Browse all poems and songs in the 'Lyric' Category


Memorial Day

by Stephen Jones

Memorial Day — the unofficial
Start to summer. For many,
The sandy ritual at the beach;
For others, a pause to remember.

For me? I collect thoughts too —
Randomly, like shagging flies —
And I finally put away
All the winter clothes.

And I may self-indulge —
A Rasputin of the fridge.
One thing is certain:
I always watch a game.

It may sound disrespectful,
To be so hedonistic, but
During the seventh inning stretch
“God Bless America” popped up

And I caught a thought —
It curved to where I sat:
I only get to do this because
Of what someone did for me.

 



Hanging the Bunting at Wrigley

by Gene Fendt

“At 8-1, the Cubs are off to their best start since 1969”
–news story, April 15, 2016

They’re hanging the bunting at Wrigley
.    a hundred years after the Babe;
so many have waited so long for this day
.     it’s hard to believe what we see.
My childhood knows Santo, Kessinger, Beckert and Banks,
.     the trade of Lou Brock, the umpire’s mistake,

facing Giants and Pirates and Hammering Hank,
.     the line-up of Bench, Morgan, Rose and Perez,
the grace of Clemente before he was dead,
.     the stare-down of Gibson, Bob Veale and Koufax’s crank:
Lou Boudreau on radio made it appear
.     as Athena to Hector, when Achilles was near.

The world is unworthy of childhood faith,
.     the utter incorrigible truth of its love,
its weeping for heroes defeated by fate,
.     its Aprils and Augusts, stolen bases, gold gloves.

All that is over. It’s daytime, there’s ivy,
.     it’s got God’s own green grass,
the bunting is hanging, and so soon you’ll see
.     God himself in his garden, all home at last.

 

Gene Fendt has taught philosophy for 29 years at the University of Nebraska, but grew up in Wisconsin listening to WGN, “radio home of millions throughout mid America.” His poetry most recently has captured the Princemere Poetry Prize (2015) and won the Gemini Magazine national poetry competition.



Lo, the Winter is Past

Each year, before the first spring training game, the late Tigers broadcaster Ernie Harwell would read from the Song of Solomon (2:11-12).

 



The Decision

by Stephen Jones

He faced a lot of batters in a season,
But none of us knew his demon.

C.C. Sabathia made a decision —
Leave the mound for rehabilitation.

It takes a strong man to make this call —
To recognize that life’s more than baseball.

 



The Season is Over, a Sad Refrain

by Susan Petrone

The season is over, a sad refrain.
The calendar would not surrender one more day;
The Indians will not play the last game.

Cleveland done in by too much rain;
Too late to make up at home or away.
The season is over, a sad refrain.

The hopes and dreams of spring became
Autumn’s weary march astray.
The Indians will not play the last game.

Each off-season is the same,
No more dingers, no double plays.
The season is over, a sad refrain.

This season we have cause for blame.
Game 1-6-2 is meaningless, they say.
The Indians will not play the last game.

“It ain’t over till it’s over,” must we now disclaim?
The schedule says there’s one game left to play.
The season is over, a sad refrain.
The Indians will not play the last game.

 

This villanelle first appeared on Susan’s Indians blog, It’s Pronounced Lajaway.

 

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