13 april
(my father is the center man in uniform)
my father was a sportswriter for the Boston newspapers
when we were young he would take us to the game
the red sox
Carlton Fisk
Luis Tiant
Carl Yastrzemski
"Yaz"
they would take their turns around the bases
stiff wrists holding onto wooden bats
I can hear the chanting of the crowds
in the moonlight of my memories
I swear
the sound of a baseball game
is so deeply ingrained in me
it brings me right back to
my papa
sitting on the back porch
listening to an old transistor radio on a porcelain table
Play Ball.....
only a brief story
in the limbo of my youth
in the limbo of my youth
almost gaudy in its melancholy
and then I tumble into home
Lovely!
ReplyDeleteI think it is a beautiful tribute and memory..it can be sad but it is good to keep people we love with us
ReplyDeleteMemories are wonderfully complex, emotive and fluid.
ReplyDeleteHow many will by reading this now recall those little triggers to our minds of our families members. I certainly did.
ReplyDeleteYou had a head-start in the game! One can be well conversant with the game and need not have to be a player. Wonderful write asos!
ReplyDeleteHank
Yeah, great memories and nicely fitted together.
ReplyDeleteOh, my! I can relate to this post. My father's first 'real' job was for the New York Times and he had hopes of working up to sportswriter. His neighborhood playmate growing up was Whitey Ford. He was an avid baseball fan ... New York Yankees, the Red Sox archenemy. But yes, the endless evenings listening to then watching baseball. The whole family {except my mother} were Yankees fans. When I married, my geography and my sports interests changed but the memories linger on.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing these wonderful memories.
ReplyDeleteI think we all have memories that startle us with their emotive intensity. Very different, but with the same strong effect. The plop of a fish in a moonlit lake triggers a stillness of remembering for me. You have detailed a Universal reality. Thank you,
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
Nice, this reminded me of the days I went with my dad to see the Mets.
ReplyDeletePamela
cool ~
ReplyDeleteSuch sweet nostalgia! Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteWhat wonderful memories! You should link your poem to Poetry Jam. There are still a few hours left.
ReplyDeleteoh wow...how cool would that be....
ReplyDeletewould have been so cool to be around baseball like that
growing up
Wonderful memory poem. What an exciting childhood you had. And, ha, I can remember listening to baseball with my dad on transistor radios as well.
ReplyDelete(Thanks for linking to Poetry Jam!)
Nice sense of nostalgia here in your words. :)
ReplyDeleteMy farther was a football coach so I know exactly what you mean. Just a different game. Great Poem
ReplyDelete