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Best Golf Poems

Below are the all-time best Golf poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of golf poems written by PoetrySoup members

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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Golf Poem | |

A Better Putter

A Better Putter

I have a naughty iron that is a nine
Which some say has become benign;
My balls seem to be slow as molasses
So I had to take a couple of classes.

From whole, entire course I got cut
Because I never learned how to putt,
And you should see the terrible scar
When they beat me for not making par.

My golf game suffered a major mishap
Ball ended up being in a soft, sand trap;
Then there was a complete catastrophe
Had hit ball hard from tee into a tree.

To avoid all of the trash and clutter
I then tried to buy a better putter
On course my dead corpse does remain;
All those terrible drives drove them insane.

Details | Golf Poem | |

I really am a golfer

I really am a golfer 
And let me tell you why
Its only when I swing a club
I really feel alive

I really am a golfer 
And take my driver out 
I swing my club and hit the ball
As hard and I have might

I really and a golfer
My ball is in the rough 
I swing my metal 3 real hard
To find the grass is tuff

I really am a golfer
My ball goes 50 ft.
It’s out the rough and in the sand
And buried very deep

I really am a golfer 
I take my sand wedge out
I open up the face of it 
And swing it with a clout

I really am a golfer
My ball is on the green
I swing the putter in an arc 
 With boggy on the seen

I really am a Golfer
My put goes 10ft past
I’m looking at a double 
But the Green is just too fast

I really am a golfer 
The balls beside the cup
I make it in the center
And my friends they call it luck 

Details | Golf Poem | |

A Golfer's Tale

Was out playing golf just for fun
With Father O’Toole in the sun
When club from hand burst
Hit priest as he cursed
And I hit his first holy one

Details | Golf Poem | |

A Golf lesson

Over fifty years have passed,
Tho’ it seems like just the other day;
My father gave me golf clubs,
“It’s a game you need to learn to play.”

He said, “It’s very difficult, but so is life.
There’s more to learn than grip and swing and rules,
Like honesty and dealing with adversity;
Then, pointing to his head, “… and how to use ALL your tools.

Play the Course… and Mother Nature…
Focus on just one shot at a time;
Try to learn from each of your mistakes;
Then, do your best to leave them behind.

These clubs will teach you more
Than our ‘man to man’ talks.
This you'll learn for yourself,
So you can “walk the walk.”

“Practice makes better, but not perfect.
And always remember what they say:
‘”Golf is not a game that we can win.
It’s just a game we play.’”

His lessons served me very well,
Took them to heart and played the game.
And life is much like a round of golf.
Despite the bad shots, I’m always glad I came.


Details | Golf Poem | |

"Golf Ball"


                                                     I'm two inches wide,
                                                  and can drive a person
                                                insane. I roll my own way
                                              even slower in the rain. I am
                                             always still when you need me 
                                            too. I spin and slice when not hit
                                           right. I can hook and dive and go
                                           out of sight. I can drop on a green
                                            if the golf gods are there, or I can
                                             land in the sand if they choose or
                                              even care. See a golf ball is bad
                                                and can make a man sad. But
                                                  for a hole in one, I would be
                                                    very happy and oh so glad.

Details | Golf Poem | |

Golf Limerick

There was a man from faraway lands.

He held a golf club in his right hand.

He said this to me.

What is that I see?

No club in your mitt, or ball to hit.

-For Contest Golf Limerick

Details | Golf Poem | |


You’re in Palm Springs, not much to do 
But golf and get some sun
Hop on a cart, still almost dark
Get out and have some fun

Line up your shot, you’re feeling hot
You try hard not to push
But half the time, like you were blind
It ends up in the bush

You curse and swear like no one’s there
Dig up a chunk of dirt
You hit a house, feel like a louse 
Thank God no one was hurt

You hack around, rip up the ground
The hole seems ’way too small
You miss your shot and swear a lot
This is no fun at all

Every shot’s worse than the last 
No matter how you try
They don’t go where you want them
It makes you wanna cry

Your buddies laugh, you stand and chaff
You ask them what’s so funny
They grin and say, “Looks like today
You owe us lots of money”

Finally when you make a shot
You think you’re getting hotter
You rip the next shot long and hard
Straight into the water

Every shot makes someone smile
Somehow it’s never you
A foursome comes up from behind 	
Asks if they could play through

You shank and pull you slash and slice
You finally get around
The only part that you enjoy 
Is when you’re homeward bound

You practice ‘til the sun goes down
Determined not to fail
The more you try the worse it gets
You just groove your slash and flail

Today I had a real good day
I’m happy as could be
Had lots of fun, me and my Hon
Stayed home and watched TV

Details | Golf Poem | |

"Chasing that White Ball"

A strong passion of mine in recent years 
is being on a golf fairway...
Its a place as other golfers would agree
is an escape from stress of every day...
Its definitely a whole new kind of stress
but a hand full of good shots brings smiles...
The friendships found, with either lawyers
or doctors even the bartender who hits it a mile...
We are all even on hole number one with jokes
and caddyshack quotes as one putts on the greens...
The passion for golf runs straight through my soul,
a good or bad day my smile still gleams...
Even if tired or worn out after a long day at work,
nothing stops me from making that four pm. tee time...
Either on a Myrtle beach well groomed course, or 
public one with divots and a green you can't find..
There is no better place to be then standing in a tee
box with your driver in hand..
A full swing on beautiful blue sky day and hopefully seeing
where your ball will land...

"Passion Pit" contest by "Sweetheart of Poetry Soup" Linda...

Details | Golf Poem | |


Hyperbole is a spots cast
Announcers have egos so vast
My ears must have rest
From this lambasting pest
Collection of morons amassed

Author's note: Is it getting worse, or is it just me?

Details | Golf Poem | |

Winning Is Not Everything

triplets in rhyme

Just need two under par 
I've mastered this shot
and my partners will lose.

One is my only son,
and a friend from college.
Fond memory's my muse.

Soar among the Eagles!
I'll let my soul sing,
their spirits to bolster.

I let loose measured stroke.
My eagle's in flight
soaring t'wards a bunker.

Details | Golf Poem | |

Never Play Golf

I chose a fine, fresh, wonderful bright day,
purpose of which was to learn golf to play.
My clubs and my bag were sparkling brand new,
wearing my pretty, tasseled, spiked golf shoe.

Clinking and clanking strode to the first tee,
model of the sport I would seem to be.
Far in the distance a tiny flag waved,
final location my little ball craved.

I opened a pack of pretty white tees,
then I went to the ground on my bent knees.
Carefully I place my new ball of white,
teed up, ready now, for its virgin flight.

I steadied myself and had a few swings,
knew what to do, for I read of these things.
The ball was addressed and I was all set,
hundreds of yards out, I surely would bet.

Then I wound myself up, tight as a spring,
let myself go with a violent swing.
The tee I did see go flying away,
the ball on the ground, reluctant to play.

I bent to put the ball on a fresh tee,
then studied the shot and where I should be.
Ready again, my swing was a beauty,
ball, this time, did it's reluctant duty.

Soaring through the air so high and so fast, 
just hoping this sight forever would last.
Then with pure grace and a most timeless pace,
hooked to the right, to a pretty treed space.

The ball rolled with speed and then came to rest,
the next shot would be a certain fine test.
I selected an iron, number three,
this mighty shot flew from under the tree.

Into the beautiful field of soft green,
rolled off into tall grass, not to be seen.
Searching, the quest, for the pretty white ball,
awakened a snake, to me it did crawl.

Dropped then a new golf ball out in the course,
lined up my next shot and hit it with force.
Into the clear air it truly did fly, 
somewhere behind me, “Fore” came with a cry.

When I awoke, up from ground I did raise,
seemed I had survived with only a graze.
There was my ball in the silvery sand,
sitting, nice and pretty, where it did land.

Took out my sand wedge, walked to the ball,
hit just behind, by the cup it should stall.
Many strokes later the sand was a heap,
finally from luck it took a big leap.

Rolling with speed toward the waiting hole,
wishing and hoping with all of my soul.
Ball gracing the flag with multiple smiles,
the battered white ball, rolled by through it’s trials.

I traveled the green by many a path,
finally retrieved my ball, did the math.
Final hole sum so incredibly high,
I doubted the value of further try.

Toting my bag, I walked to the car,
from this the first hole, it wasn't so far.
Laying my new golf bag upon the ground,
a Lincoln backed over it turning ‘round

Robert Gene Stoner Jr

Details | Golf Poem | |

Golfer Talking Trash

I’m cool, warmed up, loose. I’m gonna crack this ball straight down the fairway 
all the way to the white post, clean and straight. Yeah.

I’m the king of the worm burners, oh, no, I’m the baddest Tiger of these
here woods. Ha ha, not bad, I launched that there rocket clean
into that oak, missed my forehead, missed my partner, never you mind. 
I’m out on the fairway now.  
                                           I’m cool, warmed up, loose. Got my eye on the ball.
King of Zen. Just swing and … yeah. Okay.

I’m King of the beach blanket beee-ing go. Okayyy. No problem. Golf is about practice 
and practice make perfect. Okay, closed my eyes there. 
Splash? Splash it is.

Okay, I’m Chipping King, just smack that ball into that little ole hole. 
God’s be with me. Whew.
I’m the man. Ain’t I the man? Blow me a-way!
It’s all won on the greens guys. Ain’t I the King? Didn’t I just chip right in? Ever see
anything like that before? MMMhmm. You on for five on the next hole?

Details | Golf Poem | |

The player inside

The player inside

As one stands on the first tee
a straightforward start with pumping heart
should be easy enough for me he he
with an arch of the back
a thundering crack 
a look from my eye up through the sky
looking for my ball to see

an iron I take for my second
and again look after my ball so keen
then with a skip and a thud it ends up on the green
glove off putter in hand I line up with the hole
with a positive roll it rolls into my goal
1 under par a birdie so rare

Is today the day I wonder
then all hopes are dashed when my next drive hits a tree
after many a shout and searching about
my round of promise some hours ago has gone as all before
but I will be back with new balls to whack
to the game that I adore

MB 2013

Details | Golf Poem | |

Shout 'Foreplay'

I learned to golf the following way;
That after each stroke you shout, ‘foreplay!’
Then when you get up
You shoot for the cup,
And if asked give an instant replay.

For Craig's Golf Limerick contest

Details | Golf Poem | |

The Hooker

It was in the mists of morning, beneath the rising morning sun,
We had come to conquer Ft. Langley, It was me and Al and John.
We had all teed off quite nicely, on number one I scored a seven,
But Al warned me that one was easy when compared to number eleven,

His eyes clouded as he spoke of it, I thought, God, it must be tough.
If its difficult for Allan, for me it'll be really rough
Now Allan is a golfer, par excellence, among the best
But we 'could see that number eleven, had put him to the test.

Well we carried on like troopers, we thrashed 3 & 4 & 5.
In the cool Ft. Langley morning, it felt great to be alive.
We left six's fairway smoking, seven posed a little hitch
John and Al were on the fairway, while I had smoked one into the ditch

Al was getting on a roll now blasting off just like a gun
But John was coming on like blazes nipping hard on Allan's buns,
We drove off on number 9 hole blasting off out into space
In the distance stood eleven ….we saw tension on Allan's face.

For eleven is a nightmare reserved only for the deft
For pressing hard against you is the river on' the left,
It appeared that Al had been there for his trembling would not cease
As we walked toward the tee box Al dropped briefly to his knees

We could feel the tension mounting, by Allan's eyes we could clearly tell
That the three of us were standing at the gate of golfers hell.
John was first up to the tee box drove a beauty down the pike
I was next and drove off nicely, center line and slightly right.

Al approached like he was frozen by the fears of hooking left
But he mustered his composure till he seemed quite calm and deft.
Be careful Al, we cautioned for on the left beyond those oaks
You'll be straight into the river and that costs two penalty strokes 

Al  teed up and drove his ball off  picked his head up for a look
It was far and straight and pretty then 'oh my God' it started to hook.
It disappeared beyond the treetops Allan's jaw dropped in a gasp
In the distance we were certain that we heard a little splash,

Now Allan is a scholar predisposed to being kind
But he muttered as we snickered something about kissing his behind.
Al said damn I'm shooting 3 now I said, "No, I think it's more."
John said counting two for penalty I think now you're shooting four

Al bent down to tee another, lined up carefully to the right
Then he leaned in to the sucker and pounded out with all his might
Once again it rose like lightning exploding out into the sky
But when Al looked up to see it he could not believe his eyes

It was hooking to the river and disappeared into the heaven
"Fore" cried Al in horror, John said, "No, I think it’s seven."
Al was losing his composure he was crumbling from the stress
But he knew he had to do it and overcome his sheer distress.

Once again he teed a ball up took his time to take his aim
Let her rip and hit a beauty but oh my God, it did the same.
"Fore" croaked Allan weakly, as I fumbled for my pen.
John said don't forget the penalty I think now you're shooting ten.

Al staggered to his golf bag, his knees weak and soft as butter
He fumbled with his golf clubs and finally he pulled out his putter.
It was only with much urging, he agreed to try it one more time
This time he hit a beauty straight down field on center line.

As we helped Al down the fairway walking off the eleventh tee
We thought we heard the devil laughing through the breezes in the trees.
We could see that Al was hurting we knew he'd never be the same
But don't believe him when he tells you, that he's given up the game.

He'll be golfing till he dies, we think he's real hooked on the sport
But Al, as a professional golfer you’re coming up a little short.

Details | Golf Poem | |

Golfing With Sir Isaac Newton

When I went golfing with Sir Isaac Newton
He hit tee shots that were not comput’in
Though he struck balls sound
They stayed on the ground
Never making it to where he was shootin’

When we went inside to, have a tea
He showed his disgust with, gravity
I said, “That round went to pot
Coz for each hole’s first shot
For some reason you didn’t, grab a tee!”

Details | Golf Poem | |

I Lost You That Day

I lost you that day 
when it was 

And drops 
of your face 

r o l l e d away.

Details | Golf Poem | |


His proposal

Darling will you marry me?  I’ll love you for eternity 
With honour and hope all of my life, I want to make you my wife
My worldly goods will be yours and I’ll cherish you forever
In sickness and in health, I will leave you never.

Darling this is the best honeymoon, I have ever been on. 
Do you know where my golf clubs are? They seem to have gone.
No you can’t go shopping we cannot afford 
I have payments to make on my holiday abroad

Darling I need a shirt for tonight’s dinner,
I’m going to the golf clubs for the awards for the winner
No, you don’t need a new outfit, that one you have on will do
Why do you want a new one, that apron really suits you.

Darling we need the money that’s why you do the dishes
If I could afford to have you with me, it would grant me all my wishes.
My shoes need cleaning, I need clean underwear too
I don’t know why you haven’t done them you seem to have nothing to do.

Darling the grass needs cutting why have you left it so long
I think you should do it now, while I just listen to this song
You always say you are tired but I really don’t know why,
You only work twelve hours a day and that’s no reason to cry.

Details | Golf Poem | |

Golf Widows

What is it - this royal and ancient game
  That gets in your blood and under your skin?
That invites in men's hearts a peaceful aim
  Till you shank one and your head starts to spin!
Not just a game for sadists and killjoys
  Though it helps if misery becomes you;
New graphite, titanium and steel toys
  Vex me slowly but what am I to do?
I am hooked - addicted to the flagged green,
  And no persuasion can my scourge deny:
No finer joy (with pants on) has there been,
  But take my wife before my clubs - or DIE!
To all you gals who would have us not play
Hear this... 'tis the fairway or the highway!


Dedicated to my wife!

September 2004

Details | Golf Poem | |


We were golfing in the morning
It was me and my friend Bill
We were on hole number seven
Everything was going well

I drove my ball straight down the fairway
The shot was pretty nice
Bill leaned hard into his shot
But he had a tendency to slice

It disappeared toward the Condos
We could hear a frightening crash
The picture window tinkled down
Pieces lying on the sash 

He said I must go and apologize
To the lady in the place
He found her lying in her chaise lounge 
Dressed in frilly things and lace

He went in to check the damage 
That he’d done to her place 
He came out two hours later 
With a big smile on his face

She said don’t worry ‘bout the damage
I already have been paid
My day has started very nicely now
What a difference it has made

I may have lost a window
But the breaks been very nice
You can stop in any time
It has been a slice

Details | Golf Poem | |

Her Sense of Humor

A slight hint of consternation was in her voice,
“Why did you tell those people I’m deaf and dumb?”
“I never said you were deaf, my Dear.”
She laughed, but I kinda felt like a bum.

Hell.  It was just a joke.

One evening, she asked, “Will you love me if I get chubby?”
I responded, “Of course I still love you.
It would take much more than pounds and cellulite
To make me fall out of love…it’s true.”

Hell.  It was just a joke.

“Would you remarry if I die before you?” she asked.
I said, “No…probably not…I’ve been spoiled by you.”
“But you’ve been a great husband. I think you should.”
“Whatever happens, happens is the best I can do.”

“If you remarried, would you play golf with your new wife?
And would you let her use my clubs?” she demanded.  
I calmly smiled and said, “Your clubs are safe.
You see, my Dear…she’s left handed.”

Hell.  It was just a joke.

Then, she whined and whined about her butt.
I responded, “Want to knock some inches off that ass?
It may sound strange, but I heard it works….
Rinse all your panties in Slim Fast.”

Hell. It was just a joke.

The next day, I readied for work, took ‘undies’ from my drawer.
They were engulfed in a fog of white, why I didn’t know.
So, I asked, “Honey! Why did you put talcum powder on my shorts?”
She slyly smiled, “That’s not talcum powder.  That’s Miracle Gro.”

Hell.  It was just a joke....I guess.

So, what is my wife’s most endearing feature?
Her sense of humor.... there’s no doubt.
Always a smile where angst or anger might have been,
A smile I never want to be without.

Details | Golf Poem | |


Well, here I am sitting on the golf course
Watching the fireworks display overhead
Yes, I know I'm not as big as a horse
But at least one golfer I have misled

“Kerplunk"came the ball, bouncing off my shell
Casting it deep in the adjoining woods
That’s when I heard someone yell, “Mulligan”
They ran toward the golfer like a band of hoods

I was wondering how they knew my name
As they all ran toward the errant golf ball
And then banished the golfer from their game
Without asking if my shell had been mauled

There’s much food to be found on the golf course
So I still traverse many a fairway
But it never ceases to surprise me
How my name’s called when e’er balls go astray

Luckily my shell is hard as granite
Golf ball injuries I never sustain
So my Mulligan family moved here
Friendly golfers already know our name

*Written July 20, 2014 and inspired by the time my sister’s ball bounced off a 
turtle’s back and into the woods.  She’s a two-time hole in one gal, so this was 
not a funny story for her.
Wikipedia definition of "Mulligan" - In golf, a mulligan is a stroke that is replayed from the spot of the previous stroke without penalty, due to an errant shot made on the previous stroke. The result is, as the hole is played and scored, as if the first errant shot had never been made. This practice is disallowed entirely by strict rules and players who attempt it or agree to let it happen may be disqualified from sanctioned competitions.

Details | Golf Poem | |

Tee Shot

Stance, grip,
settle in, shake out,
place the club head,
sweet spot kissing
the doomed ball,
a ripe plum
against the steel.
Doubt about 
the Oppenheimer reallocation.
Eye on the ball, 
a visual feast,
view the flag,
take a picture of it
with the mind,
eye on the ball.
A breeze, a frown,
left foot forward
a millimeter,
club head opened 
four thousands of an inch,
the reckoning 
of terrible variables.
Imagine the Masters:
“Mr Scott Davis of Fort Wayne Indiana,
you are away.”
Perfection, shake out,
wiggling hips,
exhale, the paroxysm
of tension, mind and body
The flag appears
as a scrapbook photograph,
the drum roll crescendo
of concentration stops.
The Oppenheimer reallocation
was a good move.
It's time.
The back swing,
a slow pendulum
of machine precision
rises to the twisted apex 
and hovers.
The sword of Damocles,
falls slowly to release.
Scott gives it his all.
Eye off the ball.
The Oppenheimer reallocation.
Follow through.
There it is!
The ball is shooting straight
down the fairway
as an artillery round,
climbing to trajectory,
rising, hanging, hanging
beyond gravity,
falling, falling, dropping.
Direct hit on the green,
rolling, rolling, stopping
ten feet from the pin. 
Could be better but
birdie is possible –
very possible.
Scott lifts the heavy golf bag
and soldiers down the fairway. 
The sun could not
be brighter,
the sky more blue,
the grass more green,
the birds more musical.
Scott is hopeful
of birdie
on Par 3.

Details | Golf Poem | |

New Passions

Dad never shunned something new He felt he could learn “HOW TO” Dad could do it all! Amazed me, what he could do And all the stuff that he knew New things were a ball! As time went on, and I grew Like Dad, I liked new things too They would just enthrall! Engineering was my call Lots of new stuff to install Was I up to it? I made it without a fall Some classes I did appall But I’d never quit! Retired after the long haul But never am I banal Life’s good I admit! Writing poetry’s a hit I made golf clubs quite a bit Play golf till I’m tan! Fix guitars that are unfit Then publish “How to do it” Start a Bluegrass Band! Building models from a kit Don’t watch TV and just sit New passions are grand!
This poem is a Virelai, not shown in the poetry form list

Details | Golf Poem | |

Is there a golf course in heaven

Is the a golf course in heaven
O'lord of mine. 
I have Cheated 
I have lied 
I have killed
I have steal
I have made people sad 
I have made people mad.
But I just want to know one thing before I go.
Is the a golf course in heaven?