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Canvas of a Season

By Ember Nickel

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The first bright streaks are quiet now. Above
The brash background, the paintbrush sinks into
The paint. This is just the beginning of
The season. Time for layer number two.

It won’t look like this when the year is done.
Most paint will cover over what’s below.
The topmost layer will display who won,
And only what shines through will let us know

What else took place. X-rays might let us see
Archives and dry box scores. But from a glance
The peaks and valleys will be brightest. We
Might forget what’s partly just random chance

As it’s overpainted. But that is how
All seasons go. We’ll enjoy the streaks now.

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A former contributor to Baseball Toaster, Ember’s blog is Lipogram! Scorecard!.

Posted 5/7/09

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2009 WBC

By Gary Gillette

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Patsy opponents,
U.S. ennui. Rising sun
Harbors hardball pearls.

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Gary Gillette is the executive editor and co-publisher of The Baseball Early Bird, among many other sports writing and research projects.

Posted 5/6/09

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Winners From Japan (World Baseball Classic Remix)

by Ember Nickel

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Winners
Yes, once again they won
Runners
Have scored the winning run
Extras
Will make us soldier on
Sometimes
The games will run on long

I am trying to find out
To see what it’s all about
Keeping my head down
Don’t think that it matters now
But I have no doubt
We’re never safe, always out.

That night
They scored the winning run
They dreamed
About a rising sun
Oh, oh, oh
Why dream
When you’ve already won?

I am trying to find out
To see what it’s all about
Keeping my head down
Don’t think that it matters now
But I have no doubt
One day the sun will come down.

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A former contributor to Baseball Toaster, Ember’s blog is Lipogram! Scorecard!, where this poem first appeared.

Posted 4/28/09

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The Tale Of the Wayward Pitcher

by Sid Yiddish

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On the day that I was ejected from the old ballpark
Not a man spoke to me, as I was pitching a perfect game,
Old superstition singing its refrain.

All those curveballs, all those knuckleballs straight over home plate,
I was feeling so great and then it happened, top of the seventh,
I let one ball pass thru and it was smashed straight over the left fielder’s head.
Those balls were smacked left and center and right.
I knew I was dead in the water,
Just primed for the manager’s slaughter.

And then it happened, I beaned a batter in the head.
That was the end, as I was sent straight to the showers.
Changed into my street clothes and told to go home for the week.

I picked up my old battered gloves and my brand new mitts.
I knew what was coming next, the newspaper text of how it all fell apart.

I looked so promising, the manager once said to me,
But I knew the difference between promise and reality,
For in reality,
No one pitches perfect games anymore.

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For more on Sid Yiddish’s poetry, music and performances, check out his My Space page.

Posted 4/27/09