Catch

[cfgorman]

My father and I
play catch every day.
He comes home,
we go out back,
and take our
daily places.
I don't run away
or make myself scarce
but wait for him.

We pass the ball
back and forth.
Each delivery
a message to read
a chance to interpret
the feelings hiding
within his motion
and his discontent.

I see his form
and his rhythm,
gracefully twisting
slow-motion, as his pitch
transmits his message
of expectancy
to his prospect.

He is seeking
what was lost
years before.
At his father's passing
assuming the burden of parenthood
at too young an age.
In me and in my successes
there is a way to relive
those years again.

I open my hands
and close my eyes
receiving his strike
in the pocket
of my glove.
The leather-stitched seams
stir my fingers as
I toss the ball back
in a beautiful arc,
But in my heart
there is a stone.

[ChristopherSea]

Hello cf,

There is a lot to like here: It brings home a memory that we all have, it made me miss my Dad, the closing line is poignant. I felt that certain lines diluted the poem and that perhaps some alternate word choices would tighten things up and strengthen the piece overall. Here are some ideas for you to mull over:

In the first strophe, I don’t think you need the last line. It does not add much and you have already taken your 'places', while this line takes a step backwards.

In the second one, consider ‘throw’ and ‘exchange’ for ‘pass’ and 'delivery', respectively. These terms are more apropos to baseball. Consider removing the full stop and pacing a comma after 'forth', as you have no verb in the next line. You may need a comma after ‘delivery’ and ‘read’. You may want ‘hidden’ for ‘hiding’, ‘in’ for ‘within’. Probably delete the second ‘his’.

Other than the slow motion action shot, the next stanza only reiterates the one above. In the fourth stanza, sentence two is not a complete sentence or thought.

In the final stanza, ‘pitch’ may fare better than ‘strike’. Shouldn't fingers 'stir'/stretch the seams, not the reverse? I really like that last line! However, I don’t really see the evidence in the rest of the poem to support that 'stone'. I hope you find some ideas here to help you with your next edit.

Good luck./Chris

[jeremyyoung]

I hesitate to offer any specific alteration, there is fat that could be trimmed and maybe some tightening - which is not a particularly graceful statement, and rather cack-handed - because the fat adds to the taste, and the certain looseness, allows the poem to breath. It let's the reader inside that comforting blanket of hope and remorse that is fatherhood.

The tone is very good. And I like the back and forth, with the element of competition in the stung finger.

It reminded me of the times I say something, or do something, and it isn't me, it's my father. And he had the same thing, and I suspect his father did - maybe all father's do.

[ellajam]

Hi, cf, a beautiful read, I especially like the breaks, they tell the story. A few short notes:

My father and I
play catch every day.
He comes home,
we go out back,
and take our
daily places.
I don't run away
or make myself scarce
but wait for him.

We pass the ball
back and forth.
Each delivery
a message to read
a chance to interpret
the feelings hiding
within his motion
and his discontent.

I see his form
and his rhythm,
gracefully twisting
slow-motion, as his pitch
transmits his message
of expectancy
to his prospect.

He is seeking
what was lost
years before. I don't think you need this line, and having the first two lines start the sentence below is a possibility.
At his father's passing
assuming the burden of parenthood
at too young an age.
In me and in my successes
there is a way to relive
those years again.

I open my hands
and close my eyes I love that you close your eyes.
receiving his strike
in the pocket
of my glove.
The leather-stitched seams
stir my fingers as Stands out as the only weak break
I toss the ball back
in a beautiful arc,
But in my heart I'm not sure you need the but
there is a stone.

Well done.