AI Poem of the Week: Old Man Out

AI Prompt: Write a poem about the start of baseball season. Focus on a slugger who had to retire last year but still roots for his team. Make sure to mention the sounds and smells of the ball park including freshly cut grass and food.

Old Man Out

The crack of the bat, a phantom in my hand, No longer mine to wield, command. Retirement’s grip, a bitter pill that galls, Though memories of homers still enthrall.

Today’s the opener, a joyous sight, A green-kissed field, bathed in warm light. From my porch I watch a bittersweet song, The roar of the crowd, I will miss the whole season long.

The TV’s glow, a diamond bright, The roar of fans, a pure delight. I see my team, the boys in red, Wishing I too could stand with them instead.

I see them now, my former teammates bold, Their youthful fire, stories yet untold. My heart still catches with every swing they take, A silent prayer, a silent stake.

The scent of fresh cut grass, a memory dear, Mingled with popcorn and hot dogs near. The seventh inning stretch, a chorus so grand, A symphony rising from the cheering stand.

For though my bat rests, silent in my hands, My spirit soars, a loyal, unseen fan. Each stolen base, each diving, leaping catch, Rekindles pride, from a bittersweet dispatch.

So, raise a cheer, for every strikeout won, Each soaring homer, beneath the setting sun. Though I may watch from sidelines, memories bright, The diamond’s magic, forever burns alight.

For baseball’s magic transcends the field, A woven thread, emotions revealed. So, raise your hands, and let the crowd ignite, This old slugger still roots on with all his might.