"maris" poems
Ozzie Smith, Yazstremski,
Dave Stieb and Robin Yount
these men were of a special group
It's one I'm proud to count
There's players who achieve a goal
While others just achieve
They set a standard for the rest
In their heart they just believe
The game is full of heroes
Men depended on each game
They all have certain attributes
And we all know them by name
Kaline, Ripken, and Wade Boggs
The Carters, Joe and Gary
They're men who inspire us
They have a reputation tough to carry
To be a man of character
You must be better than the rest
You have to be a leader
If you ***** up, you must confess
Baseball doesn't make you one
For character's within
You just learn how to channel it
Bring it out from where it's been
Now, Cobb, Ruth and McLain
Were characters as well
But, not the kind of characters
That we are here to tell
They had a reputation
One that is not lost upon the game
But, to say that they had character
Then you would not speak their names
Tom Seaver and Clemente
Thurmon Munson, Sparky too
Were men who set examples
Of exactly what to do
To build a reputation
One that shows character and heart
Is something time consuming
It's built of many parts
To do the right thing once
Is not the thing I want to see
But to do it right consistently
That defines character to me
There are so many examples
Of players in this group
But there are ten times as many
Who miss the homer with a bloop
Baseball brings it out in you
It doesn't put it there
You show what you are made of
By definition....to be fair
Williams, Maris, Dimaggio
Robinsons, Jackie and Frank
They played with an integrity
You could take it to the bank
If you want to be a winner
Please do this if you can
Be a man of character
Not a character of a man.
..
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
You can rate me,
You can bait me,
You can freight me,
You can strait me,
Simulate me,
Even better
Drop a roofie,
Game a debtor.
You're so groovy, misbehaving,
Misbehaving,
Give it to me,
Trouble waiting,
Fascinating,
Always mating,
You can wake me,
You can slave me,
You can grade me,
You can shave me,
Integrate me,
I pulsating
A new navy,
All the skimmings,
Underpinning
Jehovah's witness,
Keep on stalking,
Better fitness,
Keep on shocking,
Shell is thinning,
Gettin' gotten,
Rot 'n' reeling.
Don't touch my bikini.
Better smile when you see me,
You can stare
That's a freebie.
Don't touch my bikini.
Looking is free,
But touching's gonna cost you
Something.
Smooth and lanky,
Hanky panky,
Got no treat or
New York Yankee,
Super leader,
Count to seven,
Go to Paris,
Break the leaven,
Roger Maris,
Bleed the Czar,
Shooting star,
You're so levy,
You're so sunny,
Getting ready,
Here's the money,
Socking heady,
Making honey,
Toasting herons,
That's not funny,
Waiter Betty,
Way too ****
You're so on it,
You're so honest,
You can fool me,
You remold me,
All the preachers never told me,
Heavy breathing
Punting reason,
Welcome season.
Don't touch my graffiti.
Smile if you dare,
Oily oinkers everywhere.
Keep watching, you graffiti.
Next time you'll learn
That touching's gonna cost you
Something.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Earthy mottled brown,
Pomme de terre
The humble spud,
When not covered in mud;
Chipped, boiled or mashed,
Steamed roasted or hashed.
First the Incas of Peru,
Used them in a stew.
Now the tubers grown in space,
To further the human race.
Chopin, Mozart, and Vivaldi,
Can all be bought at Aldi.
(Other supermarkets are available.)
(More varieties are saleable.)
A versatile Maris Piper,
Couldn't be any riper,
When served perfectly baked.
© Nick Strong 2014
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
hinahanap ko ang iyong liwanag
gustong masilayan bawat sinag
ilawan ang mundong puno ng pagkabagabag
dagat na puno ng kapayapaan
dampi ng hangin sa aking kalamnan
dulot nito'y kapanatagan ng kalooban
sa akin ay may bumubulong
wag hayaang puso'y makulong
sa hinagpis na nakalululong
ikaw ang tala na aalalay at gagabay
sa paglalayag kong walang humpay
ningning mo'y tila walang kapantay.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC
I never saw Teddy,
Rudy York was just a coach,
But Fenway was my Mecca
Back when Boston was a
Sad sack team.
I have to laugh,
I traded Yogi,
Traded him,
And Roger Maris
Too,
Traded them for
Tracy Stallard!
What New Englander
Would want a Yank?
Yes Fenway folks
Were not the brightest,
Back before the Sox
Were good.
Now Red Sox nation's
Nation wide,
The Sox are always
In the mix,
After all,
To love a winner,
Isn't strenuous,
I guess.
But,
There was a time,
A half century,
Or so,
Ago,
When,
That legendary jewel,
It didn't seem so small,
At all,
To me,
A kid,
Of only ten.
She was a great,
And green colossus,
Astride Van Ness,
And Brookline Ave.
To get inside,
You'd need your Dad,
And once inside,
She was a mighty
Castle of concrete
And steel,
With boxes for the
Jimmy fund,
Everywhere the eye
Could see,
She was a dark
And dingy cavern,
***** too,
Not much to see,
But when you walked
Into the sunshine,
There was magic
Everywhere.
The famous sign
In center field,
"Hey Bosox, sock one here,"
And just the color of the grass,
That field was perfect,
Everywhere.
Back then
You could get a ticket,
Any time you wanted,
Just drive right up,
What section,
Please?
But now,
She's a celebrity,
She's all sold out,
The whole year through,
But those of us,
With memories,
Don't need a
Reservation,
For we all recall
The ghosts of Fenway Park.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
The season is a marathon and that one, more than most.
The travel was exhausting with two trips out to the coast.
Mickey was the favored son to wear Ruth’s home run Crown
But a ****** abscess in his thigh had taken Mantle down.
Roger Maris was exhausted if the truth were to be told.
He raced Ruth’s ghost all summer; now the air was turning cold.
With the **** down with an injury, the tension only grew,
as the calendar turned another page and at bats dwindled too.
No pitcher wished to be the one to yield that needed hit,
even if it would be marked down with an asterisk.
The count ran two and “OH’ with Barber in the catbird seat
Tracy Stallard toed the rubber as the catcher called for heat.
Some moments are forever, though, sadly, far too few.
Roger turned upon the ball; towards right field it flew.
It landed in the lower deck as Roger rounded third
It proved to be the winning run as the Yankees blanked the Birds.
I have the photo on my wall as Roger dropped the bat;
the consummate professional, no showboating or act.
He defined grace under pressure; he showed what must be done.
The shadows reach out towards the mound when you hit Sixty-One.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
Dom Higgs came to the room
and spoke to me
of the monastic life
it was late evening
and the shutters were closed
so no moon no stars,
est forma mortis he said,
moon glow by bell-tower
especially after Compline
and the haunting looking cloister,
and she said her husband
wouldn't be home for hours
and there was time for it
so we did,
the French peasant monk
peeled onions
in the kitchen
peler sous l'eau he said,
I cut the grass
around the gravestones
of the monks
and flattened out
molehills before
the hour of Sext,
flying from the pains of hell
we desire
to reach life everlasting
Benedict said,
Hölle ist hier
the German monk said
pointing to his chest
with his thick finger,
Hugh made the chair
in the guest house
I saw it there
after he told me
he was no Charles Mackintosh
but it served it's purpose,
sancta Maris audi nos
Dom Peter whispered
in the cloister while waiting
to enter the church for Vespers
his voice thick as treacle
but pure as soft snow,
she undressed for me
with the skill of a *****
I a youth unravelling
the apple as Adam had,
Dom Charles sat
in the refectory at supper
his face still as a china doll
his eyes stern
and unblinking maybe
God-ward thinking,
Dio è con noi
the Italian monk said
as he showed me
how to sharpen the scythe
his hands powerful
fingers gripping the stone,
non veniam sine poenitentia,
the ultimate value of life
depends upon awareness
and the power
of contemplation
rather than upon
mere survival
Gareth said
quoting Aristotle
as we sat in the novice room
after Terce,
stars above me
moon bright as ghostly ship
I walked the drive way
letting curses let slip.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
I'm lost in the heap of the unfound.
Tossed away, as an old garment.
Within me, there's an untold story.
While I lived and listened to you
Never surrendering my own misfortunes.
Castaway in some box, or clutter.
Never being told.
My silence grows.
In time, I will not be remembered.
Just an old story.
Another tale.
Once vibrant and compassionate.
Heart strong and mighty.
Now frail to another.
Just another lost manuscript never to be read.
Thrown away.
A journal of a lifetime.
George Maris
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
Sea-Flower
you were never one of us
not really
I think you drifted
perhaps we cut you loose
I cannot remember
anyway we meant no harm
we had the shallow callow charm of youth
a cruel chant
which slays the slayer in the end
how could we comprehend your need
or the way that it would end
one cold October day among the ****
pale as apple blossom
Sea-Flower indeed
Jun 2, 2023
Jun 2, 2023 at 5:55 AM UTC
Celle, de qui l'Amour vainquit la fantaisie,
Que Jupiter conçut sous un Cygne emprunté ;
Cette sœur des Jumeaux, qui fit par sa beauté
Opposer toute Europe aux forces de l'Asie,
Disait à son mirouer (1), quand elle eut saisie
Sa face de vieillesse et de hideuseté (2) :
« Que mes premiers Maris insensés ont été
De s'armer pour jouir d'une chair si moisie !
« Dieux, vous êtes jaloux et pleins de cruauté !
Des Dames sans retour s'envole la beauté :
Aux serpents tous les ans vous ôtez la vieillesse. »
Ainsi disait Hélène, en remirant son teint.
Cet exemple est pour vous : cueillez votre jeunesse :
Quand on perd son Avril, en Octobre on s'en plaint.
1. Mirouer : Miroir.
2. Hideuseté : Laideur, répugnance.
583
Who we think we are, if we fail to define our own terminii,
Meum et Tuum, as we are, if we take full consideration
of our pose, relative, to the point of you, on which your
homeostasis hangs by the thread of sense we share
in mindspace dominated by English, no longer,
I can read poetry in Hausa, like a native born earthling,
after Hiroshima and before the peak radiation winds,
in the season of Maris and Mantle, and
The Days of Wine and Roses, and
social influencers promoting actual
bowling leagues,
"Lake Charles Calculators
facing off against Texas City Lo-rollers,"
- in the novel, the summer of '61, unshipped.
when this version of America, as remembered on TV,
shall never before
be gotten but by the free and brave, trusting geology,
can prove we all know
if hell breaks loose,
we all die, but the earth is resilient,
As Kritias recited all he knew
of what the lawgiver said of the reproof
he humbly received as a Sais priestly
admonishment to learn to hold
thoughts secure for disasters
are considerably common
"– all such events are recorded since the old days
and are preserved here in our temples.
Yet your people and
the others are but newly equipped, every time,
with letters and all such arts as civilized cities require
and when,
after the usual interval
of years, like a plague, the flood
from heaven comes sweeping down again
upon your people, it leaves none of you but
the unlettered and uncultured.
So you become as young as ever,
with no knowledge
of all that happened
in old times
in this land or in your own." Plato, Timaeus
_
remember, we once believed in giants,
then we learned of dinosaurs,
then we saw whales cry.
They wept for the loss of the cod.
Then we got the internet of things,
and things developed was to solve
the original division using co-op gnosis,
we see our follies on YouTube, and realize
we have abilities, should we agree, we never
lie, but do know of instances, when unbelieving
worked wonders while lying about waiting
for this exposure
to your final frontal lobe
remyelinating, to offset dementia.
It's a prophylactic tactic peace of mind allows.
Jul 18, 2024
Jul 18, 2024 at 5:49 PM UTC
Traduites du latin d'Audoenus (Owen).
Liv. I, . Ép. 30.
Jeanne, toute la journée,
Dit que le joug d'hyménée
Est le plus âpre de tous ;
Mais la pauvre créature,
Tout le long de la nuit, jure
Qu'il n'en est point de si doux.
Liv. I, . Ép. 145.
Les huguenotes de Paris
Disent qu'il leur faut deux maris,
Qu'autrement il n'est en nature
De moyen par où, sans pécher,
On puisse, suivant l'Écriture,
Se mettre deux en une chair.
Liv. II, . Ép. 47.
Catin, ce gentil visage,
Épousant un huguenot,
Le soir de son mariage,
Disait à ce pauvre sot :
De peur que la différence
En fait de religion,
Rompant notre intelligence
Nous mette en division ;
Laisse-moi mon franc arbitre,
Et du reste de la foi,
Je veux avoir le chapitre,
Si j'en dispute avec toi.
Liv. II, . Ép. 88.
Depuis que l'hiver est venu
Je plains le froid qu'Amour endure,
Sans songer que plus il est nu
Et tant moins il craint la froidure.
Liv. III, . Ép. 65.
Dans les divers succès de la fin de leur vie,
Le prodigue et l'avare ont de quoi m'étonner ;
Car l'un ne donne rien qu'après qu'elle est ravie,
Et l'autre après sa mort n'a plus rien à donner.
Liv. III, . Ép. 124.
Lorsque nous sommes mal, la plus grande maison
Ne nous peut contenir, faute d'assez d'espace ;
Mais, sitôt que Phylis revient à la raison,
Le lit le plus étroit a pour nous trop de place.
491
we started school during
the Korean "police action"
like extra syllables made
murderous mayhem more
palatable than calling it
another dreadful WAR,
half a decade after we won
the last one
those of us who survived yet another
crazy Asian WAR are now fading fast
I take in news of our passing
with my morning coffee, reading
the obits like they were the sports
scores
and every one I see whose numbers
are smaller than mine remind me I
am playing Russian roulette with the clock,
every hour
were it within my power,
I'd spin those hands backwards
to a day before cybertime
when Donny, Johnny and I went
to the park to toss a hardball into
well pocketed gloves, and discovered
the delights of peanut butter and
marshmallow cream sandwiches
back, back to a day Ike was pres,
and I would watch The Twilight Zone
with religious fidelity--back, to a time
so ancient Maris had not yet slammed in
number 61, chipping away
at the Babe's immortality
some told us the end was near,
and death by fierce fire was a reasonable fear
long before the missiles of October
and JFK's intrepid blockade
but the mushroom clouds never did appear,
and here I am with Medicare card in hand,
living in the same land where men with funny
hair make ominous "tweets"
and Manchild dictators with tiny peckers
lob missiles into the sea
wishing Clark Kent were still around
ready to don his cape and take a leap
and a bound, and save us
from ourselves
but first he would have to find a phone booth
in which to change...
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
Vents, souffles du zénith obscur et tutélaire,
N'éveillerez-vous pas quelque immense colère
Là-haut, dans le ciel sombre, en faveur des humains ?
Puisque deux nations vont en venir aux mains
Parce que les deux rois se sont pris de querelle ;
Puisque la plaine verte où court la sauterelle,
Où rit l'aube, où se chauffe au soleil le lézard,
Va tout à l'heure voir passer l'affreux hasard
Secouant dans la nuit ses mains pleines de flèches ;
Puisqu'aux torrents taris entre les pierres sèches,
Vont succéder demain de longs ruisseaux de sang ;
Puisque le grand lion qui pour boire descend
S'arrêtera pensif, surpris de ce flot rouge ;
Puisque le paysan va trembler dans son bouge ;
Puisque, si ces deux rois, le numide et le ***
Ne sont pas soudain pris aux cheveux par quelqu'un,
On va voir éclater pour leurs folles chimères
La désolation lamentable des mères,
Et les deux camps courir l'un sur l'autre acharnés,
Et, lorsqu'ils se seront entre eux exterminés,
Les durs vainqueurs, pareils aux bêtes des repaires,
Tuer les hommes, fils, frères, maris et pères,
Et les femmes, tordant leurs bras, cachant leurs seins,
Fuir devant les baisers de tous ces assassins ;
Puisque deux peuples vont tomber dans cet abîme,
Vents, ne ferez-vous rien pour empêcher ce crime,
Et, vous qui pénétrez dans les profondeurs, vous
Qui vous réunissez ou vous dispersez tous
Plus vite que l'éclair, là-haut, quand, bon vous semble,
Vents, noirs avertisseurs, sur la terre qui tremble,
En ce moment funeste, en ce champ odieux,
N'amènerez-vous pas les formidables dieux ?
Le 28 juillet 1870.
411
Pépa, quand la nuit est venue,
Que ta mère t'a dit adieu ;
Que sous ta lampe, à demie nue,
Tu t'inclines pour prier Dieu ;
A cette heure où l'âme inquiète
Se livre au conseil de la nuit ;
Au moment d'ôter ta cornette
Et de regarder sous ton lit ;
Quand le sommeil sur ta famille
Autour de toi s'est répandu ;
O Pépita, charmante fille,
Mon amour, à quoi penses-tu ?
Qui sait ? Peut-être à l'héroïne
De quelque infortuné roman ;
A tout ce que l'espoir devine
Et la réalité dément ;
Peut-être à ces grandes montagnes
Qui n'accouchent que de souris ;
A des amoureux en Espagne,
A des bonbons, à des maris ;
Peut-être aux tendres confidences
D'un coeur naïf comme le tien ;
A ta robe, aux airs que tu danses ;
Peut-être à moi, peut-être à rien.
305
insomnia
the cold on the other side
of the pillow
Written by
Anna Maris
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
(En lui envoyant les Amour de Psyché.)
Lisez et relisez, ma sœur,
De Psyché l'admirable histoire :
Vous y verrez que le bonheur
N'est pas toujours avec la gloire.
Vous y verrez qu'assez souvent
La plus belle est la plus à plaindre ;
Et qu'un succès trop éclatant
Est moins à désirer qu'à craindre.
Vous y verrez que les maris
Ont parfois l'humeur trop farouche,
Et qu'il n'est pas toujours permis
De savoir avec qui l'on couche.
Psyché veut connaître une nuit
À quel homme elle avait affaire ;
Son époux s'éveille et s'enfuit :
Je crois qu'il aurait pu mieux faire.
Qui dormirait entre vos bras,
Si le jour frappait sa paupière,
À coup sûr ne se plaindrait pas
D'être éveillé par la lumière.
Écrit le Ier janvier 1803.
285