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When I was up there at the plate, my purpose was to get on base anyway I could, whether by hitting or by getting hit.
quote by Shoeless Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God knows I gave my best in baseball at all times and no man on earth can truthfully judge me otherwise.
quote by Shoeless Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I ain't afraid to tell the world that it didn't take school stuff to help a fella play ball.
quote by Shoeless Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orange Dunes
Even if there were no sun,
no moon in the night-time sky
the shine of these two
by any measure is
not surpassed by the light in each
of your eyes.
Even if I did not love you
Love itself would gladly take my place,
its enchantment a testament
to the lily-fire which resides there
beneath that peaches and cream skin,
that furnace mouth,
that wild hair
which flies on its own
independent
of summer breezes,
as ocean breakers
throw themselves upon the beach
for you,
where your shoeless tracks
in the sand
exist as tiny monuments
of your having passed there.
The starfish smile in the shallows,
the clams bubble
the crayfish line up silently;
the summer sun comes down to crest-height
to gaze upon you,
the gulls caw! and caw!
footmen
sounding the call
you'd come for another days walk
on the beach.
I watch from afar
as wavy foam
from the breaker surge
spews high into the air
obscuring your gauzy shape
as it slowly shimmers and disappears
behind sand dunes of smoky orange.
It is enough to worship here each day
as you go by
no need for consummation
or hesitant introductions.
I am content with Love's Worship
because its perfections perfectly match
your apparition there-
gliding from unknown origins-
a breath-taking passage,
into spiraling sea- foam
leaving behind tiny shoeless tracks
soon rushed upon
by an adoring, loving sea.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Blade O' Grass
Poking out through melting snow
from thawing frozen earth.
Timidly a new life peeks
in the newness of spring.
As temperate vernal days drift by.
It drinks the rays of summer sun.
Growing tall standing strong
still velvet soft to shoeless toe.
Yet if rendered asunder
such fragrance it yields.
So subtlety sweet its gift.
Mother Nature's humble.
Blade o' grass.
poem by Kurt Hearth
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The Lost Kite
I’m the lost kite
I never turn
I can not return
I only let myself swept by the wind
I never fight
I’ll be alone in the night
Will I fall and crushed down to the land
Will I hang helplessly on the branch
Will I be chased by shoeless children
Or will the quiet future never be my own?
I’m the lost kite
I don’t have a hold
I almost cold
I feel myself slowly fade to the sky
I won’t be seen again
I will be decayed unknown
Will I be torn by strong storm
Will I be a danger in electricity cable
Will I finally have a peace
Or will I be played again by fate?
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Anonymous Voices
The truth from a
Child
Watching intently
Unknown observer
Where
Death in the valley
And
Laughter from
A
‘Drunken’ soldier
‘Be killed
Or
Surrender’
Voices
Vibrate in anger
While the silence
Of weakness
Chock every soul
In every
Corner
Forgotten lines
Forgotten lives
Poverty without
Richness formatted
The purity of the answer
While the shoeless
‘Wanderer’
Speechless
Breathless but
Somehow
Still believing
That
This round of
‘Humanity’
Will
Evolve
Beyond their cruelty
Beyond revenge
And
Beyond their ‘hate and
Anger’
poem by Najib Altawell
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Valley Views And Skews......mamallama Blues
word is old Pete was dancing at the post office....
.teeth in hand...playing the set of them like maracas..........feet of Klee in a shoeless merengue with flamenco overtones.......
.them's hard callouses he's got.......no way one of Octavio's arrows could penetrate 'em.......
......the sound of it must've been somethin'......
for me, it got drowned out by the car alarm over at the golf course.....the hollerin' from that Escalante/Escadrille/Esplanade/RovingRanger was set off by my little old Jimmy Anne.....the big fella just knew she didn't belong in that neighborhood, bein' born a generation or two before him......got to announcing the infraction full blast.....tickled me......
.we all got our sensitivities...yep........
poem by that's how I intended to ... delilah contrapunctal
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Sweet Longings
A faded memory, of another day,
A flash, passed through my mind;
A vivid picture, of child's play,
A life, long since left, behind.
Take me back, those younger years,
Take heed, to that hiding place;
Take time, hear those distant cheers,
Take second, that stolen base.
Now my mind, begins to open,
Now the cry, of 'all come free';
Now recall, names once spoken,
Now up top, the climbing tree.
Running down, a shady street,
Running through the playground;
Running on, my shoeless feet,
Running after, the rebound.
Where've you gone, sweet yesterday?
Where lay, those childhood schemes?
Where the day, once filled with play,
Where the night: laced, with dreams.
Outcast
Perchance for dear Life's sake - and life is sweet -
When work had failed and roads were deep in snow,
And this meant food and fire, she fell so low -
That painted creature of the midnight street.
Perchance that other, with the shoeless feet,
Was Nature's victim, too untaught to know
That all live buds are not allowed to blow -
Too starved and passion-blind to be discreet.
And their accuser? She within the fold
That walks in light, bejewelled and belaced,
Who in cold blood, and not for love or need,
Sold the white flower of womanhood for gold;
The wedded harlot, rich and undisgraced,
The viler prostitute in mind and deed.
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Trivia Questions
Before you
there was nothing
and after
you, there will be nothing.
I've always told you, young lad,
how you remind me
of Lord Krishna.
As you bathe in the light of
nuclear holocaust,
your outstretched arms transform
into IV hangers.
The softest, most tranquil
valium
runs laps through
my nervous system.
Oh how the rays of misty light
look beautiful
on your expressionless forehead.
I just want to kiss them off.
Remember that one time we argued
because I wouldn't
follow
your advice?
I'm sorry. Please forget about it?
It was trivial. It was all trivial.
Trivia questions:
Who was the 9th president?
What is the 14th ammendment?
Who was Eva Braun?
In what year
did the poet
Carl Adam Ingwell die?
What were his major accomplishments?
Trivia.
All that matters right now
is that nothing matters.
But doesn't that mean that something
matters?
Let's just dance, you and I,
shoeless
upon these clouds of death.
His Actions Have Appalled Us All
The people have become enraged.
Look at their faces.
He promised us,
With his leadership...
He would attempt to walk on water.
But he asked us to be patient.
Since the task before him was tremendous.
And may require time to undertake!
'Excuse me!
He 'is' walking on water.'
With argyles?
When was the last time,
You saw anyone fashionable...
Wearing argyles?
'Yeah, but...'
But nothing!
No one wears argyles today.
Not a soul.
He's not Scottish!
What he needs to be,
Is impeached.
'What? '
That's right.
I-with an 'm'-P-E-A-with a C-H-E-D...
IMPEACHED.
We expect our leaders 'here' in the 'free' world,
To wear silk suits...
With BOSTONIANS!
But no! !
He speaks of 'CHANGE'.
He...
Has to wear short sleeve shirts.
Play basketball.
Be cool and stay goodlooking.
And...
Adorn his shoeless feet,
Exposing them covered...
In ARGYLE? ? ?
WHO does he think he is?
Charleston Heston?
AND Billy Dee Willaims?
His actions have appalled us all!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Night Has Opened My Eyes
In a river the colour of lead
Immerse the baby's head
Wrap her up in the news of the world
Dump her on a doorstep, girl
This night has opened my eyes
And i will never sleep again
You kicked and cried like a bullied child
A grown man of twenty-five
Oh, he said he'd cure your ills
But he didn't and he never will
Oh, save your life
Because you've only got one
The dream has gone
But the baby is real
Oh, you did a good thing
She could have been a poet
Or, she could have been a fool
Oh, you did a bad thing
And i'm not happy
And i'm not sad
A shoeless child on a swing
Reminds you of your own again
She took away your troubles
Oh, but then again
She left pain
So, please save your life
Because you've only got one
The dream has gone
But the baby is real
Oh, you did a good thing
She could have been a poet
Or, she could have been a fool
Oh, you did a bad thing
And i'm not happy
And i'm not sad
Oh ...
And i'm not happy
And i'm not sad
Oh ...
And i'm not happy
And i'm not sad
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Was Good Then
I go back to my childhood
And images come flying at me
These water color memories
That have faded to a certain extent
With the passage of time
Fade no more
But become no brighter.
I remember things in
Sunshine yellows
And frosty blues
Minty greens
And lavender hues.
I remember smells.
Is it even possible to remember
Smell?
But, I swear I do.
Days had their own smell
Skin had its own smell
Sticky with sweat
From playing outside at high noon.
The grass, flowers, and air
Were scented.
By some far away perfume
Carried from place to place.
I remember the feel of grass
Between my bare toes.
I remember laughter.
I remember the gnarled trunk of
A tree under my hands and
Shoeless feet
When I climbed all the way to the top
And was not afraid to look or
Climb down.
I remember being a gypsy child
Going from place to place
Town to town
Without fear.
I remember making friends
I remember innocence..
I remember
Security,
Something I have forgotten since.
I remember
Childhood
Water color memories.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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The Lost One
The smoke from the incense rises
To envelope me and transport me
Into another reality.
My body's perfume becomes mingled with
The exotic fragrances of a fairytale land.
Cumin, clove, lemon, Corriander, ginger, and garam masala.
I look down and see
my feet
Shackled with the bell adorned anklets the dancers wore
I see my hands covered with red
Hinnah has left her mark on me
'Out, Out Damned Spot, ' I yell...
Shall I go on and look?
I lift the mirror to see
Black Kohl adorned eyes staring back at me.
My history, She becomes me
Through the mirror I see
A thousand year old reality
That infused into me and became lost
She's crying out for her identity
She's been lying dormant hoping I'd see...
Lost in a fog so thick
She could not see the edge of the cliff
And fell from the Himalayas
Only to land
Lost in the Americas.
She walks the streets like a madwoman
Dirty, shoeless, callused feet
Drag her into different directions.
Her mind can not make up
Who she wants to be.
Staring into every face
She tries to catch a glimpse
Of her lost identity.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Baseball
Can you smell the fresh cut grass and feel the energy of the crowd
The roaring sound of thousands as they cheer what makes them proud
The sound of a wooden bat making contact with a fastball
The joy of millions at home watching their team give it their all
In many circumstances the only thing in common of a father and son
Is the love to watch their team drive in the winning run
It will make grown men cry tears of joy and tears of pain
Hardened up drunken tough guys and do good sensitive men its all the same
It can lift the spirits of an entire city as they prepare that parade
A world series victory how it can just feel so heaven made
Think of what Jackie done to elevate his entire race
Or what the Yankees did in 77 the pain of a city it did erase
In 2004 the mighty sox let many finally rest in peace
An end to Bostons suffering 86 years of defeats
And just a year later the Black Sox finally cleaned themselves white
Chicago finally got to celebrate making Shoeless Joe in the right
We waved goodbye to curses miracles we all had seen
As baseball did what it always has filling every Americans dream
poem by Sam Edison
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The Word
Well you flash your tongue like diamonds
You tied me to your wildcat schemes
And you forced me into a power dive
And left your mark on my jeans
And I hear the word on your soldiers
And I hear the word on jesus too
I heard the word on the country
But I never heard the word on you
Your love was like a machine gun
I wore your bugle in my belt
And I was your kid glove lover
All the cards were yours
You always dealt
And I stood before your soapbox
Noiseless and shoeless
Playing my pantry boys games
You had your hands raised up to the sky
Shouting oh sunday deity
Oh big daddy longlegs
Come down and bless your sister please
You were shoutin orders about the construction
Going on down the highway
You were namin names, blamin blames
And you blamed me
You wore your heart like a challenge
Far and apart for anyone who came
Open and wide like the river
With rocks on both sides to keep the water tame
But I heard the word on your high tides
And I felt the pain when I tried
To rip your flood gates wide
And pull your body on over to my side
Where we both could hide
But you heard about the freedom ride
And you heard about the highway crew
Who could cut the light a little bit faster than you
So you left me just your shoes
And I hear the word on jesus
And I hear the word on his marching troop
And I hear the word on the country
But I never heard the word on you
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pondering Mariner
Beneath golden sun, hanging high,
in endless indigo heaven.
At the water’s edge, shoeless, I meandered.
In wavelets lapping peacefully, on white sand beach.
With slight interest I watched, silent tern,
soar without effort, ‘cross blue expanse.
Into emerald green, of tranquil deep.
Distant horizon melded.
As silent tern glided o’er, dancing, rolling whitecap.
On unseen, sirocco’s flows, my thoughts traveled.
Their course set, to port so far.
To sojourn awhile, with lover pining there.
Remembering her beauty, shining, tearfilled eyes.
Watching her fade, as the wake left behind.
To be messenger, I urge my thoughts.
Convey to her, she longs not in vain.
The seduction of this beach,
blue skies, rolling sea, warm sun.
To misty blur, pale, as reflections,
of her loveliness, invade my being.
Walking this beach, I now turn back,
make my way to yonder craft.
That with patience, bides.
To set sail again, return to that port so far.
Once again, impatiently I will endure.
Neptune’s moods, calm waters, raging seas.
From atop high mast, with glass I scan.
For land’s end, homeport, and lover waiting, I search.
23Oct09
poem by Kurt Hearth
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The Last Parade
With never a sound of trumpet,
With never a flag displayed,
The last of the old campaigners
Lined up for the last parade.
Weary they were and battered,
Shoeless, and knocked about;
From under their ragged forelocks
Their hungry eyes looked out.
And they watched as the old commander
Read out to the cheering men
The Nation's thanks, and the orders
To carry them home again.
And the last of the old campaigners,
Sinewy, lean, and spare --
He spoke for his hungry comrades:
"Have we not done our share?
"Starving and tired and thirsty
We limped on the blazing plain;
And after a long night's picket
You saddled us up again.
"We froze on the windswept kopjes
When the frost lay snowy-white,
Never a halt in the daytime,
Never a rest at night!
"We knew when the rifles rattled
From the hillside bare and brown,
And over our weary shoulders
We felt warm blood run down,
"As we turned for the stretching gallop,
Crushed to the earth with weight;
But we carried our riders through it --
Sometimes, perhaps, too late.
"Steel! We were steel to stand it --
We that have lasted through,
We that are old campaigners
Pitiful, poor, and few.
"Over the sea you brought us,
Over the leagues of foam:
Now we have served you fairly
Will you not take us home?
"Home to the Hunter River,
To the flats where the lucerne grows;
Home where the Murrumbidgee
Runs white with the melted snows.
"This is a small thing, surely!
Will not you give command
That the last of the old campaigners
Go back to their native land?"
They looked at the grim commander,
But never a sign he made.
"Dismiss!" and the old campaigners
Moved off from their last parade.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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