OK, to take a short break from the unpublished, unsolicited poems, here's a poem from The Fatman In The Mirror -published by Pygmy Forest Press (editor Leonard Cirino). Again, a chant of approval for small presses, and for the editors that put their heart, soul and money into keeping real poetry alive. Leonard Cirino is one of those great people. Besides being a wonderful editor (and great friend) he is a master poet. Difficult, interesting, intellectual and important. If you are interested in getting some of Cirino's poetry, there's a link to some of his poetry on the right - and his email address is on that site.
now here's a baseball poem, so this post serves two purposes, one to toot the Pygmy Forest Press (and Leonard's) horn, and another to get closer to the feel of the American past-time.
NINTH INNING
it was the ninth inning. john wayne stepped to the plate, pointing to the centerfield bleachers, exactly as ruth in the '27 series.
jesus christ was on the mound, relief specialists par excellence. he had a fast ball that was a blur & a change-up that made no sense.
it was the ninth inning.
the poetry and rambling thoughts of a working class poet
