Ode to St. Lou

Bleachers painted red, as heroes take the field;

Hope carried through April by the bats they wield—

From spring training until the season’s end

Warriors are struck down while others are on the mend.

Old favorites blend with new faces,

As the freshmen round the bases;

A future hall of famer waves goodbye

As a fearless leader leaves with a sigh—

Still the crowd roars with each pitch,

Waiting patiently for October’s niche.

Players creep from their winter homes—

Upon the field, again they roam,

The redbirds on the field stretch their wings,

Pitchers loosening arms, batters taking swings.

A familiar face, lost before opening day,

Replaced by the young arms eager to play—

Backed by players who became legends in fall,

Aided along the way as they’re given the ball.

Knees and shoulders, injuries take their tolls,

Breaking bodies but never dampening souls.

The dog days begin to set and players start to mesh.

In their heads, last year’s championship still feels fresh.

As the leaves stain red to match a nation,

The playoffs come again, eight team’s aspiration.

September magic returns, a familiar friend.

Bringing one game, a chance to evade the end—

Players sit calm on the bench, fearless eyes

They know what it means to live or die.

Knowing what it is to persevere, to fight

It all comes down to one October night,

One night where bravery comes up short,

Champagne bottles remind us of a beautiful sport—

The redbirds are headed home again,

To defend the crown, and keep their reign.

A single strike from defeat, on baited breath

A single pitch could mean the season’s death—

They show the nation they’re here to stay,

They persevere again, live another day.

But the bats grow cold, sat down compliant—

Tonight, they are David against the Giants.

There will be no parade, no more champagne,

No championship rings—all the effort feeling vain.

But on a silent October morning,

After a night of broken heart’s adorning

Heroes are welcomed home, and upon their return

They plan for next year’s Championship—the one they've earned.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Bleachers Painted Red

Bleachers painted red, as heroes take the field;

Hope carried through April to the fall—

From spring training until the season’s end.

New faces blend with old favorites,

As freshmen fill the shoes of a cities idols.

The crowd roars with each pitch,

As players creep from their winter homes—

The redbirds stretch their wings

After the long flight home.

A familiar face, lost before opening day

Is replaced with the young arms,

Fearless of the battles to come.

They are aided along the way

By players who became legends in October.

Injuries take their tolls, breaking minds

But never dampening souls.

The dog days of summer take over

And the wistfulness of last fall’s championship

Becomes a distant memory.

But as the leaves stain red to match a nation

The playoffs come again—

September magic a familiar friend.

One game, so it all becomes—

One game to live or die.

Players sit calmly on the bench,

Knowing what it is to preserver.

For on this October night

Bravery is not enough—

The redbirds are headed home again,

To defend the crown, rightfully theirs.

A single strike from defeat,

A pitch away from the season’s end—

They amaze a nation once again

They live another day.

But the bats grow cold as frustration mounts,

They are David against the Giants—

This year

There will be no parade in St Louis,

No championship rings to adorn fingers.

But on a silent October morning,

When last night is a memory more distant

Than victory the year before,

Heroes return home, to lick their wounds

And prepare once again

For the Championship they deserve.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Together

I want the trouble that you would give me,

To share your fragile life and the heart that beats—

Lingering moments weaved before our eyes

Our youth is our only curse.

I want to hear each breath you take,

So I know by morning you’ll still be here.

Death painted fresh, ash beneath our feet—

You walk unfazed, to my disbelief,

Eyes the only hint to the sorrow you keep.

Not one for faith I find myself assured,

You, I trust more than I trust myself—

Guiding me through haunted tribulations

And the darkness I create.

I want to take your hand and guide you too,

Unified against the shadows that creep

We could walk together through the dark.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com