Browse all poems and songs in the 'Stu Shea' Category

Voices, Still

By Stuart Shea

Mr. Scully hangs up his microphone,
Dick Enberg does as well.
Bill Brown retires from Houston’s booth,
Ain’t it the truth–
Things ain’t like they used to be.

Things ain’t like they used to sound.
The men who call the games
Don’t have the varied background
Of the older famous names.

Oh, the older famous names,
With their gravitas and experience,
They understand the common sense
Of silence.

Now they’ll be silent forevermore,
Closing the door
On a time and a style that will never return.


For Jose Fernandez

By Stuart Shea

Shooting stars are meant to fall
Whether in view or hidden,
It’s always such a shock to us
When, seemingly unbidden,
One does,
Just because.


The Mets Have a New Outfielder

by Stuart Shea

Brandon Nimmo
Sure ain’t no dimmo.
Don’t come from Pismo and
Don’t use no gizmo.
When viewed thru a prismo,
He just wants what’s hismo.
And if he hits like a wizmo,
The Mets will not quiz mo’.


Oh, You’ve Got Yourself a No-Trade Clause! (By Dr. T.S. Geisel)

By Stu Shea

You may think you’ve traded me,
For some prospect at Pulaski,
But call my agent–he knows laws.
I have myself a no-trade clause!

I will not go to this new town,
I will not go by air or ground!
You should have asked before you dealt,
Before you tried to swap my pelt,
If I would play for Greeber City,
Or Veedenvelt.


The Boy

By Stuart Shea

The boy
Held a passel of baseball cards
Dating from before his birth
(His time on earth
Not even a thought)
With joy


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