The story behind this poem is that my wife was working on a flower bed under the front windows, and deep down, she found an old baseball. No doubt, one of my boys had buried it at some point in baseball childhood. The poems comes from there. – Kevin
An old baseball, sunk
into soil, never grows
roots, only smudge
and grime, remnants
of past time
Still, some kid here tried;
Small fingers, folded
on a stitched face
of white thread
and knitted lace,
dug down into the earth
with barely a trace
of which game the ball
even belonged to –
a home run hit
to cheering mates
or a hesitant swing,
a loss that grates –
Some summer days
race forward like a batter
running base – you can bury
the lede, if you truly believe
in surfacing the story —
Other days slink, slow,
a seed for song,
a game of imagination
most of us still play
minutes before the sun
fades away
PS — image credit: “Johnson Park” flickr photo by dankeck https://flickr.com/photos/dankeck/53548608010 shared into the public domain using (CC0)
A Donald Hall poem about baseball. I love his book Fathers Playing Catch with Sons.
The Baseball Players
Against the bright
grass the white-knickered
players tense, seize,
and attend. A moment
ago, outfielders
and infielders adjusted
their clothing, glanced
at the sun and settled
forward, hands on knees;
the pitcher walked back
of the hill, established
his cap and returned;
the catcher twitched
a forefinger; the batter
rotated his bat
in a slow circle. But now
they pause: wary,
exact, suspended—
while
abiding moonrise
lightens the angel
of the overgrown
garden, and Walter Blake
Adams, who died
at fourteen, waits
under the footbridge.
It’s a whole world — poetry and baseball
Kevin