Saturday, February 18, 2017

Poem

Pop, the baseball hits the center of the glove.
Whoosh, the bat swings 'round but misses the ball.
The grass rustles with the wind from above.
Without a hit the team will fall.

Thump, thump, hearts beat fast

Thip, the ball leaves the pitcher's hand.
Ping, the ball is punished by the bat.
Eyes follow the ball across the grand stand.
Our team wins the game, now how about that.

Screams of disappointment and joy


Onomatopoeia, End rhyme, personification


2 comments:

  1. This is a great baseball poem! There are some great onomatopoeia usages in this poem. Great post!

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  2. Nice poem Griff! This is really good, I like how you used the onomatopoeia!

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