Best Golf Cart Poems
STEPS TO YOUR SUCCESS
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!
Gonna start using a golf cart to get around
Till they finally read me my last rights
Feeling a bit under par
In golf terms, that's really good
In health terms... hmmm not so good
Don't be alarmed though
Just the normal aches and pains
Of old age creeping up on me
Whatever happened to my golden years
They were supposed be filled with
Happiness, joy and laughter
More like a double bogey for yours truly
Definitely need a handicap... no wait
I already have one, it's called old age!
© Jack Ellison 2014>center>
Golfing Is Great When Done Indoors
How many ways would I have to count
To finally come up with a fair amount
That to tide me over would be enough
If things got tough and ended up in the rough.
Golf games are like a bear who is grizzly
When outside it starts to become drizzly
Guess what golfers and bless their heart
Start heading straight for their golf cart.
When golf game and weather are miserable
It would be more desirable and sensible
While playing, it more and more pours
You dazzle your fans by doing it indoors.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
I’m from small town homes and rose bushes overgrown, with
Close-but-not-too-close-close-knit-crazies.
Where my best friend lives down the block and I make late night trips to her house past the town curfew, because I am from just inside the city limits.
Where I can’t drive underage in a non-road-legal vehicle on the road but I do it anyways.
From hydrangeas to big dead oaks with darkened limbs and forgotten branches. Unattended to hidden ponds with sand dunes keeping close company. Winding trails through the woven pines and golf cart rides through the night.
From two tracking at 2am, to popped tires riding on rims all the way home.
Bruised up and down and scratches I don’t know how I got.
I’m from sunday night football with crockpot cheesy potatoes
to rolling blackouts and chasing charter vans down flat onto our bottoms.
Muddy heels to get to the dance and paying seven dollars to watch my hometown football team lose.
I’m from where smoking our meat and video games in the garage is a party but we are the only company we need.
From corny jokes inside and out and witty humor, none taken. From where insulting one another is nothing but love and curfews are often a thing of the past.
Descending from lovejoys I am often filled with both love and joy,
I’m from oddballs and country folk yet we have evolved.
I’m from soccer games even when it’s raining. From no quitting all the way to you tried your best.
From high- highs and even lower lows.
I’m from the land of schnitzel, pickled beer, and pizza. From ‘go play outside’ and ‘walk it off.’ Nuts and bolts for christmas snacks to ‘honor thy mother and father.’ Sunday school lullabies and don’t use his name in vain, following all the common Godly precautions.
I’m from waking up early just to see the sunrise even though the trees are a war barricade from the burning fire you long to see. I’m from the fog that made my acres of yard an abyss that I can’t see through, even though I know what’s there.
I’m from family trips and a loving home, missing it when I’m gone and hating it when I’m there. I’m from supportive love and ‘can’t isn’t a word’. I’m from you can do anything if you work hard enough, and whether you think you can, or think you can’t, you’re right.
If you travel the world
In a golf cart
Looking for your lost balls
You might just find
The meaning of life
My blimp is on the fritz again
The hovercraft just popped
I surely cannot take the car
That’s jacked up in the shop
The bus won’t come out to my house
There’s no train tracks nearby
But I must make it to your home
And then you will know why
I thought about our preowned drone
With three brand new rotors
Although after its first flight
It needs three new motors
The pogo stick’s got a bad boing
The scooter won’t stay up
Our chariot’s as useful as
A two wheeled cracked teacup
I’m not allowed an Army Jeep
All due to my low rank
Since camouflage is so improved
I’ve yet to find the tank
The last time that I rode a horse
I hollered giddy-up
But wedged it in an alleyway
And couldn’t back it up
Nobody wants to ride by mule
Or jump aboard the ox
It’s hard enough to find it shoes
Or buy it matching sox
The rocket has a busted tip
And they won’t make a shuttle
Since NASA landed its last ship
Directly in a puddle
I’ll try the trolley, tram, or T
The Metro, or subway
But come to think not one of those
Will lead to your driveway
I can’t take the snowmobile
Nor snowshoes without snow
But I’d consider my new skies
If there was a rope tow
Our plane still has a crooked wing
The golf cart needs a tire
My bike is broke, and the kid’s quad
Was melted in a fire
I think I parked the motorbike
Inside the motor home
But then my son lent both of them
To someone named Jerome
The ocean yacht’s still wrapped up tight
Next to the new kayak
But since we always get seasick
We’d like to bring them back
As you can see I’m in a bind
Almost out of my wits
Which all began when I learned that
My blimp was on the fritz
So if I make it to your house
Promise you will not skimp
On buying the right parts next time
You’re asked to fix my blimp
Granny’s been a worrying the neighbors, as she drives without delay.
She takes off, in her golf cart, driving one handed, waving all, good day.
Pealing out of the driveway on two wheels begins her trips, come what may.
It would truly be a great thing, if she’d at least try to look, either way!
But this is dear sweet, set in her ways, old granny; she knows she’ll be OK!
As she travels with her petal to the middle, you know to, not get in her way.
Her eyesight’s getting a smidgen dimmer; it’s been fading steadily with time.
Everyone knows to stop, as she cruises right on past, and thru the first stop sign.
By the time she hits the second block, her speed is going past thirty-nine.
That wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t boldly posted, at a stately twenty-five.
She tops out rather quickly, at a little over her usually crazy forty-three.
The repair shop once, secretly put on a governor, so she’d live ninety-three, to be.
Granny loves to tinker, and is a mechanically inclined, determined, old broad.
She’s found a way to change it, to get a bit more horsepower, for her marauds.
The other day the police got right behind her, with siren, lights and all the bling.
She didn’t blink at all, since she really couldn’t see or hear a single blessed thing.
Or at least that’s the story, she gave them, when she finally got to the store.
But she had just passed, to get her new drivers license, only the week before.
Once, they impounded her cart, but to no avail, as she’d bought another by nightfall.
The next one was even quicker, after her touch of granny’s new quick over haul.
They rightly guessed, she was a telling them, she would do it more next time.
And they took away her license, but she still drove it, though it was a crime.
Her son must have been someone important, as she was finally given a daily escort.
We all laughed, as we suspicion, that was what she really wanted, from the very start.
We set out to realize an azure dream to which we'd become enthralled:
A hike through the emerald jungle to find the mystic Seven Pools and falls.
My young bride and I began, hand and hand, toes in the amber sand
Starting the worn path up the steep, dark ridge of land.
One, two, three, four, five, six bubbling waterfalls and pools, as the trail rose
Enchanted fragrances on steamy breeze, not the land for prose.
We bathed in the scents and the sights around us, a paradise reborn.
Then an ivory golf cart pulled up; from the reverie we were torn.
The driver, unshaven, wore a fuchsia “Park Ranger” shirt.
That assaulted the eyeballs; verily, it made the eyes smart.
“There are no Seven Pools,” he said with a charcoal smirk. “It’s a myth.”
I knew this to be false, but wasn't arguing with a Sith.
A scarlet lizard on the side of his cart disagreed, shaking his head from side to side.
“If you want to go back, I’ll be happy to give you both a ride.”
A coral amakini bird flew chattering over our heads, as if saying,
“Follow me instead.” Our feet padded excitedly over the soft ash trail.
We emerged into a clearing, gold sunbeams on the towering seventh cascade
Naked, we rushed into the falls and embraced; wild passion and joy we made!
Then clambered out, dry clothes onto wet bodies, scratches on our knees
…and just in time, a throng of tourists emerged from the trees!
3/15/16
For "United Colours: Colourification" contest by Silent One
Est 1938
Purchasing candy cigarettes from you
Mischief in your tiny parking lot
Doing wheelies around you on my General Lee BMX bike
Renting ancient overpriced films
Buying superman ice cream
even if it tastes like chalk
Journeying to you in a battered golf cart
Friends strapped to the rear
snickers ice cream whispering our names
A piece of me died when you did
Your fate was not righteous
You were vibrant in your prime
turned to ashes and barren 2-by-4s
soot engulfing blown-out windows
like mascara after a tragedy
Don’t weep dear corner store
I know its unbearable knowing
your life ended hastily
to an abandoned vanilla bean candle
I have you near right here in my heart
I noticed the feeling from the start,
while that emotion is strong
another one is King Kong...
Not that! A partner for my golf cart!
On the isle of Bora Bora
Ancient are the crafts that lie there.
White beaches beckon those who linger
and those who taste the salty air.
I met a girl there on that island.
Later she became my wife.
Now aged and wrinkled yet still a beauty
my companion for all my life.
Now our grand sons, four moreover
dig sand fleas on that lovely shore.
They play with them a while, then release,
only to hunt, and catch a few more.
My hotel keeps me surviving.
It does more than keep me afloat.
I have time for fun and relaxation
aboard my golf Cart, car or boat.
I love the thrill of playing golf
Especially when it's my turn to tee off
The excitement grows as I put my putter in my hand
Not knowing how far or where the ball will land
I take my driver and I drive it home
But when I get to the hole the ball is gone
Did it end up in the water or a sand trap
Man this game is turning into crap
I yell for my caddie but he's no where around
He's in the golf cart sleeping real sound
So off to the clubhouse I go to think
But while I'm there I have myself a drink
After a glass or two of wine
I feel real good and I say the 18th hole is mine
I go back out on the green and I yell fore
But when it's over I've never seen such a bad score
I tell myself this game really sucks
So I turn in my clubs and went to play putt putt
Noises That Cry And Shout
A lifetime of tears spill out
As I watch the incinerator spout
Billows of smoke from roof stacks
My eyes following puffs of death black
But it's the incessant sound of a hum
A churning metallic sound, like a drum
That's forever embedded in my mind
As I sat on the funeral home bench, so confined
To the mercy of my surroundings, life
And the passing of my dear, dear wife
My eyes follow a golf cart to that sounding hum
Of workers carrying more bodies to, leaving me numb
The voices in my head compete with this noise
Of sad thoughts jockeying with the metallic convey
The voices of regret racing with the humming sound
Racing, for her, my dear, of being homeward bound
Onward to that sad day a lifetime of tears spilled out
With my hearing filled with noises, noises that cry and shout
3/9/17
Dedicated to Papa (1947-2004)
All I can say right now is wow
It has indeed been too long
I never really listened to the radio
Until I hear that one song.
It takes me back so many years
To when I was just three
When we were riding in the truck together
You sang to me like I was a baby.
It takes me back to those years on the lake
When I caught my first fish
We took it home to Grandma for a surprise
For that day, I longingly wish.
It takes me back to my earliest memory
of you and me watching T.V.
Grandma Miriam was there as well
So I must have been just a baby.
It takes me back to when Grandma died
And you married Jessica instead
I began calling her Grandma as well
And I brought her the fish that was dead.
It takes me back to that summer
When I fell off the golf cart
You told me that seeing me cry
Was truly breaking your heart.
It takes me back to hearing you sing
For the last time in 2005
It was Alan Jackson then, too
Just a little before you died.
It takes me back to that day
When you weren't doing so well
We went to see you in the hospital
That visit made my heart swell.
It takes me back to that day
When I got off the bus
Nana was there and she told me
That you were no longer with us.
It takes me back to just a week ago
When I heard Alan Jackson's song
And, for the first time in two whole years,
I actually sang along.
True, my tears were running
Pretty rapidly
But I knew that the crying would help
'Cause I could feel you singing along with me.
I am Polly the metermaid
who enjoys inflicting pain.
handing out tickets is my gain,
as I rush around in my golf cart,
trying to be quick as a speeding dart,
if the parked car is beyond its time,
I am in my glory and feel so fine,
sticking the ticket up front in view,
warning others as an important cue,
don't mess with Polly and City Hall,
remember to pay your fine or bawl,
crying in the city jail is not fun,
as I continue making my hit and run.