A Game Forgot

Asked to recall and write about a place from my past that has stood the passing of time and stands out above other places, I pondered and at first drew a blank. Then I recalled the vacant lots in the neighborhood where I grew up, and thought that, yes, they were the places where I smiled and laughed the most. We had no boundaries as such, except the daylight; when night came calling, the echo of mother’s voices called as well, and we reluctantly left the game of the day and headed for home.

A Game Forgot

 

Summer day, schoolwork forgotten

Air filled with mindless chatter

Pitcher glares toward home plate

Fielders shout, hey batter hey batter

 

Ball speeds to the redheaded batter

Picture from Google Images

Picture from Google Images

Louisville Slugger in his grip

Gonna knock that pill outta sight

Trot the bases and give cap a tip

 

Crack of bat as swing connects

Ball soars high in the air

Cover flutters to the infield

The players, horrified, stare

 

The sphere unravels as it flies

Crushed by the mighty blow

Over the fence then crashes loud

Through Old Man Wilson’s window

 

Mr. Wilson looks over his fence

At the quiet…. and empty sandlot

Remnants of a baseball in his hand

Summer day, a game forgot

 

Copyright © 1998 C. Mashburn

This is one of my older poems, but one of my fovorites. It speaks of a simpler time and place, and both can where the tag, childhood. For childhood was more than a a point it time, it was a place. Mary’s prompt at dVerse Poets Pub’s Poetics feature this week is “Place”, and the sandlots of my childhood rank high on my list of favorite places.

NOTE! This poem inspired a sequel this morning. Click here to read, —>Where Dreams Were Dreamed.

15 Comments »

  1. ha. we used to play ball out in the field…but had obstacles as well that we had to play around…and run from as well when the ball went where it shouldnt…smiles..def brought back memories for me as well sir…

    • I just finished writing a follow up poem to this one, Brian. It came from the comment I posted on dVerse a few minutes ago. I’ll be posting it in a bit, if you’d like to stop back by and take a look.
      Thanks for the great comment!

  2. claudia said

    oh heck..did he ever find out who it was..? smiles…brought back some of my own memories..darkness was the only border as well…otherwise we lived outside..

    • We lost more baseballs that way, and they usually knew we were the culprits. There weren’t that many of us!
      Thanks, Claudia!

  3. Grace said

    I love those days Charles, outside playing in a summer day ~ I supposed he knew where they were coming from and didn’t mind..ha..ha..

    Good to see you ~

  4. Mary said

    I enjoyed this poem, Charles. I too used to play softball in the field behind my house. (Ha, no homes that close though.) Just loved those times when the neighborhood kids would gather….boys and girls….and play until the sun when down; and then we would gather on someone’s front porch after that. It seems like Mr. Wilson here wasn’t going to be making any fuss about the broken window. Memories of his own childhood undoubtedly. Smiles.

  5. Gary said

    You sure his name was Mr. Wilson?

  6. Hey, Charles, “Who’s on First?” Remember? 🙂

  7. Raivenne said

    Ah yes, there’s quiet a few suddenly empty lot memories packed away in my heart as well. It made me ‘just a little’ more tolerant of the UFOs that would crash land through my window now and again. It was odd how so many of them looked like baseballs though. 😉 Another gem Charles.

  8. Reblogged this on Marbles In My Pocket ~ The Official Blog of Charles L. Mashburn ~ Poems, Short Stories, and random thoughts from the author of "Be Still… and know that I am God" and commented:

    One of my personal favorites. Brings back wonderful memories!

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