We went to Idaho on Oct.1 and 2. We went Geo Caching. It was great. Hal is here trying to find the cach.
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The Ploy
By Hal Torman
He stood at Home Plate
And white knuckled the bat
Now to guess where the ball
Was to land
So he got in his stance
And gave home plate a tap
Then the ball left
the left-handers hand
Then with all of his might
He started his swing
As his hands thrust
Away from his side
And the contact there made
With his bat and that ball
Was void
As the umpire cried
Strike one was the call
His heart nearly stopped
While his eyes eyed
The coaches’ disgust
And he knew from that look
That he had to perform
But the pressure
Just seem so unjust
As the lefty unwound
He was ready this time
But the ball sailed
A hundred and three
It pass him so fast
And divided the plate
He felt like a
Third-round draftee
Strike two was the call
He started to blush
But the red in his face
Was pure wrath
For his chances had now
Been dwindle to one
And the crowd had
Been doing the math
One more they shouted
As he stepped to the plate
He knew that
This was his time
And an off-speed pitch
Was approaching his zone
Connecting—and
It started to climb
Then out of the park
And to touch them all
He jumped with his
Teammates for joy
He had won the fierce fight
When put to the test
his swing
had provided the ploy
My latest poem
The Ploy
By Hal Torman
He stood at Home Plate
And white knuckled the bat
Now to guess where the ball
Was to land
So he got in his stance
And gave home plate a tap
Then the ball left
the left-handers hand
Then with all of his might
He started his swing
As his hands thrust
Away from his side
And the contact there made
With his bat and that ball
Was void
As the umpire cried
Strike one was the call
His heart nearly stopped
While his eyes eyed
The coaches’ disgust
And he knew from that look
That he had to perform
But the pressure
Just seem so unjust
As the lefty unwound
He was ready this time
But the ball sailed
A hundred and three
It pass him so fast
And divided the plate
He felt like a
Third-round draftee
Strike two was the call
He started to blush
But the red in his face
Was pure wrath
For his chances had now
Been dwindle to one
And the crowd had
Been doing the math
One more they shouted
As he stepped to the plate
He knew that
This was his time
And an off-speed pitch
Was approaching his zone
Connecting—and
It started to climb
Then out of the park
And to touch them all
He jumped with his
Teammates for joy
He had won the fierce fight
When put to the test
his swing
had provided the ploy
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