ivy clouds

from the cotton field

to wrigley field,

a tremendous hardship

that would ultimately yield

an icon.

stuffing  those bolls

into a sack

gave him the knack

for a sweet swing

that even made

the opposing team sing

his praises.

wiggling those fingers,

on the handle

of his bat,

was imitated

by every baseball

loving kid,

even though

they never knew

why he did.

a reflex,

a memory

that kept him humble

and aware.

the cubs will shine in ’69,

the cubs will come alive in ’65,

forever the optimist

but never crowned

a champion,

yet he played

with the heart

of a lion.

swatting  balls

over those

ivy covered walls,

“bingo-bango-bilko double play!”

that’s what the announcer

would say,

back in the day.

such a smooth stride,

a heavenly glide

to the bag,

ending with a laser beam

throw to first.

but all things end

and so did the sparkle

of his career.

he had to give up

the pastime

and the cheers,

which he held so dear.

from the negro league

to the majors,

he gave his all.

mr. cub proved

the doubters wrong,

with his gracefulness

in a game

played with

a little white ball.

follow wurdz on Twitter & Instagram @wurdzpoet @wurdzpix
~wurdz © 2015 all rights reserved

the man

can I get a witness?!

hyperbole for all to see,

dangling participles

to set staunch minds free,

his legend

metamorphosed

into something cooler

than the other side

of the pillow.

like a guy smokin’

at a gas station,

his career blew up

and he politely

took us along for the ride.

he was hated on

and called a freak

because of that eye

yet few knew why

and still mocked him

on the sly.

corporate monsters

said the talk was lame,

they had no idea

he was the epitome

of this game

for four letter dominance

and reigning fame,

separating himself

from talking heads

that all sounded the same.

exuberance, eloquence

ain’t none of ‘em fresh like scott,

that boy was straight

outta the catchphrase shop.

a warrior,

who didn’t want to know

the terms of battle,

he fought with courage and dignity,

to the sounds of a timpani,

urging him onward

past pain and defeat.

the mork from ork

of the sports world

has taken a bow…

“boo-yah!”

first and ten…

ya don’t lose to cancer,

you win.

follow wurdz on Twitter & Instagram @wurdzpoet @wurdzpix
~wurdz © 2015 all rights reserved