Greg Gaul
Greg Gaul Poems
"Take me out to the ball game"
that anthem of great fame,
one lyric is clearly off track-
"I don't care if I ever get back".
...
Some cold forge words to make metal musings,
hammering, stammering then scribblings.
Pounding prose, forming phrases in viscous verse,
many manner of makers, none for the worse.
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Screams at an azure ocean
bounce back in waves to me.
Egos spill over with frustration
of wants never meant to be.
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Come enter the wild as nature's first child,
shed ancient Godly fears that could be quelled.
Leave your mind behind, your savage self mild -
feel life, land, waters where spirits are held.
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"Puppets like me, we never age,
Nor do I think I'm some sort of sage.
However, I've noticed troubles over the years,
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This is a tale I don't expect you'll believe,
I'll start at the end, so not to deceive.
It's the strangest story you're likely to hear,
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Standing all alone in the woods;
eyes shut, I feel the lilting light.
Sun dodges needles through the crown,
beams land on my skin softly so.
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How slow can one eat one raisin?
How slow can one go?
A towheaded toddler sits cross-legged
Amidst his playroom with a raisin pinched
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So where's our lauded critical thinking, wisdom of the ages,
When far at sea unbridled plastic pollution rages?
Two large patches of plastic debris
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Bands of sunlight
Streamed through the curtains
Woke up to a glorious spring day
In Lowndes County Georgia 1918
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Ponder the lengthy life of our planet
Here we are for only a bitty blink
Many creative creatures now span it
Each having hardly enough time to think
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There's more than just size to the elephant,
they do do some things that others can't.
Many stories show these acts as valiant;
in the wild, grand gestures seem elegant.
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We seem separate, sadly so
Culture's children of East and West
A horrid hole lurks humankind
Traipse through time to stand up straight
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He lies on the living room carpet
Conscious, groggy but awake
No signs of injury, lightly moaning
Leaning over him, how to help?
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You put an us in a me,
you'll make muse.
Take the us out,
it'll just be me.
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I landed in Poet's Court
Caught me speeding in my Sonnet
They judged it a rhyme crime
According to the officier's pentometer
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Babies are droolers
Teachers are schoolers
Pitchers are foolers
Lawyers are duelers
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Greg Gaul Biography
Retired Advertising Executive)
The Best Poem Of Greg Gaul
Born On Third Base
"Take me out to the ball game"
that anthem of great fame,
one lyric is clearly off track-
"I don't care if I ever get back".
It's the only game after all,
where the defense controls the ball.
It's so unique, so revealing,
that's what makes it so appealing.
Who could abandon a game they love,
without permission from up above?
It would take a lot to walk away,
from a game millions love to play.
True, we all want to get to home,
on the way often stranded alone.
To really score, it's what you've earned.
That's what life teaches, what we've learned.
In our culture, there's a special place
for people who are born on third base.
Fortunate ones, who thought they'd hit a triple
whose actual efforts never made a ripple.
Got in the right schools, joined the best clubs,
Mommy and Daddy cushioned all their flubs.
In their lives there was little pain,
on their parade, it never does rain.
So unaware of their illusion,
they miss the obvious conclusion.
This is how truth goes off its rails,
creates some of our societal ailes.
Here everyone should be safe, nobody out:
that's one thing America's all about.
Your team success is never under debate,
if no one gets to cross home plate.
So as we set these words to rhyme,
always respecting our nation's past time
that spawns character in those who play:
we need leaders who think this way.
The final score is always just the same,
not win or lose but how you play the game.
Greg Gaul Comments
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12/5/2025 3:55:42 AM # 1.0.0
