Creative Writing

Poem: Heater, hot dogs, and baseball

I remember that time I was playing baseball, someone threw me a fastball, I hit a bomb. A man called the hit weak, he was up to bat and I gave him my heat, and in my head I told him, go take a seat. I felt sweat run down my neck. Take a breath…
<a href="https://highschool.latimes.com/author/ramblazr/" target="_self">Richard Ramblaz</a>

Richard Ramblaz

November 16, 2017

I remember that time I was playing baseball,

someone threw me a fastball, I hit a bomb.

A man called the hit weak,

he was up to bat and I gave him my heat,

and in my head I told him,

go take a seat.

I felt sweat run down my neck.

Take a breath of the fresh air,

You can smell the hot dogs cooking

on a stand.

I turned to my left and I could see

doing a handstand.

I turned to my left and I noticed

someone selling some contraband

with some cash in the other guy’s hand.

My first baseball game in Rancho Cienega.

Poem: To My Target Panic

Poem: To My Target Panic

I remember the first time I met you, the first Sunday of September. Before we met, archery was predictable; my routine was reliable. The weight of my quiver, the resistance of my string, the curve of my limbs, and Sunday morning practice, it was always the same. But...