Baseball itself is an art form, poetry in motion,
Full of images that impress the minds of those
Who understand how to read the game.
From the great diving catch to the stolen base
To shouts and arguments and making contact
With a dart, a swerve, a ghost pitch, fans
Are mentally involved and seeking meaning
And understanding in the action playing out
Before them. There are symbols waiting
To be ascertained and intellectually ingested —
A sign of victory, a pointing to the gods of the game
As recognition of a timely play, an orchestrated
Fist-bump dance, an umpire’s hand-sign of fair or foul,
Safe or out, all symbols of the game.
Baseball has its rhythms, from hitters taking
Practice swings in the batter’s box
(Visualizing smashing the next pitch, driving in the run,
Starting the final inning rally)
To runners taking stealthy small-inch steps while they anticipate
A steal to fielders punching the pockets of their gloves,
Ready for the coming grounder or lofty flight, there
Is music being made and fans can feel and see the melodies.
Baseball is indeed the poetry of peaceful confrontation,
A civilized method of combat, and the poem that is each game,
At the time appreciated, will be reviewed and studied
In their recorded form by coaches, hitters, pitchers
In the days to come, in preparation for the next rhythmic
Challenge, its theme ever-present in the narrative being victory.