I yearn to take the time to write a baseball poem when, at my age,
Every moment is a jewel to possess and caress as a too-soon fleeting treasure.
Just as I inhale the precious air and feel the breath of life invigorate me,
I must share with the like-minded and the uninformed alike my love.
The sport demands nothing less than lyrical words and phrases:
To see an outfielder make a diving catch is to watch America’s own
Majestic eagle swoop down, talons exposed, and portray its grace.
To hear the hysterical and rowdy cheers of the hometown crowd
Is to listen to, with thrills, those of a symphonic orchestra team up to give
Honor and glory to its rendition of the William Tell Overture. A speedster
Setting out to steal another base is Jesse Owens in the charging to the gold
At the1936 Olympics, showing strength and speed in the face of deep hostility.
A batter making contact with a hundred mile per hour pitch and sending it
Into the outfield stands is young Tiger Woods hitting the green with a single swing
On the tenth hole in Augusta at the Masters. Wherever you may stare
And study the poetry of baseball, watching an offensive or defensive show of precision
In the way a life-preserving surgeon performs his or her work and echoes athletes
Who show their skills on a living canvas, you can’t escape the rhythm of
The motions; it is a dance that sways to a Siren’s song and fills the fan with love
And with respect. It is a painting in which its many precise parts perform as one.
Why do I write baseball poetry? The dancer, painter, singer, sculptor — any
Artist who understands what it means to be creative, to hear the Muse —
Knows he or she cannot stop, cannot prevent the urge to vent the feelings
That must be born and see the sun. I cannot put my life and living to the side.
I must write baseball poetry because I want others to perceive, as I do,
That baseball and poetry are twins who equally deserve to breathe the air
And know the joy of existence and of validation. Ars longa, vita brevis!
THE POETRY OF THE GAME