Ebbets Field / U.S. Public Domain

“There are three types of baseball players: Those who make it happen, those who watch it happen and those who wonder what happens.” – Tommy Lasorda

What’s  interesting to me about baseball is not the game itself but that from the boardroom to the streets, the language of baseball permeates the vernacular. Using some baseball idioms, I wrote what I think might qualify as a “found” poem.

The Bottom of the Ninth

The bottom of the ninth
and my deadline was pending
when life threw a curveball:
thoughts less hit than miss.
Every word off-base, in a
strike-out scarred draft.
“Oh” moaned my editor.
Three strikes. You’re out.

© 2019, Jamie Dedes


Sports in general are not my thing and hence the resulting poem is certainly not one of my best. However, I did think this might be a fun prompt for many of you. This week, write a poem about any sport that engages you. What delights you about it?  Perhaps for you the topic lends itself to poetic memoir?  Maybe you’re a soccer mom or a baseball dad. Do you see your fave game as a metaphor for life? Or, as a poet and writer, do the idioms delight you?

Share your poem/s on theme in the comments section below or leave a link to it/them. All poems on theme are published on the first Tuesday following the current Wednesday Writing Prompt. (Please no oddly laid-out poems.)

 No poems submitted through email or Facebook will be published. 

IF this is your first time joining us for The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photo to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com to introduce yourself to the community … and to me :-). These are partnered with your poem/s on first publication.

PLEASE send the bio ONLY if you are with us on this for the first time AND only if you have posted a poem (or a link to one of yours) on theme in the comments section below.  

Deadline:  Monday, June 3 by 8 pm Pacific Standard Time. If you are unsure when that would be in your time zone, check ​The Time Zone Converter.

Anyone may take part Wednesday Writing Prompt, no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro.  It’s about exercising the poetic muscle, showcasing your work, and getting to know other poets who might be new to you. This is a discerning non-judgemental place to connect.

You are welcome – encouraged – to share your poems in a language other than English but please accompany it with a translation into English.


Recent in digital publications: 
* Four poems in “I Am Not a Silent Poet”
* Three poems in Levure littéraire
Upcoming in digital publications:
“Remembering Mom,” HerStry
“Over His Morning Coffee,” Front Porch Review

A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.

“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton


  1. Here’s my response to the sport prompt.

    Hockey Sticks And Oranges

    It was the closest I came
    to flying as I sped down
    the right wing. Wind keened
    across the playing field,
    teased the flimsy flap
    of my wrapover skirt
    and whipped my hair
    into a chestnut tail.

    I made the school team,
    used the new stick
    Dad proudly bought me;
    tapped, flicked or swung
    the ball to the striker,
    heard the clash of wood
    against wood and cheered
    when she scored a goal.

    We paused for breath
    at halftime, sucked segments
    of orange and shivered,
    our arms goose-pimpled.
    We didn’t always win-
    finished bottom of the league
    one season. Bad luck,
    Dad said, keep trying.

    After he died I tried
    harder; leaned forward,
    stick poised, impatient
    for the bully-off.
    Then I ran with a sting
    in my eyes, mud on my shins
    and morning’s wind
    in the small of my back.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Sports will always be second place to the arts…in my dreams!

    A Novel Approach

    first draft better in sports than writing
    the bull pen has no ink but still
    prepares for the pitch to come

    contracts yield higher numbers
    with travel paid to tour
    with team members
    effusing praise on one another

    critics abound
    from prepaid seats
    hoping to catch
    a big hit

    Patrons fill bars
    Pa’tron fills glasses
    waiting for arrival
    of that day’s stars

    One for the books
    when things go well
    easy to know the beginning
    and the end

    A promise for unending
    a multi-game deal
    with signing bonuses

    How do writers
    learn to play
    this kind of ball?

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hello, Jamie. Sports is also not my thing, but I am having fun with you!


    I like the chess.
    The figures are equal
    and clear the rules
    (with a little superiority
    after all of the white).
    And various gambits
    the Queen’s and
    the King’s ones
    are the beauty.
    And in the Sicilian
    the dagger is hidden
    but perks up
    (it is only
    the ancient game).
    I am not interested in
    the result
    and all sorts of the ratings
    but the pulsating Insight.,

    Мate for the Queen!
    Queen for the King!

    Clarification – according to chess rules mat is given only to the king.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Hi Jamie,
    Here’s my first response:

    I Watch Athletics With My Mam

    I sit on her soft bed, rest an arm
    on a spare pillow. Mum’s pillows
    stack behind her as we watch a
    tv placed where her dress mirror stood.

    Chemotherapy means she does
    not like reflective surfaces.
    All house mirrors have been removed.

    Once she cried as her hair fell out.
    She cried as she gained each pound weight
    because she takes the chemicals
    to stop her dying, stop the spread.

    Together we watch lithe bodies,
    sharp muscle tone dash for the end.

    Once she was ‘petite’, now Mum’s fat jowls, bingo wings slop on the bed.

    Her home is spotless, a show home.
    Every day we polish, scrub,
    vacuum, she wants it welcoming.

    She nods off half way through the
    100 metres, I soft clap
    the winner as she would have done.

    I remember good times, and smile
    at her laughter, gleam in her eyes
    when she sees another winner
    dash over the race finish line.

    Next week she looks forward to Oakwell,
    a new fan of Barnsley FC.

    I never go as I don’t like
    football, regret my selfishness
    and time not enjoying her life.

    She will sit in her hired wheelchair
    yell and clap at their confidence,
    vitality, their will to win.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. .walk.

    do you like the feeling, walking ahead quickly, moving forward, loosening limbs. pushing

    through wind, through water, rain slanting. shouting, counting the rams, shadowing

    shepherd. wee mouse on the path, beady eyed. these are the hopeful days, weak sun


    Liked by 2 people

  6. .hoping for a hero.

    i search for champion, hoping for a hero. it gives me clothing.

    the sort i will never wear. i do not do sport only walking

    and swimming, nothing competitve. it is a shame

    the pools are at a distance, needing time and effort. I feel younger in

    water and see no reflection with out glasses. i understand

    a health and nutrition app can be most helpful these days, and while

    i type this i hear the gardener down the big house mowing lawns since

    early morning.

    now tis mid afternoon.

    Liked by 1 person

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