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We are nearing the end of poetry month. In a former poetry blog, I challenged athletes to write poems about their favorite sport. One of my former students shared a poem with me on Facebook. Note how he used the fibonacci sequence for the first six lines? Then he continued expressing his feelings about the sport he and most members of his town love. The beauty of poetry is there are no rules. You are free to express your feelings about the subject you choose.
Friends, please read and enjoy Mark’s poem.
by Mark Pivetta
The smell of green grass
Memory of a summer’s day
Celebrating a perpetual youth that has no ending
Rivalry born of pride, hot dogs, peanuts, the crack of a bat or the slap of leather
Holy names spoken with awe, Mantle, Williams, Rose, Jeter playing in those cathedrals of dreams with wide-eyed children, cheers, laughter or bitter tears
They all combine into America’s best, good or bad, happy or sad, we put our faith in nine, our tides rise or fall on a single pitch or a single swing, we boo or cheer coming together as fans, this is our game, our baseball.
Mark’s poem brought back memories. Baseball. Mantle. Williams. The crack of the bat. Thank you, Mark. You made my day when you shared your poem with me. With sadness, I must say good-bye to you. Mark passed away this month. I dedicate today’s blog to my student and fellow poet. Rest in peace.
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