A Wee golf poem.

[Farneyman]

Not sure who wrote this but its good.
Enjoy.

In my hand I hold a ball..
white and dimpled, rather small....
Oh , how bland it does appear....
this harmless looking little sphere.... *

*By its size I could not guess....

the awesome strength it does possess....

A fortune it has made me spend.... *
But since I fell beneath it's spell....

I've wandered through the fires of hell.. *
*My life has not been quite the same....
Since I chose to play this stupid game....
It rules my mind for hours on end...

*It has made me swear and yell and cry....
I hate myself and want to die..
It promises a thing called par....
If I can hit straight and far.... *

*To master such a tiny ball....
should not be very hard at all .
But my desires the ball refuses....
and does exactly like it chooses.... *

*It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies....
and even disappears before my eyes....
Often it will take a whim....
to hit a tree or take a swim.... *

*With miles of grass on which to land....
it finds a tiny patch of sand..
Then has me offering up my soul....
if only it would find the hole.. *

It's made me whimper like a pup....
and swear that I will give it up....
And take a drink to ease my sorrow....
but the ball knows.....


I'll be back tomorrow!!!

 

[Cernunnos]

great little poem & oh so true. As my ball disapears into the blue....rofl

 

[Atticus_Finch]

Like it Farneyman. Here's another by John Betjeman called ...

Seaside Golf

How straight it flew, how long it flew,
It clear'd the rutty track
And soaring, disappeared from view
Beyond the bunker's back -
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive
That made me glad I was alive.

And down the fairway, far along
It glowed a lonely white;
I played an iron sure and strong
And clipp'd it out of sight,
And spite of grassy banks between
I knew I'd find it on the green.

And so I did. It lay content
Two paces from the pin;
A steady putt and then it went
Oh, most surely in.
The very turf rejoiced to see
That quite unprecedented three.

Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves
And thyme and mist in whiffs,
In-coming tide, Atlantic waves
Slapping the sunny cliffs,
Lark song and sea sounds in the air
And splendour, splendour everywhere.

 

[John_Findlay]

Nice poems. It's obviously an inspiring game. You don't get too many poems about darts, snooker or footy! Even less about water-polo.