Chi Chi Rodriguez made golf fun to watch
He’d sink a crucial putt
Then throw his hat down over the hole
and do a spirited dance around it
A smile overspread his face
a silent tune flowed through his veins
His dance inspired fans to cast off their inhibitions
and join him in joy unrivaled
Taking a sport of fiercely guarded emotions
blowing it wide-open
laughing in the tense face of tradition
37 Tournaments wins
First Puerto-Rican inducted into Golf’s Hall of Fame
~ put his uptight compadres to shame
Golf loving Paddy from sunny Glambole
was truly a gentle fun-loving soul
but he was a big bloke,
he took a well-aimed stroke
Sara the caddy yelled "wrong hole, wrong hole”
Golf a 'umbling game
It's all in the mind
just one swing away
from a problem..hiding.
How long should I train?
I will continue to fight.
Africa is home
A course stretched long
the canvas green,
danger lurks,
intentionally.
Players choice,
the weapons, sticks.
Launch the sphere,
less times is best.
The target hole
on manicured bed,
read it right
less time you spend.
This game shall humble
even Pro's attest,
no sense in playing,
if it just upsets!
Skin felt the pain
While playing a peaceful golfing game
Challenging the course’s blister campaign
Terrorizing the toe
Forcing a temporary surgical sew
Oh
No
To keep this show
On the go
They must know
Basic health care
Not to scare
Removing infected nail
Transporting remains towards the waste management pail
Bloody and red
Now dead
Left as trash
Above the fairway grass
Next to Frank’s Furter
Who was murdered
After pork barrel spending
And over lending
Worth commending
Pending
Cooking the links
Hearing what others think
About another medical review
Of the pinkie one too
Country club house bound
And the parfect round
No bogeys in sight
Feeling right
Since all has healed
Closing the deal
Without a squeal
Or scream
From the green
Manicured and pristine
Ready for a four-day dream
is worse than death,
or so I imagine.
Watching my only son
play in a middle school
golf match
on a Monday evening,
after work, and
driving 40 minutes
to the middle of nowhere
has got to be
worse than death,
giving birth,
filling out tax returns,
and watching
the squirrels.
At least the squirrels
get to scamper
up the trees
and “accidentally”
chuck acorns at my
pathetic head.
It’s a nice view
but only nature can make noise
during this
seriously quiet
competition.
Maybe I’ll spot
a pine warbler,
or a crow will caw
(laugh) at me.
I should have brought
two beers.
isn't easy
because I talk about nothing
all the time.
It is late March and I love
everything I see
around me:
blooming trees
that I don't know
but appreciate
one color at a time,
bees that are busy and
industrious, sunsets that
are never identical and always
worth ogling over,
as well as
the bare buds
of creativity and song.
That was a mouthful
of a stanza
that I hope
you swallowed down
as smooth as a lozenge.
I tried not to embarrass
my cool kid.
I tried not
to get excited
about the birds
in the trees
who could care less
about golf, and scores,
and fancy pants, and awkward
golf carts.
I made it five minutes.
Then, I asked Ben:
"Did you hear
the goldfinch."
Immediate
embarrassment
ensued.
I learned my lesson
and went back
to my golf cart
to continue drawing
the goddess of war
because I admire
strong women
who face battle
when it counts.
They are the women
who don't shut up.
I look to the sky for that small, distant sight,
already running from me into the light.
The ground stays closed, nothing giving an inch,
winter holding its line without reason to flinch.
My body still carries the shape of that day,
the rhythm, the pause, the clean send away.
So I wait where I am, not restless, not loud,
trusting the ground will remember me now.
Steel waits for grass it can't yet find,
The swing stays soft inside my mind.
I'd walk a long way for one clean release,
to send something forward and let it find peace.
Beige fairways
the color of camels
Surrounded by sandy hills
of the hump-backed mammals
Such was the state of golf in Saudi Arabia
where ‘water hazards’ were filled with oil
and the withering heat your whole game spoiled
But all that was before Prince Mohammed bin Salman
For modernizing his country is what he’s bent on
He imported acres and acres of grass
Built golf courses truly first-class
Today, ‘camel-races’ are what the golfers bet on
Read me
Some more
chemistry
Fill
my mind up
like a beeker
Words
I can't spell
Slide across my mind
like amebia cells
Your
in a world
That's
Foreign to
me
Like swimming
up stream
Glad
your steering
the boat
Has great quality par..
Arrival; by hospitallity in scenic aspect; and
Polite interaction, their attitude goes
Far.' Karen is most attentive in her
Field of events, Also head chef
Graham Strong, of whom no false praise will i invent.'
A credit to this establishment no
Detail overlooked.' Available to talk
With you on whatever? you may need
Cooked? for any golf themed meeting
Or wedding? Or celebratory affair.'
Make your way to London golf.' You will
Indeed
Get, treatment; most honest and fair.'
“Turn the page!”
Beth begged, the almighty’s rage
“Is this a real combative stage?
Released from its contained cage?
Prayed her questionnaire
Wondering if anyone cared
Teed off a bit
Beth held back, throwing a fit
Instead, she headed towards the links
Goal, pondering and think
This is a fairway
To live a day
Make it to the green
Only a dream
Find the pin
Earn a win
Knowing it takes a nice drive
Along with a cry
Screaming ‘what fore’
Let’s show war
The door
Peace should reign
Enjoying this parfect game
Where eagles and birdies, never blame
Or complain
Fortune and fame
As a hazard instigating pain
Reflection. What is it to you?
Reflection. What is it to me?
To me, it is a look back into yesterday
In search of ancestral wisdom.
To me, it is a beneath the surface consideration
Of my present situation in hope of obtaining
Gratification and a measure of growth herein.
To me, it is a hopeful and visual anticipation
Of a better tomorrow.
To me, it is like consuming a refreshing drink
Of cold water on a hot summer day.
To me, it is a look within in search of my What,
My when, my who, my where, my why, and my how.
To me, it is a careful and prayerful gaze within
That I may uncover the three dimensions of time
And catch the reality of God through Christ.
42324cjps
When the wind chimes high
when the wind chimes low
through the links
in his kilt he'll go
all the lassies say hello
Donald where's your troosers?
A slimy heel slippery eel
tho' no feared he'd take the fall(s)
he lost his breeks on the course
where caddies dropped (all) his ball(s)
With apologies to Andy Stewart (1933 – 1993)
Golf Categories
Definition | What is Golf in Poetry?
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