This Game of Golf

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Below is the poem entitled This Game of Golf which was written by poet Aniruddha Pathak. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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This Game of Golf

This Game of Golf 

Ah this game of golf, as is this life, 
Played, played  all life, perfect can’t be, 
Rife with thrills, frills, threats from player’s wife, 
Now on pedestal, now on tee, 
Roughs and toughs, handicaps, bogies, strife, 
And played as if on the edge of knife! 

Easy to start, so hard to finish, 
And harder still if ever to master, 
Pursued though, pushed like unfulfilled wish, 
Always one stroke from disaster.
As in the game of life handicaps to cap, 
Birdies and eagles wing, claps every lap. 

What a rage this game played by all age, 
Many a high as there are lows, 
A game that ever on players grows, 
And yet ageless a sport, in image, 
And also that of a nigh high brow—
Classy clubs and caddies in tow.

And you might think you the ball drive, 
No, ‘tis the game that drives, you naïve, 
This game of greens, grows to its max, 
And greener goes the envy as of hers, 
This game of golf, greatest leveler, 
Enjoyed, novice or pro much as sex.
_________________________________________ ____
- Reflections | 01.10.04 | 

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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