"hitter" poems
I should have been a boxer....the way I stick and move when I write. The only person I know that can make the sun shine at night.
I should have been a boxer....the way i fight with words to paint a picture. I'm using the jab to set you up for the knockout blow. I'm looking for your tendencies and when i spot it......down you will go.
I should have been a boxer....float like a butterfly sting like a bee. A sign of honor to a fellow poet.....and inspiration to me.....Muhammad Ali. I should be a boxer the way i study my craft and observe the legends of the game. It's all all about the passion.....I could care less about fame.
I should have been a boxer.....you can't be good unless you train. I have my book ....my pen .....ideas in my brain. I have so many thoughts I may need another brain. I'm on the speed bag so my brain is quick with the flow....switching styles like a southpaw.....which way is it coming? I guess you will never know.
I should have been a boxer....because i really like to fight. Instead of gloves I utilize my pen to pulverize the paper and annihilate those foes and lost loves....father's who left their children at start. They couldn't finish the fight .....was he a coward or a scarecrow.....born without a heart.
I should've been a boxer.....because my defense is always up. I hide my poems inside a book .....it's highly guarded so don't try to look. The thoughts inside are g14 classified....so I'm hiring security guards.....if you want to gain entrance.....you must present an identification card.
I should've been a boxer....because I'm always fighting. My thoughts are knocked to the paper and bleeds black or red. I write about life .....because I know nothing about being dead. Although, I been knocked around .....and have had to take a standing eight.....I leaned on the ropes and learned to wait. Still working the jab......which are the words i write.
I should've been a boxer.....one hitter quitter and then it's time to say "Goodnight!"
Ladies and Gentlemen......we have a unanimous decision. The new poetic champion of the worldddddd!!! ......I should've been a boxer.....Yeah right.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
I smoke cigarettes
I drink ***** straight
I party with the suffragettes.
I have no job.
I have a car.
I have a brand new, spanking guitar.
I'll sing a song,
so sing along.
I'm a born-again, ***** brunette.
******* where's a cigarette?
I write some lines.
I've got some fines.
I snort a line,
I'm doing fine.
Poet,
know it,
*****
snitch,
girl,
hurl,
finger,
singer,
love,
glove,
me,
be,
book,
hooked,
see?
three!
And now you know,
my tale, insane.
It's not quite told,
I'll try again.
****
Greed,
'strology,
Blasphemy,
Gay/Straight,
don't hate,
quitter,
hitter,
fool,
cool,
won't get me in a swimming pool.
delusional,
confusional,
blankets,
spank it,
pillows,
billows
out the car into the night.
Taurus,
chorus!!
Oh, won't you be my Valentine,
Now you've seen into my mind?
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
Skating on thin ice my whole life like a figureskater.
First price on sight but the stripes, resembles a broken picture.
A golddigger... Go figure.
Writing straight from my heart so every bar tender. I remember a night in december,
from a walk in the park to a shot in the dark, I wasnt that cleaver.
Pretended to be concious and smart but now the scars on my arms shows that Im a beginner.
Sober for 3 years yet addicted to your liquor.
Sparked my transmitter when ladys slipper fell off after our first dinner,
But I never knew cinderella was a heavy hitter.
Couldnt connect the dots so now im on the ground with seven stars above my head like I got hit with the big dipper.
PTSD...
But **** all the modesty, I just need honesty...
My writtens a blasphemy (blast for me) but I can't be myself anymore like broken prophecy so God,
accept my apology, beacuse there's a monster inside of me that produces sick thoughts like it knew biology.
Some might say im insane but **** my brain, my heart is always by my side. Deranged thoughts but love tells me when its a lie.
So stay in my lane and embrace the fact that we all are going to die or live to busy and miss the heartbeat that takes you to the otherside.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
This poem is a Google Adwords ad,
Intruding into the sidebar of your heart.
It’s a 1-800-LAWYERS commercial
Making you money off your personal injury.
It’s a brutal, ****** UFC bout,
Weak in its ground game but knows its Jiu-Jitsu
And it’s got you on the mat, begging you to tap out.
This poem is *****
a SNAFU waiting to happen.
It’s the sarin gas Syria used against its own
And it’s the attack America will be responding with,
Using ****** to punish murderers.
This poem is a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken
Getting your finger-lickin’-good fingers nice and greasy.
This poem is yet another poet writing yet another poem about poems,
With the word poem repeated ad nauseum.
This poem is a bunch of awful band names,
Like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Tapes ‘n Tapes, and Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!.
It’s a summer blockbuster and a teen dystopian trilogy.
It’s riding *****
In your ex’s car.
This poem is anthropogenic global warming
Whose CO2 emissions are dangerously high and climbing
While its polar bears are stranded on the broken ice floes of its verses.
It’s a baseball crowd speaking the words “no hitter”
In the midst of a no-no
Which itself is a no-no.
Its bad grammar, who’s comma’s are all, out of place
And its’ apostrophe’s, are meaningless.
This poem is Zooey Deschanel,
Who will not marry me some day, any day, in the future.
In fact, it doesn’t even know I exist.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Rocketship
Pistol on my hip
Quick Shooter
No Hitter
One Hitter
Quitter
Express the depress
in your chest
scribble scrabble
blither blather
doesn't matter.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
the smoke it pours slowly out
my shadow seems to be following a little further behind
I'm loosing my grip on this steering wheel
Swivin in and out of traffic
I see Minivans and 18 wheelers
honking and blazing thier horns
I'm struggling to stay awake
but only 2 more hours and I'll be home
I dig in my glove compartment and pull out
a pre rolled cigarete and my Oney Box
I spark the cig and pack me a little one hitter
puff them both down fast
and drink my 3 hour old coffe I got at some rumie gas station
its cold as ****
but it'll do the trick
I scratch my eyes and my *****
and turn up the radio The Current is a little to Indie for this night ride
So I put on 93.6 The Blaze and listen to some As I Lay Dieing
Ironic I have'nt died yet....
I listen and tune in
and then I tune out as the white dotted line
directs me towards home
where my dog awaits
to greet me
it's been a long trip
yes it has
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
I Wanna Be A Poet
My writing is very strange,
no one has more range.
I've got my pen, in hand,
my poems are, in demand.
I use paper, it's my source,
I'm a pppppoet, of course.
I wanna be a poet,
and you can be my poetess,
I'm the best you all must confess.
Writing on the paper,
planning my next caper.
Follow me on Twitter,
on Facebook, I'm a heavy hitter.
Writing in my notebook,
figuring my newest hook.
I feel so **** *****
can't help but being flirty.
I wanna be a poet,
and you can be my poetess,
writing will always be my business.
Feeling like a here,
I used to be a zero.
Six pens on my side,
in case some get dried.
Smoking my favorite cigarette,
listening to music on cassette.
Blowing rings with the smoke,
how it ***** being so broke.
Somewhere over the rainbow,
is a *** filled with green dough.
Other poets on the warpath,
because they always feel my wrath.
I wanna be a poet,
and you can be my poetess,
my rhymes have been known to cause dizziness.
My name is Fred,
and one day, I'll be dead yo yo.
Boys Don't Cry, was a one hit wonder,
I just gave that song some poetic thunder.
I used to love that silly song,
Youtube the video, and tell me I'm wrong.
I wanna be a poet,
and you can be my poetess,
my only goal is to simply impress.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
He was a good runner;
And one hell of a stunner;
Your stop-glass picture for a lightning vision;
And a start-pass winner, a stunting gold finisher;
A heart cold hunter, he was my knock-out hitter;
He was a K.O. Rider--
He was a collider: on one collect collision course;
Of course, the beginning was when it began:
Between the specific sheet of force
With a good measure...
Had me landing on all fours,
Reveling in it again;
To rev up was the plan.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
My head feels like a visit to the cranioscopist’s,
Like someone bored through it with a drill.
Inflamed and ill,
Like the ego of a billionaire philanthropist.
Flashbacks of “You”,
Got me off my tracks and feeling blue,
Stumbling around in pain, without a ******* clue.
My neck is aching,
My body is shaking,
My ******* soul feels like it’s breaking.
Volcanic unrest, putting my heart to the test,
Got manic anger strapped to my chest like a suicide vest.
I’m the spectre of truth, a hard hitter,
Like that last, smooth drink that fails your liver.
A lone wolf whose claws are made of words,
A man grown bitter and whose heart hurts.
My legs feel heavy and tired –
Is it now accepted to not have energy to even exist?
For that certainly isn’t how we’re naturally hard-wired.
I don’t know how to accept the illusion,
There seems to be no solution –
I look desperately, amidst the confusion.
I look for similarly empty eyes,
For those who do see the lies.
The only truth left is this;
He who murders lives, and he who loves dies.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
Three children sit behind a dumpster
outside of the Pier Pizza Parlor
unaware that they are children
Seven years later walking past Bridge Square
a girl remembers
**** we're out of cigarettes
and my mom's fucken car is locked. man.
and joints rolled with single ply toilet paper
burning through precious *** in the seaside woods where Indians
used to die
She, curling hands,
flattens a photograph of three kids in swimsuits and baseball caps
crouched under the rainy eaves of a waterslide
lighting a one hitter and gazing at their tiny dying world
now like a centerfold
it's covered in lubricant sweat and spittle
after too much time under the wrong beds
She sits on this small fountain
wistfully blinking and ******* down the cigarettes she wishes she could lock back up
kneading her dead legs and wondering
if it's better to have a past smudged by erasers
or mottled with bruises
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 10:58 PM UTC
I may never be a Nolan Ryan fastball pitcher,
But I can play any position the coach asks of me and I’m a helluva hitter.
Try to be a sponge in everything I do,
Resourcefulness, Adaptability and Work Ethic are your conquest clues.
So make every second count young person!!
Wear your heart on your sleeve..express yourself for all to see!!!
And as **Dale Carnegie once said…Be the better person and don’t worry about anyone talking incompetence
Cause “Unjust criticism is often a disguised complement”!
-K.E. Carman
** Dale Carnegie – How to win friends and influence people
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
I don't understand it.
Everybody want to be a savage.
Upscale and overdramatic
90's mentality, I'm still fightin' madness.
So tell me
What you know about classic?
Better think, before you pop off at the mouth
and do anything drastic!
I never changed
I continue to do me
956 to 323
I got power
I am father to many prodigies
I'm going to stay on top
of the game, until they body me.
So you made a couple of hits
So you qualify as a hitter?
Stop calling yourself a killer
if you ain't about it ni**a
Gotta be outside the box
This is why
You cannot frame me
for any picture!
None of you, about the smoke
but be so quick to burn it all
Just like a swisher!
I cannot face time, rather not waste time.
Most of you get loco
When you be on the liquor
My foundation stands by me.
This is not vengenace, this is vigor!
So stop trying to use my lines
You's a stolen-style shifter
You ******* stolen-line-spitter
I'm not saint.
I rather not be a sinner.
I tell my child
You can do
ANYTHING!
Daddy will always rock with ya!
2021, new era, new me, I am done
******* with you pretenders!
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 12:16 PM UTC
Real Diva=A petulant Proven Mega Talent
Watered down Diva=A rude Hoochie.
Real Diva= A self Centered Proven Star.
Fake Diva=A Schmendrick. Cant punch out of a wet paper bag.
Old-school (Real Diva)=A Socialite.Proven ,Heavy hitter,Show stopper.
Skin Diva=T & A Poser.Head Rattles when she Shakes her Diva.
Iron Clad Diva=Cant miss,sold out two years in advance.
Bone Retrieva Diva= Cant spell CAT if You spot her the C and The A.
The list goes on.........
Nawmean ?
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
i think
i once read
salvador dalí
dreamed of worlds
full of divine creatures
that fell from the sky like
comets falling from the heavens.
and in his dreams, these creatures
appeared to be different from others.
they reflected a new beauty, a new way
to see the world. and although he attempted
to create art so that others could see what he saw,
many thought that he was a madman. many thought
that he was seeing a world that didn't exist; that couldn't --
but if you see it, who are we to say it doesn't exist; who are we?
salvador dalí once claimed to be both an anarchist and a monarchist.
i like to believe this is possible...if one believes in a world full of kings.
people probably thought dalí was viewing the world through drug-filled eyes,
but dock ellis pitched his one and only no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
dalí saw, and created, surrealism because there is no other way to see and create the world.
but dock ellis pitched his one and only no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
people probably thought dalí was viewing the world through drug-filled eyes,
i like to believe this is possible...if one believes in a world full of kings.
salvador dalí once claimed to be both an anarchist and a monarchist.
but if you see it, who are we to say it doesn't exist; who are we?
that he was seeing a world that didn't exist; that couldn't --
many thought that he was a madman. many thought
to create art so that others could see what he saw,
to see the world. and although he attempted
they reflected a new beauty, a new way
appeared to be different from others.
and in his dreams, these creatures
comets falling from the heavens.
that fell from the sky like
full of divine creatures
dreamed of worlds
salvador dalí
i once read
i think
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
My summer sweats bloom from a grass rag,
Scratch another hardly blasting out a calibrate,
Can I break, strap out hacker doozy bluemoors,
Caught from an out sound, an out frowned
Blackening the coffin sweet cough lubricate,
Shackle high tops on pipe dream loft shakers,
Clover feelers, four hitter on lucky seven collar,
Depth sin protector, **** I ain't wrath looter,
Nor do poppa sizes on some puke lips locker,
Key switch for gates hellish donor, back loner,
Course you see, I seek seep suckled *****
Not some subtle soul (gap in skirt) poker,
Forever reaching lines, bust knuckle lifters,
Cracked rage like Nile is flooding wealths curlers,
Jewel duplicate for ruby cuts on roofless lust,
Symbolise another and I'll grabble force an honour,
Sober up soppy crotch rummage coper,
Scan cell prison ament Scholar's "repent!"
Mace battle X axel swop blunt round passel,
Cost more on pepper rubber rock relation,
Patient prep operation, cramp dilation,
Dial engage **** sudden blocked injection.
Cast nocturnals ominous above monuments,
Men fall like weak's race for joy's division,
Attend pro's vision, pure as skies probations,
Pack pampers protection tracks premonition,
Flat lines before lap times, clenching half rhymes,
Hop hotter than blues croft in dusks knots,
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
to write a poem about you
the fleeting, unknown presence of you
a seeming hippie in flight
dislocated to these locked lands of 'might'
i might, i may
you are a presence of try and some day
a enforcer of push
and hitter of that beautiful, blossoming kush
you will bleed from these layered grasses of country sorrow
off to a greater and better tomorrow
rooted in a new proclaimed essence of you
those lands will wash and embed your coded hands of can do
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
The best of dying is
nil by mouth
morphine the last delirium then
laid out to rest,
he ain't the big hitter now.
Stella the shirtless got meaner
down by Cirrhosis avenue.
King's for the Christmas duration
profaning in Erse
we all thought he was an Englishman.
The leaking mercury fillings
or Toxoplasmosis Cat dishes
should have made him more paranoiac,
the statute of a Man
unprotected.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
The darkness fades the embers re-lit
keep on truckin or will you quit?
horizon is right above those hills
so don't reach for the alcohol or the pills
life's not for one hitter quitters
life's about love, the jump that kills
the feelin that shoots down your spine
Chills
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
Congratulation! See the far you have come,
You are just awesome,
I realize it has been tough,
You chose not to bluff,
You are an amazing self.
I write to let you know am proud of you,
For all you’ve been through,
Soaking up all guff to become better,
In the game you became hitter,
You are an amazing self.
I have watched you tarry for long in pain,
Pain that has chained your brain,
It’s time to release the hurt,
Time to spurt from the desert,
You are an amazing self.
You forgot that happiness existed,
When your entire world felt haunted,
Don’t **** yourself with the confusion,
You are your own cushion,
You are an amazing self.
Strong and able is your name,
I believe in your ability to reclaim,
Your past is a puzzle of a broken mirror,
Nothing in it can be myrrh,
You are an amazing self.
My pen bleeds for you to hope,
Tie another knot in your rope,
You cannot give up now,
God has a way somehow,
You are an amazing self.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 6:40 AM UTC
GRAMPA THE SOFT BALL PLAYER
………by Jerry Howarth
5/26/16
Grampa is a legend in the softball world
He was voted into the Softball Hall of Fame
When ever Grampa was scheduled to pitch
It broke the attendance record every game.
Grampa was a fast ball pitcher
For the Perry Baptist church team.
He was having fun, just messing around,
But with every game Grampa picked up steam.
He began to experiment releasing the ball,
making it curve left & right, drop and rise,
He even learned to make a slow pitch,
Making it difficult for the batter’s eyes
Grampa had a favorite trick he loved to play The crowd thought it was super great!
The ball started out fast then changed slow
“How slow did it get Grampa?” “So slow
the batter swung three times before it crossed the plate.
Well Grampa’s pitching became so well known
The major leagues began competing with many others,
Offering Grampa Millions of dollars.
Grampa developed a fast ball so fast that…
“How fast was it, Grampa Parson?”
It was so fast it was beyond measur’n.
Now Grampa had what he called his
Roller coaster pitch that no one could ever hit
It was such a crazy pitch, he had it patented
So no one else could copy and use it
Grampa was now playing on a professional team, making over a million bucks a year,
His agent made a deal for $20,000 a game
Every time he pitched a no hitter
Every game he played was a no hitter,
Thanks to his patented pitch
At $20,000.00 a game
Grampa was getting really, really rich!
But back to Grama’s special pitch,
It was greatly irritating to every batter
They were determined to knock that ball
Right down Gramp’s kooka-defrater
Hear the crowd yelling, whistling, and clapping
Coming up to bat is the world home run king!
Here it comes, that, fast, slow pitch
The home run king gives three mighty swings.
Three strikes an yer out, the rules of the game
It’s the first time in the history of soft ball fast pitch, that a batter strikes out on
just one pitch
This poem cannot end without a mention
About Grampa batting power
That’s right, Grampa hit a ball so hard,
It sailed about a thousand miles or so
It broke out a window in the Trump Tower.
YEAH It did! And broke Donald’s favorite champagne drinking glass.
Well this is enough humble bragging about
When Grampa G. E. Parson was a Grandson
And I hope the reading of this poem
Was a lot of fun !
-Grampa G.E. Parson
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 7:50 PM UTC
Out on the diamond
a great place to play
I could watch those boys
hitting and running all day
Grab a seat in the bleachers
and shout out "Hooray"
out on the diamond
a great place to play
The shortstop looks restless
he flies to the bag
the catcher throws down
and he puts down the tag
the runner hears "out"
as they put him away
out on the diamond
a great place to play
The pitcher's a lefty
and throws a mean curve
that last one was filthy
just watch that thing swerve
the three hitter K'd
slams his bat on the plate
out on the diamond
he swung it too late
The innings were short
but the game was a treat
as we watch the away team
go home in defeat
the best gem of April
is opening day
out on the diamond
the best place to play
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
If you Google it, the search comes up as a dot it is so small
growing up years ago they said the population was 500
but that had to have included the people passing through
for we had an ESSO, Schell, Gulf, BP and Texaco gas station
Being on the way to cottage country we were that stop
far enough from the big city for cottagers to be ready
for a bathroom break and a fill up at the pumps
Crime was something we only read about in the papers
Our claim to fame the lake, and ice fishing
You could drive your car to the island in the dead of winter
passing by fish huts painted in an array of colors
The ice road delineated by trees to avoid getting lost
Sure we had the odd break in at a cottage but nothing
that got our name in the news
Oh, we also had two churches and a one room school house
we arrived when I was in grade two, Miss Mitchell was the teacher
Growing up in those days meant hours playing
If we weren’t swimming, we were future hockey stars
or baseball players, Ian and I at the back of the school
pitcher and hitter challenging each other
Hours upon hours at a time spent with kids from down the street
Sure there were the petty fights but mostly with my brothers,
but what can you expect when you have four boys growing up
each vying to become adult like
Those were, in my mind, the days of innocence
before computers and the world became larger
and the internet allowed you to see it all,
the poverty, the deadliness of war, man’s cruelty
Once a place I wanted to desperately get away from
to get lost in the city, an introvert looking for a place to hide
I now find myself reminiscing of those long lost days
where life was simple and a day could be spent daydreaming
Andreas Simic©
Jun 17, 2022
Jun 17, 2022 at 7:08 AM UTC
Strange Man
wears no clothes
picks his nose
eats raw meat
has smelly feet
makes crank calls
drunk and always falls
drinks night and day
family and friends, he betray
surely going to hell
needs scope, breath smell
has no more money
this **** isn't funny
has a very small ****
can't give girls the proper lick
has to **** just for ***
still in love with his ex
has gave up on living
what happened was unforgiving
a man became a monster
felt like an impostor
lived life grumpy and bitter
searching for a pinch hitter
died one night all alone
poor dog never got his bone
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Your lungs bare a breath
That drives my sensations,
Wild.
A warm, slight gust.
It takes me aback,
Like a house attempting to withstand
The mightiest of hurricanes.
I am defenceless
Against your daggering, crystal blue gaze.
It pierces my soul,
And penetrates my very heart.
I am a wounded warrior,
My heart no longer a heavy hitter,
But a lingering weakness.
Stepping into battle against your tender touch,
Would prove to be a futile mistake.
I will tremble before you,
As many have before.
You are the anchor,
Bound to my feet,
I cannot stay afloat
Whilst you plummet,
To the ocean floor.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC