#SOL17: A Place Called, Here

Rainy Day Blues Triptych (M.A. Reilly, 2009)

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you

Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it and be known...

                                     - David Wagoner, Lost

I.

I am reading a blog post the other day and the writer mentions the Northern Lights.  I think of Rob immediately and sadness overcomes me. He will never hear the Northern Lights.  Most people speak about the colors of the lights--the sight, but my husband was adamant. He wanted to hear them.  

"Hear them?" I asked.
"Yep," said Rob. "They crackle, pop, hiss. It's like a radio station you almost have tuned, but not quite. Lots of static."
"What causes the sounds?" 

I listened, somewhat, as he launched into a lengthy explanation about charged particles and solar wind. And now I wished I had listened better.  

13 months after his death, the list of things my husband will not do is longer than the time at hand. He will not witness his only son graduate high school in a few weeks, nor send him off to college. These are things he will never know. I thought we would do most of the bucket list we informally compiled across the decades. I thought at the very least we would get to retire together and take that trip across the country we so often spoke about. It never occurred to me that Rob would die so quickly, so young.

Sometimes loss feels overwhelming and I want to slip the knot that tightens around my throat each time I think of the things that my sweet husband will never know.

II.

I have been lost the last year. The threads and narrative of my life have unraveled quicker than I can count to ten, and my hands have not been able to mend what has been torn. A year of grief alters the landscape and being lost has become more familiar than not.

David Wagoner says we should treat here like a powerful stranger and I know he is correct. Wherever I am standing feels strange, foreign.


III.

Go ahead, I tell myself,  be lost.
Say it out loud.
Yell to the sky, I am so lost!


IV.

And I think the hardest lesson grief teaches isn't simply, Stand still.
Rather it is: Let comfort find you.


V.

Friends, the very earth we call home is the comfort we most seek. And in the last year, the earth has found me, recasting the unfamiliar in cloth I have worn before.

I have learned to stand still and to trust that comfort will find me.

The birch trees have bent towards the ground and found me.
The wind has wrapped around me like a fine silk shawl.
The river has risen and taught me how to wade in, troubled water or not.
The cardinals have called to me near dusk. I have watched them wing from tree to tree and followed. An aerial map that has led me home.

How could I know in the depth of that grief, that it would be a baptism of sorts?


VI.

Wagoner tells us:

"Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.”

And I have.
And it did.


VII.

Stand still, friend.
Wherever you are is called, here.
Let comfort find you.

#SOL16: Writing a Memoir

original watercolor and mixed media painting
 & digital remix (M.A Reilly, March 2017)

I.

I have begun to assemble, write and rewrite what I hope will be a memoir based on Rob's illness and death, and the grief process my son and I have come to know during the last 19 months. I spent most of last weekend assembling the first 350 pages--and these represent the time from the initial diagnosis in August 2015 through June 2016. For some odd reason, I find rereading the posts, emails, and other artifacts I have written and now assembled works best between the hours of 2 a.m. and 8 a.m.

There are two things I notice as I reread: Dev and I have come a good distance since last year. I had no idea when I started writing about Rob's illness, death, and our loss that this record would be so important--that I would forget so much.  As I read some of what I wrote a year ago, I didn't recall feeling so lost and bereft, yet because of the record, I had a written and visual record of the many things I was feeling and learning.

The second theme that seems to be emerging is that the definition of grief is not stable. What grief means and how it is expressed changes across time. It does not hold still.

II.

During the next few weeks I will dig into the writing and see what through lines seem to be emerging--lines I can tug and use to shape the work. My goal is to write an honest account of what it has meant to travel on this journey: a woman in her mid-50s who was awoken by a phone call and learned that her beloved 60-year-old husband had lung cancer. I want to retell the six months of Rob's illness, his many fights to survive the three staph infections, the treatments, the long hospital stays, the drugs that confused him, and eventually his death. I want to show how all of that opened new sorrows sometimes too much to bear and possibilities.  I want to show how all of this affected our then just turned 17-year-old son and myself.  Mostly though, I want to write about the enduring power of love and how even that knowledge some days does not dull the hurt.

Now a single mom, a widow with a child finishing high school and off to college next year, I want to share how these last 19 months have (re)shaped me and him, requiring each of us to learn new definitions of bravery--the two most critical being: asking for help and claiming responsibility for our lives.

#SOL17: Everybody Dance Now

I was reading a post by Michael Doyle, Happiness IV, Keep Moving, in which he advocates dancing--moving the body. This got me thinking about two things: I had just read about dancing in a book, Life is a Verb and I was thinking about Christopher Walken.

First the experiment. In Life Is a Verb: 37 Days To Wake Up, Be Mindful, And Live Intentionally, Patti Digh sets out a set of actions and movements.  The first action in the book is below and it focuses on getting your body in motion. Patti writes:

Action: Mark Twain has said, “On with the dance, let joy be unconfined is my motto, whether there’s any dance to dance or any joy to unconfine.” 

Let’s explore joy for a moment. Put on some music and dance like a five-year-old for two minutes. Then get out your journal and write for three minutes (without pause, without raising your pen from the page or checking for spelling or grammar and all those other things that inhibit the flow of ideas) in response to the following question: What brings me joy? 

After three minutes, read what you have written. Now for three minutes, write a description of the dance that would best demonstrate that joy. Be as detailed as you can in describing the physicality of that dance. How would you move in the world to express that joy? Then write for two minutes on this question: What keeps me from dancing that  dance?

Ok. I'm ready. So I put on the music. Just me and Christopher finding out how to be unconfined for 5 minutes.






Catching my breath and then on to the writing: This I'll do off screen on paper and later I think I'll use it in a painting.

Be back in a few minutes.

A journal spread I wrote on. The pages were the result of cleaning a brayer I was using when making prints.

Final two-page spread in my art journal.

What I noticed while dancing was that I felt joyful and playful. I was happier and not just for those five minutes, but throughout the day. When I decided to cover the writing with paint, I approached it much like the dancing. Play a bit, I thought and see what comes of it.

So are you ready to dance a little?  Dance like you were 5?  I won't tell:)

#SOL17: Live in the Layers

Mono Print Painting (M. A. Reilly, March 2017)

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray. 

Stanley Kunitz, The Layers

I. 

What's sacred?  What definitions of self are unwavering? In Stanley Kunitz's poem, the speaker learns, “Live in the layers,/not on the litter.” I have pondered those two lines for a long time, intrigued by their brevity and bigness. There's considerable wisdom in that bit of advice. 

Across the decades, identity layers have been formed and reformed by the attention paid and missed, by pressures and weights, as well as through the many understandings composed while living. Reflection matters. How easy it has been at times to be overly attentive to what rests at the surface, what Kunitz would call the litter.  In the last year, I have learned--out of necessity-- to tune my ears to silence and name those deep strengths and earth-bound truths I call my own.

II.

At the center of my identity is the bone-deep belief that I am highly competent--a problem framer. I remember being so surprised after Rob's death when I had trouble doing ordinary acts, like booking a flight. I sat for hours, unmoving, until I realized that I just had to get on with it. And I did.  

I also am empathic. When I was writing my dissertation, Mikhail Bakhtin's notion of "I for Myself, Myself for Other" was central to the learning theory I would later compose. The self, as Bakhtin said, is always in dialogue with other.  Identity is dialogic--I exist in relationship to others. Even memories that we often think of as private are socially composed. What Bakhtin's writing helped me to learn is that empathy happens in the return to self.

As a child, I came to understand that I was a problem framer and empathic.  Later, I refined these understandings through my roles as wife, mother, sister, friend, teacher, artist, business owner, and now widow. 

III.

Some years ago I wrote a poem that looked at these beginnings based on  George Ella Lyon's poem, "Where I'm From." I wrote it during an exercise in a class.  (I suspect you may have your own version too.) The poem means more now then when I wrote it.  Then I did not have need of the deep, abiding trust in self that this last year has required. These losses, multiple and shattering, have been costly, even though I realize that I am the better for it. 

Like the speaker in Kunitz's poem, as I age, I too have struggled not to stray. 

IV.

Where I'm from (Based on George Ella Lyons' poem) 


Self portrait, March 2017

I am from blocks
of ivory soap
of ice wedged between milk bottles
in the summer,
from the white, gabled home
with dark green shutters,
so solid against sudden storms.
I am from the gnarled Cherry tree,
its pale pink blossoms
translucent
against the wet, black bark.

I’m from tinseled trees and stacks of books
from Catherine Mary and Robert Emmett.
I’m from daily piano scales and two-part Inventions.
From Pop who played ragtime, all the time.
I’m from “batter up,”
and “I was just passin’ the time of day.”
From Marches on Washington
to “say five Hail Marys,”
knowing too well the slim comfort of the confessional--
so dark and thick with secrets.

I’m from Stamullen,
tucked tight alongside the Irish Sea.
From late afternoon tea with those
who came back from the war
and those who could not give up the ghosts.
I am from all of this
from the limbs that formed
those long afternoons
strong in ways I’ve learned to test.

#SOL17: Give Me Things that Don’t Get Lost

Painting w digital remix (M.A. Reilly, 2017)

I. 

Those haunting lines from Neil Young's song, "Old Man" have caught my attention. Young sings,

“Love lost, such a cost.

Give me things that don’t get lost..." 

and I am nodding alongside him--as I too want things that don't get lost. I too have wanted the permanent.

II. 

What are the types of things that don’t get lost? What treasures do we carry that do not have the potential for wandering, migrating?  

Nearly two years ago I wrote that perhaps those people in your life who are your true North are the types that don't get lost. I was thinking about what sticks to you, what stays true through all the changes. A handful of months later, my true North would suddenly die and I would wear that loss like a glove that fits too perfectly, too necessary. 

III.

I thought heartbreak was the result of Rob dying. It was not.

IV.

During the last year, I could not seem to let go of that which was already gone.  The second after Rob took his last breath, he was gone from that body. I remember looking at him and thinking, This is not my husband. This is not my Rob. Nonetheless, I looked for him in all that was familiar, sought the comfort of his company when things felt new, and thought if I practiced being really, really good, he would be able to return. 

I'll tell you now that the main source of my heartache was not letting go of what was already gone.

V.

-->

Love doesn't get lost--even with death.  

It adheres.  

It is bone deep. 

As Devon would tell me one night when sadness was more pronounced than not-- Dad isn't gone, we carry him with us. He made us.

Love endures.

#SOL17: I've Never (Thanks Linda!)

image from my art journal (2016)

I was reading Linda B's post the other day and she invited readers to play a game called, I've Never...


From Linda's blog: Game explanation

Each player receives five (or three if there's less time) toothpicks. Each time the player HAS done the shared action, she or he must forfeit a toothpick. The one or you can choose to have three who still have at least one toothpick are the winners! You can time it and those left are the winners. 

Here's my list...

I've never. . .

• climbed a mountain
• traveled to South America
• eaten Red Snapper
• worn 4" heels
• been to a professional basketball game
• ubered
• watched The Walking Dead
• read or watched Gone With the Wind
• been in a helicopter
• voted Republican
• seen the Northern Lights

How did you do?

#SOL17: Making a Gelli Print Art Journal

Cover to Birgit's handmade art journal

Cover to Birgit's handmade art journal

inside Birgit's journal

I.

Last weekend I took an art class with Birgit Koopsen from the Netherlands and she had with her several gelli-printed art journals she had made. Although our work during the weekend did not involve making printed art journals, I found her work compelling and beautiful and knew I would want to make my own journal after seeing hers.

Below is a quick look through one of her journals.





She outlines the process in this blog post.

gelli print plate with paint on it

II.

papers I have made

So this week I decided to start making my own art journal by making a series of printed papers. I used a 12 x 12 gelli plate, fluid acrylic paints, Canson Watercolor sheets 9"X12" (90 lb), brayers, and different objects I had on hand to make marks on the plate, such as the rim of a glass, a corn holder, a foam stamp.

I had never used a gelli plate before last Saturday and I am finding it an incredibly useful tool for printing. Right now I am creating pages for the journal. Once I create enough pages, fold and glue them (back to back), and then assemble folios--I will move on to binding the journal.

Birgit creates a heavier cover using cardboard and

folded folios

paper. And then she just binds the pages using heavy-duty tape. I plan to do so as well.


III.

After all that work, I will then have a journal ready to work in. Then I will create different art on top of the painted sheets of paper in the journal. One type of art I will be creating are image transfers from original photographs. Below is a brief video that shows one way of transferring laser printed images.



I found that using Liquitex Pouring Medium helps me to achieve even transfers. Also, printing black and white images with high resolution offers the blackest image for transfer. Some of these images I will hand paint and then transfer, others I plan to leave as black images that contrast with the paint already on the page.

Below is an example of a painted image I transferred to a journal based on a black and white photograph I made some years ago.

Two-page spread in one of my journals.
I hand painted the back and white photograph and then transferred it to a journal.

I love the collection of art journals I have created during the last year. I have posted images from the last year of hand made work, here. Most of the books I have used have been purchased, although I have altered two books: an old atlas that was Rob's and a book on color.

There's something special when the entire journal is made by your own hands.

#SOL17: Home

(M.A. Reilly, 2016)

I know/there are days/when the only thing/more brave than leaving /this house/is coming back to it. -Jan Richardson, The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief

I.

I love my home.

This house was new when we moved here--not yet a home. During the last 15 years, we made every crack, every chipped paint, ever scratch on the wooden floors.

We leave marks in life--transforming wood and siding; pipes and soffits from house to home.


II.

Everywhere I look I can see Rob, even among the new things he never knew--such as the kitchen table Devon and I bought after Rob died. I imagine Rob saying, Finally and I laughing. He grew to hate the round oak table we had for 14 years and wanted a change.

Now the table is gone. Devon and I rolled it out of the front door, placing on the street in early February, 2016 and in the matter of hours it and the four heavy oak chairs were gone.Someone had come along and claimed the set. We needed to make room for the hospital bed that Rob would need when he came home to die.

And thinking of this imagined exchange between Rob and me helps me to conjure my husband's voice--something I find more difficult to do as time passes. I can place him at the table--a cup of coffee before him in the Black Dog Cafe mug he had used for more than a decade. I can see him there and his hair is long, tied back with whatever piece of leather was handy, but I strain to hear him speak.

The sound of his voice is receding.


III.

Home is where I give my heart to craft the work and art I love, to spend an hour each evening having dinner with my son, to remember the too many memories that we have made here between these walls and beyond them.

Love, like life, are matters of the heart.

#SOL17: Making Images

What the Lark Knows (M.A. Reilly, Ringwood, NJ, 11/23/2010)

Someone in Australia  just purchased "What The Lark Knows," an art print of mine. I most likely will never know who the art purchaser was and in a few weeks I will receive payment. Meanwhile the art buyer will receive in the mail an art print of an image I made late fall, just a few days after Rob's birthday, when Devon was in 6th grade.  It was a day when there was a glorious fog. Dev and I ended up playing hooky from work and school.

"You want to run around in the fog?" I asked my son early that morning on the way to school and work.
"Sure."
"We'll go out for breakfast after I make a few images." 

We headed to the grounds of the local botanical gardens and Devon would later pose for me and then run through a field as the sun , looking very much like the moon, burned through some of the fog. I was able to capture both moments as photographs (see below).

And then we went out to a local diner and had some breakfast.

The Uncertainty Principle (M.A. Reilly, Ringwood, NJ, 11/23/2010)

Coming through the Rye (M.A. Reilly, Ringwood, NJ, 11/23/2010)

Now and then, I think about the many ways that the Internet helps to connect people with one another and with work that gets shared. I think of this each time I get a notification from Red Bubble, the company that sells reproductions of my work. It's a bit of a kick to think that in a week or so an image I made in 2010 will be hanging on the wall of someone's home in Australia. What a glorious time to be alive.

#SOL17: Noah and the Raven

Today's slice of life grew out of a painting I did in a journal. I stared at it for a while and the story emerged. A year after Rob's death brings the knowledge that I am responsible for my own life. It isn't the acceptance of his death that I now struggle with. Rather it is the acceptance of the life that rests in my hands and what I am making of it.  

from my art journal (digital remix - 3.22.17)

#SOL17: Batter Up - More than a Handful of Baseball Books

In October, 2015 when Rob had come home from the hospital and was healing from a staph infection, radiation treatments and chemo, he and I watched the Mets in the playoffs. We exchanged texts with my brother Brendan as we watched. It was a lot of fun. Prior to that it had been years since I watched baseball. I could still recall in the early 1970s, driving with my dad in his trusty VW bug and listening to AM radio coverage of the Mets. I remember my dad listening as Nolan Ryan pitched his way to a no hitter and recall my dad saying, Mary, we have a sure winner here. I'm not sure if the joy I felt then had something to do with listening to a game,  being with just my dad, or perhaps both--but I recall the time fondly.  

With spring upon us and baseball warming up, I hope the list inspires you to "pitch a few books" to others and to read to children.


1. Picture Books

1. Abbott, Bud & Lou Costello. (2013). Who's On First? Illustrated by John Martz. Quirk Books: Philadelphia, PA: 
2. Adler, David A. (2007). Campy: The Story of Roy Campanella. Illustrated by Gordon James. New York: Viking Juvenile.
3. Adler, David A.  (2001). Lou Gehrig &  I. Illustrated by Terry Widener. New York: Sandpiper.
4. Bildner, Phil. (2011). Unforgettable Season: Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams and the Record-Setting Summer of 1941. Illustrated by S.D. Schindler. New York:  Putnam Juvenile.
5. Bildner, Phil. (2006). Shoeless Joe & Betsy Black. Illustrated by C.F. Payne. New York:  Simon & Schuster.
6. Borden, Louise. (2014). Baseball Is... Illustrated by Raúl Colón. New York: Margaret K. McElderry Books.
7. Bowen, Fred. (2010). No Easy Way: The Story of Ted Williams and the Last .400 Season. Illustrated by Chuck Pyle. New York: Dutton Juvenile.
8. Burleigh, Robert. (2007). Stealing Home: Jackie Robinson: Against the Odds. Illustrated by Mike Wimmer. New York: Sandpiper.
9. Burleigh, Robert. (2003). Home Run: The Story of Babe Ruth. Illustrated by Mike Wimmer. New York: Sandpiper.
10. Churin, Nancy. (2016). The William Hoy Story. Illustrated by Jez Tuya. New York: Albert Whitman & Company.
11. Cline-Ransome, Lisa. (2003). Satchel Paige. Illustrated by James E.Ransome. New York: Aladdin.
12. Corey, Shana. (2006). Players in Pigtails. Illustrated by Rebecca Gibbon. New York: Scholastic.
13. Curtis, Gavin. (2001). The Bat Boy and His Violin. Illustrated by E.B Lewis. New York: Aladdin.
14. Gilles, Almira Astudillo. (2001). Willie Wins. Illustrated by Carl Angel. New York: Lee & Low.
15. Golenbock, Peter. (2012). ABCs of Baseball. Illustrated by Dan Andreasen. New York: Dial Books. 
16. Golenbock, Peter. (2005). Hank Aaron: Brave in Every Way. Illustrated by Don Lee. New York: Lee & Low.
17. Golenbock, Peter. (1992). Teammates. Illustrated by Paul Bacon. New York: Sandpiper.
18. Green, Michelle Y. (2004). A Strong Right Arm: The Story of Mamie "Peanut" Johnson. Illustrated by Kadir Nelson. New York: Puffin Books.
19. Hopkinson, Deborah. (2006). Girl Wonder: A Baseball Story in Nine Innings. Illustrated by Terry Widener. New York: Atheneum/Anne Schwartz Books.
20. Hubbard, Crystal. (2005). Catching the Moon: The Story of a Young Girl’s Baseball Dream. Illustrated by Randy Duburke. New York: Lee & Low.
21. Isadora, Rachel. (2005).  Luke Goes to Bat. New York: Putnam Juvenile.
22. Johnson, Angela. (2007). Just Like Josh Gibson. Illustrated by Beth Peck. New York: Simon & Schuster.
23. Kusugak, Michael (Inuit). (2017). Baseball Bats for Christmas. Illustrated by Vladana Langer Krykorka. Toronto, Ontario: Annick Press.
24. Lorbiecki, Marybeth. (2006). Jackie's Bat. Illustrated by Brian Pinkney. New York: Simon & Schuster.
25. Mandel, Peter. (2000.) Say Hey! Illustrated by Don Tate. New York: Hyperion.
26. Michelson, Richard. (2006). Across the Alley. Illustrated by E.B. Lewis. New York: Harcourt.
27. Michelson, Richard. (2011). Lipman Pike: America’s First Home Run King. Illustrated by Zachary Pullen. Ann Arbor, MI: Sleeping Bear Press.
28. Mochizuki, Ken. (1995). Baseball Saved Us. Illustrated by Don Lee. New York:  Lee & Low.
29. Moss, Marissa. (2016). Barbed Wire Baseball: How One Man Brought Hope to the Japanese Internment Camps of WWII.  New York: Harry N. Abrams.
30. Moss, Marissa. (2004). Mighty Jackie: The Strike-Out Queen. Illustrated by C.F. Payne. New York: Simon & Schuster.
31. Nash, Ogden. (2011). Lineup for Yesterday. Illustrated by C.F. Payne. Mankato, MN: Creative Editions.
32. Negron, Ray. (2006). The Boy of Steel: Baseball Dream Come True. Illustrated by Laura Seeley. New York: Harper Collins.
33. Nelson, Kadir. (2008). We Are The Ship: The Story Of Negro League Baseball. New York: Jump at the Sun.
34. Okimoto, Jean Davies. (2002). Dear Ichiro. Illustrated by Doug Keith. Seattle, WA: Sasquatch Books.
35. Posada, Jorge. (2010). Play Ball! Illustrated by Raul Colon. New York: Paula Wiseman Books.
36. Rappaport, Doreen. (2000). Dirt on Their Skirts: The Story of the Young Women Who Won the World Championship. Illustrated by E.B. Lewis. New York: Dial.
37. Robinson, Sharon. (2009). Testing the Ice: A True Story about Jackie Robinson. Illustrated by Kadir Nelson. New York: Scholastic Press.
38. Shore, Diane Z. & Jessica Alexander. (2011). This is the Game. Illustrated by Owen Smith. New York: HarperCollins.
39. Tavares, Matt. (2016).  Becoming Babe Ruth. Sommerville, MA: Candlewick.
40. Tavares, Matt. 2015). Growing Up Pedro: How the Martinez Brothers Made It from the Dominican Republic All the Way to the Major Leagues.  Somerville, MA: Candlewick.
41. Tavares, Matt. (2011). Mudball. Somerville, MA: Candlewick.
42. Tavares, Matt. (2009). Oliver's Game. Somerville, MA: Candlewick.
43. Tavares, Matt. (2000/2012).  Zachary's Ball. Somerville, MA: Candlewick.
44. Uhlberg, Myron. 2005. Dad, Jackie, And Me. Illustrated by Colin Bootman. Atlanta, GA: Peachtree.
45. Vernick, Audrey. (2016). The Kid from Diamond Street: The Extraordinary Story of Baseball Legend Edith Houghton. Illustrated by Steve Salerno. New York: Clarion.
46. Vernick, Audrey. (2012). Brothers at Bat: The True Story of an Amazing All-Brother Baseball Team. Illustrated by Steve Salerno. New York: Clarion.
47. Vernick, Audrey. (2010). She Loved Baseball: The Effa Manley Story. Illustrated by Don Tate. New York: Collins.
48. Winter, Jonah. (2017). Mickey Mantel: The Commerce Comet. Illustrated by C.F. Payne. New York: Schwartz & Wade.
49. Winter, Jonah. (2016). You Never Heard of Sandy Koufax?! Illustrated by Andre Carriho. New York: Schwartz & Wade.
50. Winter, Jonah. (2014). Joltin' Joe DiMaggio. Illustrated by James Ransome. New York: Atheneum.
51. Winter, Jonah. (2008). Roberto Clemente: The Pride of the Pittsburgh Pirates. Illustrated by Raul Colon. New York: Atheneum.
52. Wise, Bill. (2012). Silent Star: The Story of Deaf Major Leaguer William Hoy. Illustrated by Adam Gustavson. New York: : Lee & Low.
53. Wise, Bill. (2009). Louis Sockalexis: Native American Baseball Pioneer. Illustrated by Bill Farnsworth. New York: Lee & Low.
54. Yolen, Jane. (2010). All Star! Honus Wagner and the Most Famous Baseball Card Ever. Illustrated by Jim Burke. New York: Philomel.

Poetry

1. Edelson, Noah. (2005). Cooperstown Dreams: Poems about Baseball and Other Things That Make a Difference. Illustrated by Hannah Edelson. Sherman Oaks, CA: Mighty Oak Media.
2. Fehler, Gene. (2009). Change-Up: Baseball Poems. Illustrated by Donald Wu. New York: Clarion.
3. Florian, Doug. (2012). Poem Runs: Baseball Poems and Paintings. New York: HMH Books for Young Readers.
4. Fried, Gabriel. (2014). Heart of the Order: Baseball Poems. New York: Persea.
5. Graves, Donald. (1996). Baseball, Snakes and Summer Squash: Poems about Growing Up. Illustrated by Paul Birling. Honesdale, PA: Boyds Mill Press.
6. Hopkins, Lee Bennett. (1993). Extra Innings: Baseball Poems. Illustrated by Scott Medlock. New York: Harcourt.
7. Janeczko, Paul B. (1998). That Sweet Diamond Baseball Poems. Illustrated by Carole Katchen. New York: Atheneum.
8. Maddax, Marjorie. (2009). Rules of the Game: Baseball Poems. Illustrated by John Sandford. Honesdale, PA: Wordsong.
9. Morrison, Lillian. (1992). At the Crack of the Bat: Baseball Poems. Illustrated by Steve Cieslawski. New York: Hyperion.
10. Prelutsky, Jack. (2007). Good Sports: Rhymes about Running, Jumping, Throwing, and More.  Illustrated by Chris Raschka. New York: Knopf.
11. Raczka, Rob. (2010). GUYKU: Haiku for Boys. Illustrated by Peter H. Reynolds. New York: Houghton Mifflin. (includes a haiku about baseball cards)
12. Rodriguez, Alex. (2012). Out of the Ballpark. Illustrated by Frank Morrison. New York: HarperCollins. 
13. Smith Jr., Charles R. (2012). Stars in the Shadows: The Negro League All-Star Game of 1934. Illustrated by Frank Morrison. New York: Atheneum Books for Young Readers.
14. Smith, Charles. (2004). Diamond Life: Baseball Sights, Sounds, and Swings. New York: Orchard.
15. Thayer, Ernest. (2002). Casey At the Bat. Illustrated by Leroy Neiman. Introduction by Joe Torre. New York: Ecco.
16.  Thayer, Ernest. (2000). Casey at the Bat: A Ballad at the Republic in the Year 1888. Illustrated by Christopher Bing. San Francisco, CA: Chronicle.

Informational, Graphic Novel, Memoir, and Novel

1. Bretón, Marcos. (2003). Home Is Everything: The Latino Baseball Story: From the Barrio to the Major Leagues. Photographs by Jose Luis Villegas. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos Press.
2. Chronicle Books Staff. (2009). B Is for Baseball: Running the Bases from A to Z. San Francisco, CA: Chronicle Books.
3. Cieradkowski, Gary. (2015). The League of Outsider Baseball: An Illustrated History of Baseball’s Forgotten Heroes.  Touchstone.
4. Charlton, James & Sally Cook. (2014). How to Speak Baseball: An Illustrated Guide to Ballpark Banter. llustrated by Ross MacDonald. New York: Margaret K. McElderry.
5. Cook, Sally and James Charlton. (2007). Hey Batta Batta Swing! The Wild Old Days of Baseball. Illustrated by Ross MacDonald. New York: Margaret K. McElderry.
6. Curlee, Lynn. (2004). Ball Park: The Story of America's Baseball Fields. New York: Atheneum.
7. Fletcher, Ralph. "Baseball" in Marshfield Dreams: When I Was a Kid. New York: Square Fish.
8. Herzog, Brad. (2004). H is for Home Run: A Baseball Alphabet. Chelsea, MI: Sleeping Bear Press.
9. Jorgensen, Katrina. (2016). Ballpark Eats Recipes Inspired by America’s Baseball Stadiums (Sports Illustrated Kids). Mantako, MN: Capstone Young Readers.
10. Robinson, Sharon. (2016). The Hero Two Doors Down: Based on the True Story of Friendship Between a Boy and a Baseball Legend. New York: Scholastic Press.
11. Robinson, Sharon. (2004). Promises to Keep: How Jackie Robinson Changed America. New York: Scholastic.
12. Santiago, Wilfred. (2014). 21: The Story of Roberto Clemente. Seattle, WA: Fantagraphics.   
13. Winter, Jonah. (2013). Beisbol: Latino Baseball Pioneers and Legends. New York: Lee & Low Books.
14. Winter, Jonah. (1999). Fair Ball!: 14 Great Stars from Baseball's Negro Leagues. New York: Scholastic.
15. Wong, Steven. (2007). Baseball Treasures. Illustrated by Susan Einstein. New York: HarperCollins.