They are the boys of summer promise in spring
A World if they can make it
Beginning their perennial journey
To repeat the bounty of past
Or quest for the yet unfulfilled
Knowing the only known is the unknown

The boys are mixed of hurlers and battery mates
Speed demons and some thunder
Mighty cracks and broken bats catch the eye
Of mentor, coach and locker bums
Of spectators ready for play
In their spring these boys of summer stand out

Their numbers thin as play begins to reject
Only so many chances
To prove they belong and will contribute
To the team that becomes family
To the family of fans who root
And wish to leave day’s worry at the gate

They are the boys of summer into the grind
Day after night in the park
A series of Series upon Series
Sacrifice and personal feats
Bring thrill or grief, sorrow or joy
Streaks and slides and stats will tell the story

The boys write a chapter every summer day
Each pitch, each hit, each error
Recorded forever to be compared
With summer boys who came before
Are here now and those yet to be
Shared history in kind and harsh beauty

Boys of summer simmer heat beat and battle
As Cobb said, “It’s like a war”
With an accounting of those left to die
Stranded on the no-way-back path
Failing teammate summer warriors
Victory is in bringing your boys home

Some boys of summer now reach second season
Leave the fallen in autumn
Top standings will boast and wild cards may toast
Now is the time the true live for
The summer glory is memory
The sweat and toil prelude to the pennant

They are the boys of autumn who were tested
All those days and all those plays
Brought them to the brink of the Promised Land
Time to be better than before
Being good enough to get here
Means nothing as the game begins once more

The culmination of the last two standing
The Series to end it all
The best of the best fight to the last out
Cheers and champagne for the victors
Tears and pain for those so close
Summer boys come home to dream of next year

©opyright 2011

Reyes gone.
Life goes on.
New woes take
time to bake.
Now Johan
can’t pitch/can?
Either way,
sad to say,
fans don’t care,
won’t be there.
“Citifield,
where Mets yield.”
Money’s tight
wallet’s light.
Can’t pay loans,
Wilpon phones
MLB
just to see
if they can
find a plan.
Get some jocks
with high socks,
shirts tucked in
after win.
Will Dave Wright
now take flight?
Song of swan,
“Reyes gone.”

New York, London, Paris, Munich
Everybody talk about, mmm….
Pop music, aye, and news and sport
But to bardball blast, we must retort

From the bleachers, and godly seats
Loving testimonies – and testy tweets
Au contraire, in Europe there is but little
Interest – like our economy, entirely brittle

In our excitement, we do refrain
From all small talk, of one Ferris Fain
Unknown to us, across the Golden Pond
In our view, his sport just a frond

Of the nascent game we called rounders
Those damn Yankees – cads and bounders!

Note :

In response to George Bowering’s ‘Ferris Fain’.

Totally tongue-in-cheek!

And I’m sure London, Amsterdam and Paris are well represented place names in the US!

In London, Amsterdam and Paris,
They talk of nothing else but Ferris.

He always managed to amaze,
This handsome batsman of the A’s.

The Blue of the Bums, the Orange of the Jints and the interlocking NY,
The Mets cap was designed to reflect Big Apple baseball historicity.
Why not wear FDNY or PDNY on 9/11? It’s all about New York City.

The Blue of the Bums, the Orange of the Jints and the interlocking NY.
Joe’s dad walked a Brooklyn beat, but still Bud pinned it on Torre.
He walked out when he was dissed by The Boss, so seriously – what’s the real story?

The Blue of the Bums, the Orange of the Jints and the interlocking NY.
The design is now, of course, officially MLB licenced apparel.
It’s yours for just $29.95, but it won’t save you when your life is in peril.

The Blue of the Bums, the Orange of the Jints and the interlocking NY.
Like the horror of that day ten years ago, we’re left to wonder who’s responsible and why.

An Oklahoma flash
Out of “shucks” and a beer can
He swung for pleasure

(1 minute poem on a $5 bet)

The Sox are our team says the Bahd
Plus the students who haunt Hahvahd Yahd.
Just enjoy if you wish
This great summery dish.
By autumn, you know, we’ll get scrod.