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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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Definition & Discussion of Golf Poems
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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Golf Poem | |

A golf limerick

While a man was golfing in Fife
a funeral cortege was arife,

       his head bowed in prayer
       at this somber affair

to pay last respects to his wife!

Details | Golf Poem | |

A Better Putter

A Better Putter

I have an iron which is a nine
Which some say has become benign;
Balls have been slow as molasses
So I had to take a couple of classes.

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

All my balls were up against the wall
Until I saw a great, gorgeous gal;
Should we play around for a while;
She sure had guessed my golfing style.

To avoid all of the trash and clutter
I then tried to buy a better putter
But on course dead body does remain;
All my drives had driven them insane.

jthorn5656@atmc.net

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 | |

"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 | |

A Day on the Golf Course

He excitedly grabbed his bag of clubs,
 He drove to the course that day.
 He had no qualms about not going to work
 He merely wanted to play.
 
He briskly walked to tee number one,
 He smartly teed the ball.
 He swung his driver with gusto immense
 He never saw it off the tee fall.
 
After time he realized to his dismay
 The ball lay right by the tee.
 He never did completely understand
 Why the ball did not speedily flee.
 
After quickly replacing the misplaced ball
 He gave it a hearty blow.
 He watched it slice off into the rough
 Where he never intended it to go.
 
This first hole ended with strokes very high
 It actually was only the first.
 It made him soon begin to think
 He probably should have better rehearsed.
 
In actuality he should have at work stayed
 And completed those unfinished tasks.
 He probably will this message convey
 In case anyone ever asks.

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 | |

GOLFING

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 | |

hawkers

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 | |

"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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

New Golf Game

Fill the cart with beer  
When beer is gone Game Over
Everybody sing!

Details | Golf Poem | |

Marriage

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 | |

The Golf Practice

The Golf Practice

By Elton Camp 


Sue hit the ball with a mighty swing 

Didn’t know problems it would bring 

Although Ms Sue had called out “Fore,”

It crashed through a window next door

The owner yelled at her, “Stupid thing.”



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 | |

The Golf Swinger

National Enquirer’s the source
When a Tiger’s balls go off course
A scorecard obscene
Of links far from the green
That just might be cause for divorce

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 | |

THE SLICER

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 | |

I Lost You That Day

I lost you that day 
when it was 
raining, 

And drops 
of your face 
clumsily, 

r o l l e d away.

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 | |

The Bandit Kings! (a golf poem)

Written in Scottish dialect.

Jack, Bernard and John, the Bandit Kings,
Hae handicaps wae too high.
Each o’ them score four points a hole,
Ah canna tell ye a lie!

Me, ah’m Rabbie, the bard o’ the course;
Ah’m lucky tae score yin point.
Ah feenish the game an’ come in fur a jar,
ma boadies awa’ oot o’ joint.

Jack, Bernard and John, coont up the scores, 
Tae see which yin o’ them’s won.
Me ah look doon at ma pitifu’ caird.
"Nae guid wi’ a hunner an’ one."

Bernard says, "Jack what have you scored?"
In his posh Yorkshire dialect tone;
Jack’s lingo is great at a rugby club bash
But no’ sae guid oan the phone.

The Caverley Poond is played doon the last,
The lowest net score scoops the lot:
They’ve aw hit great drives right doon the middle;
Noo they wait for a shoat frae the Scot!

Ah dinna let them doon, ah’ve duffed ma ba’,
It’s flown fifty yairds, nae mair;
Ah tak’ oot ma five wid an’ gie it a heave
An’ they aw begin tae stare!

The ba’ flies superbly, as tho’ it had wings
An’ sails richt intae the hole!
Ah’m happy ah’ve taken these bandits doon,
At last ah’ve achieved ma first goal!

The moral o’ this tale is keep yer sporran zipped up
Dinna let them see a wee groat:
They’ll hatch oot a plan tae help themselves
Tae aw the shillin’s ye’ve goat!		

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?