rue Confessions

by James Finn Garner

It’s time for apple picking
I need to clean the gutters
Might fix that drawer that’s sticking
Closet mess gives me shudders

Books to read, letters to pen,
Chores too numerous to name
I’d trade all this, plus more again
If I could watch another game.

 



But Woe is Three!

by Hilary Barta

Golden leaves on October winds blow
And relievers don’t know how to throw
Can Kyle Hendricks complete?
Will they send in red meat?
How I grieve for the bullpen of woe.

 



Stiff Upper Drip

By Hilary Barta

Will the Cubs or the Nationals sizzle?
Who advances, and which team will fizzle?
Whose fans will stay sober
Or curse this October?
They will both play Game Five in a drizzle.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.