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Best Golf Poems | Poetry

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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The Best Golf Poems

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SPIDERS we can beat them

Have you crushed a spider lately - and left it in a pile,
And thought that you could leave it there - and go back in a while?
Then, on returning to the spot - to get it with a tissue,
And if like me – you found it GONE - we've really got an issue.

Could they be getting stronger - as I pressed with all my weight,
And it looks just liked I’d crushed it - but if acting, it was great.
It looked the part, except for blood - no screaming in my ear,
But laid there waiting patiently - for me to disappear.

I think the only thing that saves them - is the pattern on our shoe,
They’ve seen our souls have heavy treads - and know what to do.
For when our foot comes crushing down - they quickly form a shape,
That sees them safely in the gaps - and once more they escape.

It's either that, or they've evolved - into a stronger bug.
Who’ll one day soon, will grab your foot - and grip it in a hug.
They’ll lift you smartly in the air - and twirl you like a weed,
Then chuck you down the stair case - as they listen to you plead.

Then off to build a cobweb - that could catch a jumbo jet,
Or to trap a passing stallion - like it’s in a football net.
Or, is the answer to our prayers - to wear shoes flat and wide,
With smooth yet gripping bottoms - that leave nowhere left to hide.

So use your loaf and be prepared - and have a “crush rag” handy,
To squeeze them till you feel the pop - and make their legs go bandy. 
Though still the chance they’ve got real strong - so you should take some care,
Else, when you try to close your rag - they'll grab you by the hair.

Arghhhhh, I also bet they'll have a friend - who'll come out of the garden,
And you’ll have to bash them with a rock - make sure you choose a harden.
And finally, when home alone - best not to take a chance,
Be careful putting music on - I've heard, they frigging dance!!

© Dennis East

Copyright © Dennis East | Year Posted 2018

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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 play the game.
And life is much like a round of golf.
Despite the bad shots, I’m always glad I came.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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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 

Copyright © Justin Time | Year Posted 2014

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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

Copyright © Vic Pister | Year Posted 2013

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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 ***?
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.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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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.

Copyright © Vic Pister | Year Posted 2013

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Flailin’,  flailin’, flailin’;
There goes my ball sailin’
Into a trap, the water or the woods.

Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
You can hear me wailin’,
“Why won’t that damn ball go where it should?

Drives go right.  Putts go wrong.
I shank my wedges or ‘skull’em’ long.
My golf game’s just no damn good.

I’m swingin’ too hard & lookin’ up;
As if I’ll actually see it go in the cup….
As if it ever really would.

My alignment’s too far left or right.
My ball can find the only tree or trap in sight,
Even if the shot starts out lookin’ good.

These days, I carry some special tools:
A handheld weed eater with extra spools
And a pruning saw, in case I’m in the woods.  

I’ve even tried to ‘buy’ a better game.
No matter.  My scores were just as lame.
Those new clubs didn’t do what they should.

Bogies & doubles...even triples... are common scores.
I very rarely get pars any more.
Believe me, I’d change it if I could.

My buddies said it must be me,
A teaching pro I should go see.
They said he’d fix my game…..if anybody could.

The pro said, “Hit some balls while I watch you.
Just set up and hit’em like you normally do.
We’ll see if I can do your game any good.”

After the first bucket of balls I hit,
He calmly said, “Take two weeks off…then quit.
Take my advice.  You really should.”

Now, what really has me vexed,
I’m wondering what I’ll try next.
That pro’s advice was no damn good.

So, I struggle along with my flailin’ game;
But, strangely enough, have fun just the same,
Finding hope in rare shots that are actually good.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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Tiger Tale

Walking my tiger home alone In the background and unknown With a rag I polish a club Then you take it with a snub I walk around keeping stats Wet my finger for wind on flats Calculate yards from here to there So dimpled ball will stay in the air As fast as you behind I lag The difference is I carry your bag All in white in bright coveralls Marking the spot to place your balls On the green is usually where Sometimes you don't I won't go there Have no problem choosing the club Throwing it back an uneasy rub I go the distance for eighteen Making sure you make the green Many tournaments you have won Some are due to the work I've done Raise the cup enjoy the win I can take it on the chin Beside you like some garden gnome Here I'm walking my Tiger home

Copyright © Ronald Kent | Year Posted 2016

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You Know

You Know

By Elton Camp

The conversation has only begun
When I realize it is with a moron.
On every thought he does bestow
The foolish phrase, “You know.”

Just how could I possibly know
Until he proceeds to tell me so.
“I really like sports, you know.
They just put my heart aglow.”

“I met Joe Montana two years ago.
It was just such a thrill, you know.”
How could I know just how he felt
When with his idol he had dealt.

“I like baseball pitches, fast or slow.
That’s the throwing speed, you know”
To learn that I simply couldn’t wait.
On word meaning he kept me straight.

Then golf he includes among the rest.
I learn that it is the sport he likes best.
“I just love to hear Tiger Woods crow.
In playing golf he’s the best, you know.”

His praise of sports continues to flow.
About all he may say, he thinks I know.
“Once, to the World Series, I got to go.
And there I had so much fun, you know.”

For sports tickets, I spend lots of dough,
But it’s well worth it to me, you know.”
I wonder if it is well-spent to his wife.
And how about the children in his life.

Into all of his chat, he continues to throw
His favorite phrase, one that I do know.
“Well, I guess that it’s time for me to go.
It’s been great meeting you, you know.”

Copyright © Elton Camp | Year Posted 2011

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Ode to a Golf Ball

O tiny, dimpled sphere, virginal white,  
Whooshing on your preordain-ed flight:     
What motivates your Lord to curses spew  
When you've done naught but to his swing be true?   

Slice, and down he calls the wrath of God  
On you and those who made you;  
Hook, and here he whines you failed to heed  
His clear intent to fade you.  

You moved, he reasons, at the bottom of the downswing of the shot  
(As if, inanimate jot, you have the power to move, or not).  
“You’re old,” he mutters when a feeble, graceless effort  
Sends you only laughing distance off the tee.  
“Too bold,” he sputters when a misselected iron 
Flies you over green to rest behind a tree.  

Err as physics dictate, and Lo!, you are to blame;
Perform as he expects of you, no credit's due, 
Only commands that you do more of same.  

You are twice cut by lethal hacks that scar your face with "smiles.” 
(“Grimace” is the better word.)  
While the acid words he throws at you,
The vitriol he blows at you,
Drain his duffer's bile.

Injustice is your lot, bedeviled wretch, until you cease 
Behind a bush or in some pond find peace;  
For when you’re lost in water, wood, or shrub, 
The cretin will commence to fault his club.


Any Poem Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings

Copyright © Steve Grammatico | Year Posted 2016

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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

Copyright © Donald Williams | Year Posted 2013

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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

Copyright © Martin Kloess | Year Posted 2013

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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?

Copyright © Harold Hunt sr | Year Posted 2014

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"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...

Copyright © Michael J. Falotico | Year Posted 2010

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Have A Great Golf Game

Have A Great Golf Game

My belief in God is as firm as it can get
He rains down heaven so I will ne wet
With all His love along with very being
Even when off on golf course am teeing.

With God golf weather will be great
May be with much vigor or sedate
And when on back of crucifix rub
He helps me pick out perfect club.

Energy is everlasting and not draining
God is thoughtful teacher when in training
Has a golden rule which is to take a bean
And do gently roll it slowly down the green.

Now that you have found slope and flow
Way much better your golf ball will go
And God makes sure game will survive
By continually keeping your drive alive.

When you will allow God to be your map
He has been known to have your handicap
No longer surprising like a rising star
But somewhere near or equal to par.

So will have a great golf game or SWAG.

James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC 

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015

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Hyperbole is a sports 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?

Copyright © Duke Beaufort | Year Posted 2013

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A Be A Better Putter

Wrote this after hearing about my
wife's first golfing experience at
Southport at a nine whole course.
She was a good driver but was hell
on wheels when it came to putting.
No wonder her drives had to be so 
good. Here is my golf poem.

To Be A Better Putter

She has a naughty iron that is a nine,
Which some say has become benign;
Balls seem to be slow as molasses,
So had to take a few more classes.

From entire course was recently cut;
She never had learned how to putt,
And you should see her terrible scar,
That she received for not making par.

Game received setback and major mishap,
Her balls did end up being in sand trap;
Then occurred a complete catastrophe,
She hit ball hard from tee into a tree.

To avoid all of the trash and clutter,
She then tried to buy a better putter;
Terrible putts did drove everyone insane;
On course her dead corpse does remain.

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2013

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Get a .99 cent styro cooler 
Fill da cooler wit beer
Put cooler in da golf cart
You get in da cart wit it
Roll out to da PGA Course
Laugh,  Joke, Relax
When dat beer is Gone
Da Game is Over!
Go Home
Say, "I almost won!"
Do her proud!
Den go back next week
Might Win!

Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2015

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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.

Copyright © Amnah Alamir | Year Posted 2014

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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?

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013

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Golf Putter That Did Sputter

Golf Putter That Did Sputter 

Have naughty eight iron and a nine
That are starting to become benign;
My small balls were slow as molasses;
Did decide to take a couple of classes.

From whole, entire course soon got cut
Because I never learned how to putt,
And should have seen the horrible scar
When they beat me for not making par.

Then golf game suffered a major mishap
Balls ended up being in smooth sand trap;
Was an incredible, complete catastrophe
Had hit ball hard from tee into a tree.

Wanted to replace old one which did sputter,
But I never could find another better putter;
On course, well-cared dead corpse remains;
All those terrible drives drove them insane.

James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
River Sea Plantation
Bolivia, NC

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015

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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.

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013

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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 man-boys
  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 fix deny -
no finer joy (with pants on) has there been
  but take my wife before my clubs or DIE!
To all you widows who mourn us at play
hear this...'tis the fairway or the highway!


               September 2004

Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

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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

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.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

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What Does It Mean to Be Blessed

What Does It Mean to Be Blessed?

As a Christian... What’s a good 
definition of “success?”
How does one know if their 
life has been blessed?

Is it based on the words that 
someone has spoken?
Has your life been humbled... 
and your heart broken?

Have you measured up to the way
 God really wants you to be?
Are you in search of HIS righteousness? 
With a desire to be holy?

It's more than just 
doing a "church routine."
Or coming to church every week, 
and doing the "Sunday thing."

True Godly success is not based 
on a church building.
Nor getting involved on things 
that are rather "appealing."

It comes from falling in love with 
Jesus and making him Lord.
It's only in Christ where your 
treasures should be stored.

Allow his holy word and spirit to daily lead.
He alone can bring the blessing 
you so really need.

Listen to his word and obey his voice.
Above everything else... 
He must be your first choice!

Only then will your life be blessed 
the way God intended.
His life for yours has 
already been committed.

Enter into his holiness!
 His peace and rest.
For what he gives you is 
always the best!

By Jim Pemberton    03/27/15

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2015