Baseball Canto
Watching baseball, sitting in the sun, eating popcorn,
reading Ezra Pound,
and wishing that Juan Marichal would hit a hole right through the
Anglo-Saxon tradition in the first Canto
and demolish the barbarian invaders.
When the San Francisco Giants take the field
and everybody stands up for the National Anthem,
with some Irish tenor's voice piped over the loudspeakers,
with all the players struck dead in their places
and the white umpires like Irish cops in their black suits and little
black caps pressed over their hearts,
Standing straight and still like at some funeral of a blarney bartender,
and all facing east,
as if expecting some Great White Hope or the Founding Fathers to
appear on the horizon like 1066 or 1776.
But Willie Mays appears instead,
in the bottom of the first,
and a roar goes up as he clouts the first one into the sun and takes
off, like a footrunner from Thebes.
The ball is lost in the sun and maidens wail after him
as he keeps running through the Anglo-Saxon epic.
And Tito Fuentes comes up looking like a bullfighter
in his tight pants and small pointy shoes.
And the right field bleechers go made with Chicanos and blacks
and Brooklyn beer-drinkers,
"Tito! Sock it to him, sweet Tito!"
And sweet Tito puts his foot in the bucket
and smacks one that don't come back at all,
and flees around the bases
like he's escaping from the United Fruit Company.
As the gringo dollar beats out the pound.
And sweet Tito beats it out like he's beating out usury,
not to mention fascism and anti-semitism.
And Juan Marichal comes up,
and the Chicano bleechers go loco again,
as Juan belts the first ball out of sight,
and rounds first and keeps going
and rounds second and rounds third,
and keeps going and hits paydirt
to the roars of the grungy populace.
As some nut presses the backstage panic button
for the tape-recorded National Anthem again,
to save the situation.
But it don't stop nobody this time,
in their revolution round the loaded white bases,
in this last of the great Anglo-Saxon epics,
in the territorio libre of Baseball.
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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Related quotes
The Night That Tito Played
It was a hot night
The crowd was hangin' in the neighborhood
Everybody there was lookin' so cool
Everyone was feelin' so good
Now, mister puente
They said he'd be here by ten-thirty
Said he was comin' back to his roots again
To finds some old friends
The night that Tito played
My life forever changed
I felt my heart and soul come alive
I felt it all
Movin' and swayin' under the moon
Prayin' to the rhythm of a puente tune
The night that Tito played
Nothin' was ever the same
There was Romona
She came uptown from corona
Right there on the stairway of the subway train
We danced real slow
(she was heaven to know)
She whispered secrets
The way she kissed me it was perfect
We held on in the shadows of the city lights
Oh, it felt so right
The night that Tito played
My life forever changed
I felt my heart and soul come alive
I felt it all
Movin' and swayin' under the moon
Prayin' to the rhythm of a puente tune
The night that Tito played
Nothin' was ever the same
The night that Tito played
My life forever changed
I felt my heart and soul come alive
I felt it all
Movin' and swayin' under the moon
Prayin' to the rhythm of a puente tune
The night that Tito played
Nothin' would ever be the same
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tito Fuentes is safe at second with a triple.
quote by Jerry Coleman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It may be easily shown, and is of no small significance, that the two great ideas of which the Anglo-Saxon is the exponent are having a fuller development in the United States than in Great Britain.
quote by Josiah Strong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winfreda
(A BALLAD IN THE ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE)
When to the dreary greenwood gloam
Winfreda's husband strode that day,
The fair Winfreda bode at home
To toil the weary time away;
"While thou art gone to hunt," said she,
"I'll brew a goodly sop for thee."
Lo, from a further, gloomy wood,
A hungry wolf all bristling hied
And on the cottage threshold stood
And saw the dame at work inside;
And, as he saw the pleasing sight,
He licked his fangs so sharp and white.
Now when Winfreda saw the beast,
Straight at the grinning wolf she ran,
And, not affrighted in the least,
She hit him with her cooking pan,
And as she thwacked him on the head--
"Scat! scat!" the fair Winfreda said.
The hills gave answer to their din--
The brook in fear beheld the sight.
And all that bloody field within
Wore token of Winfreda's might.
The wolf was very loath to stay--
But, oh! he could not get away.
Winfreda swept him o'er the wold
And choked him till his gums were blue,
And till, beneath her iron hold,
His tongue hung out a yard or two,
And with his hair the riven ground
Was strewn for many leagues around.
They fought a weary time that day,
And seas of purple blood were shed,
Till by Winfreda's cunning lay
That awful wolf all limp and dead;
Winfreda saw him reel and drop--
Then back she went to brewing sop.
So when the husband came at night
From bootless chase, cold, gaunt, and grim,
Great was that Saxon lord's delight
To find the sop dished up for him;
And as he ate, Winfreda told
How she had laid the wolf out cold.
The good Winfreda of those days
Is only "pretty Birdie" now--
Sickly her soul and weak her ways--
And she, to whom we Saxons bow,
Leaps on a bench and screams with fright
If but a mouse creeps into sight.
poem by Eugene Field
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Those days were very tough. All my teammates are white, and it was a different time. I couldn't go out to eat with the white players; I had to wait until someone brought something out to the bus. We couldn't stay in the same hotels.
quote by Juan Marichal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rally Around Our Flag
Rally Around Our Flag
(A sonnet from SevenSixFourSeven)
Somewhere around the world when peace hangs by a thread
America’s young men and women gallantly respond
To restore that which everyone will need,
Freedom and harmony to deserving humankind.
To the Flag, they rallied to answer a call freely
Personal needs aside to strengthen what is wanting
That a real peril is threatening man’s liberty
So sacrifices are made where change is demanding.
These young men and women who made no concessions
Are asking for no more than your eyes and hearts
To let them know that you, too, are in conciliation
For their sacrifices made bolstering freedom’s straits.
Many from SevenSixFourSeven rose and responded
To a bugle’s call around the Flag where they proudly stood.
by
Tito
“Those that deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves”
Lincoln
(From Famous Quotes)
poem by Tito Mataban
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When he hit a ground ball to you, you knew you had to make a good throw because he was going to be running.
quote by Juan Marichal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shut-Eye Sentry
Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant
To the Senior Orderly Man:
"Our Orderly Orf'cer's ~hokee-mut~,
You 'elp 'im all you can.
For the wine was old and the night is cold,
An' the best we may go wrong,
So, 'fore 'e gits to the sentry-box,
You pass the word along."
So it was "Rounds! What Rounds?" at two of a frosty night,
'E's 'oldin' on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" Oh, ain't 'e drippin' tight!
'E'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by.
The moon was white on the barricks,
The road was white an' wide,
An' the Orderly Orf'cer took it all,
An' the ten-foot ditch beside.
An' the corporal pulled an' the sergeant pushed,
An' the three they danced along,
But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box,
So I didn't see nothin' wrong.
Though it was "Rounds! What Rounds?" O corporal, 'old 'im up!
'E's usin' 'is cap as it shouldn't be used, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" Ho, shun the foamin' cup!
'E'll need, etc.
'Twas after four in the mornin';
We 'ad to stop the fun,
An' we sent 'im 'ome on a bullock-cart,
With 'is belt an' stock undone;
But we sluiced 'im down an' we washed 'im out,
An' a first-class job we made,
When we saved 'im, smart as a bombardier,
For six-o'clock parade.
It 'ad been "Rounds! What Rounds?" Oh, shove 'im straight again!
'E's usin' 'is sword for a bicycle, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" 'E's called me "Darlin' Jane"!
'E'll need, etc.
The drill was long an' 'eavy,
The sky was 'ot an' blue,
An' 'is eye was wild an' 'is 'air was wet,
But 'is sergeant pulled 'im through.
Our men was good old trusties --
They'd done it on their 'ead;
But you ought to 'ave 'eard 'em markin' time
To 'ide the things 'e said!
For it was "Right flank -- wheel!" for "'Alt, an' stand at ease!"
An' "Left extend!" for "Centre close!" O marker, shut your eye!
An' it was, "'Ere, sir, 'ere! before the Colonel sees!"
So he needed affidavits pretty badly by-an'-by.
There was two-an'-thirty sergeants,
There was corp'rals forty-one,
There was just nine 'undred rank an' file
To swear to a touch o' sun.
There was me 'e'd kissed in the sentry-box,
As I 'ave not told in my song,
But I took my oath, which were Bible truth,
I 'adn't seen nothin' wrong.
There's them that's 'ot an' 'aughty,
There's them that's cold an' 'ard,
But there comes a night when the best gets tight,
And then turns out the Guard.
I've seen them 'ide their liquor
In every kind o' way,
But most depends on makin' friends
With Privit Thomas A.!
When it is "Rounds! What Rounds?" 'E's breathin' through 'is nose.
'E's reelin', rollin', roarin' tight, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it is "Pass! All's well!" An' that's the way it goes:
We'll 'elp 'im for 'is mother, an' 'e'll 'elp us by-an'-by!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Well, I don't have anything to say to Mr. Sneddon, you know? Nothing at all.
quote by Tito Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good-Bye--God Bless You!
I like the Anglo-Saxon speech
With its direct revealings;
It takes a hold, and seems to reach
'Way down into your feelings;
That some folk deem it rude, I know,
And therefore they abuse it;
But I have never found it so,--
Before all else I choose it.
I don't object that men should air
The Gallic they have paid for,
With "Au revoir," "Adieu, ma chère,"
For that's what French was made for.
But when a crony takes your hand
At parting, to address you,
He drops all foreign lingo and
He says, "Good-by--God bless you!"
This seems to me a sacred phrase,
With reverence impassioned,--
A thing come down from righteous days,
Quaintly but nobly fashioned;
It well becomes an honest face,
A voice that's round and cheerful;
It stays the sturdy in his place,
And soothes the weak and fearful.
Into the porches of the ears
It steals with subtle unction,
And in your heart of hearts appears
To work its gracious function;
And all day long with pleasing song
It lingers to caress you,--
I'm sure no human heart goes wrong
That's told "Good-by--God bless you!"
I love the words,--perhaps because,
When I was leaving Mother,
Standing at last in solemn pause
We looked at one another,
And I--I saw in Mother's eyes
The love she could not tell me,--
A love eternal as the skies,
Whatever fate befell me;
She put her arms about my neck
And soothed the pain of leaving,
And though her heart was like to break,
She spoke no word of grieving;
She let no tear bedim her eye,
For fear that might distress me,
But, kissing me, she said good-by,
And asked our God to bless me.
poem by Eugene Field
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I regard the Klan, the Anglo-Saxon clubs and White American societies, as far as the Negro is concerned, as better friends of the race than all other groups of hypocritical whites put together.
quote by Marcus Garvey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hide Your Heart
Johnny saw her riding on a street car named desire, his fate was sealed
She could see him coming like a hundred other liars, it was no big deal
Rosa had a lover on the shady side of town, tito, he was king of the streets
She was his possession like a jewel on his crown, johnny better run, better run
Chorus:
Better hide your heart, better hold on tight
Say your prayers, cause theres trouble tonight
When pride and love battle with desire
Better hide your heart, cause youre playing with fire
The ride was over but the story doesnt end, he took her heart
She looked him in the eye and said they couldnt meet again
You could see the trouble start
The word went out that rosas messin with someone, it was on the street
Tito looked for johnny with a vengeance and a gun
Johnny better run, better run
Chorus
Johnnys holdin rosa on a rooftop in the night, as time stood still
They couldnt hear him coming til he had them both in sight
You could feel a chill
A shot ran out like thunder and the blood was on her hands, with nothing won
When someone lies dying, lovers finally understand
Chorus...
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a man of black and white
I am a man of black and white,
my name is written on the gates of the sky.
i am a man of black and white
my origin is united, yet two apart.
I speak the language of the whites,
but lost in the language of the blacks.
i am a man of black and white,
my resemblance is same with the blacks.
I am a man of black and white,
i was brought up in the land of the whites.
i am a man of black and white,
my home is in the south-east, in the abode of my black dad.
I am a man of black and white,
i love the aspirations of life.
i am a man of black and white,
although two apart, we are united as one.
poem by Randy Micheal
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Any movement in history which attempts to perpetuate itself, becomes reactionary.
quote by Marshal Tito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Analysis Of Baseball
It’s about
the ball,
the bat,
and the mitt.
Ball hits
bat, or it
hits mitt.
Bat doesn’t
hit ball, bat
meets it.
Ball bounces
off bat, flies
air, or thuds
ground (dud)
or it
fits mitt.
Bat waits
for ball
to mate.
Ball hates
to take bat’s
bait. Ball
flirts, bat’s
late, don’t
keep the date.
Ball goes in
(thwack) to mitt,
and goes out
(thwack) back
to mitt.
Ball fits
mitt, but
not all
the time.
Sometimes
ball gets hit
(pow) when bat
meets it,
and sails
to a place
where mitt
has to quit
in disgrace.
That’s about
the bases
loaded,
about 40,000
fans exploded.
It’s about
the ball,
the bat,
the mitt,
the bases
and the fans.
It’s done
on a diamond,
and for fun.
It’s about
home, and it’s
about run.
poem by May Swenson
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Po-antic Place Arose
PO-ANTIC PLACE AROSE
An anglo-saxon author, artist, ace
Poet prominent proposes prose,
Anthology angelic and, apace,
Posts popular poem, power, poise, pose,
Anthem adds alliteration aggrace.
19 April 2005
robi03_1238_robi03_0000 QXX_IXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Definitions As An Intention To Describe
Definitions as an intention to describe,
Can be so confining to the mind.
Case in point...
Having to 'some' a meaning.
But...
To those probing their observations,
Making little sense to make sensible...
A reason to find a rhyme.
I remember when I heard the term,
'Baseball' used.
And when I went to my first game,
I was not overwhelmed with excitement.
I couldn't get the 'bat' out of my head.
'Why isn't this game called 'Batball'...
Instead of baseball? '
I kept thinking of that.
Without the bat,
There wouldn't be any baseball played.
Unlike basket...ball.
I can understand that.
Foot...ball,
Okay...
I'm sold.
Base...ball?
And all that the bases do,
Is just lay there?
Home...plate?
That's not a home...base?
And the hitting of a 'homerun'...
That's out of the field of play?
Whoever created this game,
Is a genius.
The terms used as they are applied,
Makes absolutely no sense.
I can understand,
Why it's one of the most favorite sports.
Like golf!
When a player hits that ball,
That might endanger onlookers...
A shouting of 'fore' is heard.
Fore...what?
If one is hit...
Be-fore the word is heard,
That's it.
And even after 'fore'...
What difference does it make?
The other day...
I watched a player of 'baseball' lose his bat.
It went flying into the stadium...
To hit someone in the head.
No one warned the 'victim' at all.
No one shouted...
'Watch 'that'.
It's a flying bat.'
Hmmm...
Flying bats?
At a baseball game?
Where the selling of hot...dogs,
And pea...nuts with beer...
Is a tradition.
And someone wishes to keep the writing of poetry,
To restrictions?
By whose definition?
And when does prose not become poetry?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hide Your Heart
(desmond child/paul stanley/holly knight)
Producer for bonnie: desmond child
Johnny saw her ridin on a streetcar named desire
His fate was sealed
She could see him comin like a hundred other liars
It was no big deal
Rosa had a lover on the shady side of town
Tito, he was king op the streets
She was his possession like a jewel on his crown
Johnny better run, better run....
Better hide your heart
Better hold on tight
Better say your prayers
Cause theres trouble tonight
When pride and love battle with desire
Better hide your heart
Cause youre playin with fire
Ah, ah, ah, ah/ hey, hey, hey/do, do, do, do...
The ride was over but the story doesnt end
He took her heart
She looked him in the eye
And said they couldnt meet again
You could see the trouble start
The word went out that rosas messin with someone
It was on the street
Tito looked for johnny with a vengeance and a gun
Johnny better run, better run...
Johnnys holdin rosa on a rooftop in the night
As time stood still
They couldnt hear him comin
Till he had them both in sight
You could feel the chill
A shot rang out like thunder
And the blood was on her hands
With nothing won
When someone lies there dyin
Lovers finally understand....
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only Doing My Small Part to Please
'But...
Why do we have to stop playing the game? '
No one said a thing about you stopping!
'But for our night games,
We can not see without the lights.
People here can not sit without the bleechers.
We need the balls and the bats!
Also the bases.
Have you forgotten that? '
I haven't forgotten anything.
In fact...
When you suggested,
I was nothing but what a dog does.
And it was on the bottom of your shoe...
That you could not get rid of?
I thought I'd do you all a favor,
And go home!
'But why are all of those people,
Taking all of our equipment away? '
Well...
I paid for the bleechers.
And...
Made a deal with the electric company,
To supply the lights.
The balls and bats I got from donations.
And all the people you see leaving...
I sent invitations.
And I made it clear to all of them,
If I should stink that bad...
What is the point of them sticking around,
To see a game played...
When you have announced,
You would rather not have me here!
'Oh?
So it's like that? '
I guess.
I'm only doing my 'small' part to please!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reaction Paper
Michael Rose
English 101
'Fender Bender' Short Response
September 29,2009
The short story, 'Fender Bender, ' by Ramon 'Tiangus' Perez,
portrays the prejudiced state in which the contemporary society in
America regards illegally immigrated peoples. The anecdotal
experience which Perez divulges furthermore demonstrates an inter-
cultural conflict between Mexican immigrants: those who have become
Americanized and those who have clung onto the the cultural
idiosyncrosies of Mexico. In the short story, this conflict is catalyzed
over language-preference divergencies between a 'Chicano' cop and
a Mexican semaritan. On the other hand, however, the role which is
carried out by the 'Anglo-saxon' male, who is involved in the fender
bender with Perez, semphores a present-day change which is taking
place in those outlooks held by the base, Caucasian population within
America; the 'Anglo-saxon' insists against those legal complications
with which the 'Chicano' cop desires to have pass upon Perez.
Ultimately, the corruption of the system succeeds, however; the cop
forces Perez to lock his car keys within the vehicle, and proceed to
walk away from the vehicle, into the distance and down the block.
Perez is rescued by a meager hanger on a a street corner.
poem by Michael Timothy Rose
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