Bottom of the Ninth #8 - Ode on a Baseball
by Anonymous
This poem was an English assignment that a player submitted. It reminds us that the young men who play this game have talents beyond their baseball expertise. In true poetic fashion, he chose to remain anonymous. Enjoy -
Oh! Perfect shape, modeled aft’ the earth
No better form to orbit ‘round the sun.
To spin as hurled from arm and hand its birth
Thou plummet toward the wielded bat of one
Who cannot meet the object timed precise
Unless the heavens align themselves at once.
For bat and ball to intersect in time,
The plane of swing across the arc must slice
And send the object back as if by chance.
No rhythm to this effort, much less rhyme.
Nine inches round that fits within thy hand
That cups the orb, but cannot hide within.
Cradled safely, there awaits command.
Thrown, it rushes through the air with spin.
Stitches spiral ‘round the planet’s orbit.
Thread that marks the turn of whirling sphere.
Seams that have no start and have no end.
Rifle through the air, a coursing bullet
Toward its target with impact severe
Grasped by hand as if it were a friend.
Track this shape from glove to glove among
The blessed few who chase this sporting dream.
You’ll find a kindred spirit here is sung
By young and old who bond within a team.
Who struggle to prevail within the rules
Of flight of ball that’s pitched and hit and thrown.
Success is measured in so many ways.
Ball, bat, glove - the simplest of tools
But of these, the baseball is the keystone
The object of the game for which we praise.
Words are powerful. In poetry, rhyme and cadence and subtleties draw boundaries around our experiences and communicate far beyond the obvious. Words are gifts from a generous God.
So will my word be which goes out of my mouth: it will not come back to me with nothing done, but it will give effect to my purpose, and do that for which I have sent it.Isaiah 55:11