Long Teed Poems
Long Teed Poems. Below are the most popular long Teed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Teed poems by poem length and keyword.
Alan Shepard, astronaut, took golf balls to the moon
He whacked them only when he knew that he’d be leaving soon
‘One flew two hundred yards,’ he said, ‘and as I recollect
one came down in a crater, although I never checked.’
In seventy-one that bit of fun by NASA was allowed
Such jollity in twenty-one would now be disavowed
Like all the stuff they’ve left behind those golf balls lay there stranded
At least they do if it is true that both those golf balls landed
And then it all got boring with rockets on the wain
Those Saturn V Apollos superseded by a plane
Referred to as the shuttle like a boat, a bus or train
I doubt that space flights ever will excite me once again
Be careful what you wish for: is that not what they say
Something mad is happening, in outer space today
It should be so exciting as beyond the Milky Way
A hurtling flying saucer makes our population pray
It’s passing stars and galaxies at speeds beyond compare
We know it’s heading here because it didn’t stop off there
And now the bloggers tell us what the BBC refutes
It doesn’t come in peace because it’s loaded up with nukes
And finally it slowed down as upon our moon it came
And then it simply hovered there like it was taking aim
Then each TV and radio and stuff with speakers in
Crackled into life with a God almighty din
You humans shall obey these words and leave to us your earth
Or you shall be destroyed because you are of little worth
And then that space-ship blew apart as something smashed its shields
In orbit its astounding how much power a golf ball wields
***
[Postscript: in 1971, Alan Shepard took two golfballs and a modified club to the moon. Apparently, aware that any ‘whoops’ moments might be blamed on ‘larking about’, this was sanctioned on the proviso that all scheduled tasks had already been completed: thus Shepard teed off shortly before leaving the moon. To this day, Shepard retains the record for the longest golf shot on the moon... Duh!]
Seed has been sown
Plead leave us alone
Need is well known
Greed has still grown
Breed should disown
Heed pay to the tone
Creed they do hone
Feed the tech throne
Read how AI’s flown
Teed up by stuff we own
Bleed artists dry bemoan
Disagreed its just on loan
Deed for which won’t atone
Speed of the takeover shown
Agreed dosh their only cologne
Cede control then cover blown
Concede another culture cyclone
Pete’s hunks need more testosterone
Cash spunks on brash tatt tw*t clone
Junk AI monks are our new chaperone
Us all chunks of the prankster toblerone
Or debunk gangster sunk like Al Capone
Stampede like fossil fuel vulture & ozone
Guaranteed more war in store using a drone
Succeed and it will be society’s gravestone
Swede dazzled then frazzled by your phone
Supersede just show a bit of backbone
Knead our own head instead we all moan
Refereed by us or burns like Sierra Leone
Impede vent & hell bent they’re accident prone
Lead the way we say kill shrill capitalist crone
Freed the tech giants are finally overthrown
Mead swig sunk get drunk in that party zone
Weed smoked of course a big fat skunk cone…
Number forty six - White House occupant re:
guarding President elect Joe Biden
Within mein hermitage
now dwells one euphoric troglodyte who wept
upon hearing unbelievable news,
(albeit at snail's pace schlepped
finally proclamation emancipation
gave reasonable rhyme yours truly to ejaculate
(not prematurely), subsequently I leapt
into the air, and kept
myself aloft completing
one after another sumersault and except
for minor nuisance of gravity
nevertheless landed feet first and crept
back into mine mancave adept
to survive alone in the wilderness.
Seventy four million popular votes
tallied across country,
gives ample reason to grind hips and bump,
(cuz the most votes
cast for any presidential candidate in history),
which Republican contender finally plopped
hook line and anchored
courtesy Taj Mahal replica sinker
into dustbin of history
good riddance electorate voted out
loutish oaf, which voters chose to dump
best mandated to cavort with zoot suited frump
on any given Wednesday available to hump
rotund barenaked lady merging
into humongous protoplasmic lump.
Caught red handed concerning
more'n where's the beef
stole 2016 election
under nose of Hillary Clinton
abused role, when tasked
as commander in chief
good ole Charlie Brown nemesis
caused nothing but grief,
hence yours truly quite elated
upon occasion when figurative new leaf
turned over and booted out
as more onerous than Baghdad thief.
Hit the ground running
with nary a second to waste
Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and company
proving their steely eyed mettle
after victory lap Democrats did taste
usher in COVID-19 game plan
bolstering pandemic defences
where prior administration sorely misplaced
priorities United States Lady Liberty
wantonly, undeservedly, subsequently
her reputation disgraced.
Hope springs eternal - ah tis amazing grace
yours truly suddenly brimming with optimism
able bodied diverse cabinet to erase
formerly inept sycophants with intentions base
running amok within White House
at long last competent candidate won the race
adieu Donald Trump, who
did disappearing act at Mar-A-Lago without a trace
sore loser teed off absent American
delivering his humiliating defeat coup de grâce.
I remember when my Aunt
wanted a divorce,
said, "at last my time is mine
I shall live on the Golf Course".
My Uncle never played
he gave the game a snub,
thought it pretty pointless
to hit a ball with club.
He only wanted offspring,
to fertilise her eggs,
but she was bloody adament
he would never part her legs!
She never wanted family,
He wanted Son and heir.
So they found that life
became too much to bear.
So it was they split,
my Uncle he played Bowls,
Auntie she liked golf
she loved those eighteen holes.
One day while she was playing.
A great Storm began to brew.
Thunderclaps were shouting
with Lightning Bolts that flew!
She had just teed off,
then was walking past a dyke
when Thunder blew a fuse
then lightning it did strike...
( When my Uncle heard
my Auntie had been zapped,
the only thing he said was...)
"Well aint that very apt!!! "
Oh my giddy Aunt!!!
It was the ultimate birth control!
Guess where she was hit?
Between the first and second hole!
McCaffrey, a champion golfer in his own mind
All bluster and bull, you know the kind
Like the fisherman who’s big one’s always got away
He will never change, even at the end of the day
One-day last autumn, maybe at the end of the summer
Anyway, for McCaffrey it turned out to be a bummer
Playing eighteen holes in the championship match
Tried to look good playing off scratch
Everything went smoothly out on the first nine
Holed out the thirty six in thirty nine
Out on the tenth all went to pot
He hit a large Kangaroo with his driving shot
Retrieving the ball was a bit of a disaster
The Roo decided to show him who was the master
Up with his legs, catches McCaffrey off balance, and unsteady
When he should have been aware of the danger, been at the ready
A painful kick in the groin had the golfer down for the count
As the Kangaroo hoped off over a nearby grass, mount
McCaffrey now seething got into deep stress
How he finished eighteen holes is anybody’s guess
In the nineteenth hole, consuming drink like it was going out of fashion
Well oiled at closing time a home he went dashing
A cut across the course, striding out nicely, though a dark night
Tripped and fell into a bunker and went out like a light
The Ladies foursome the next morning, teed off at nine
A bright sunny day, everything fine
Arrived at the tenth, driver in hand had she
Mrs Montgomery walked up to the tee
With a good whack from her right hand, the ball was sent aloft
Came down with her ego, it fell in the bunker sand
A loud scream erupted and all heard around the course
A mouthful of expletives greeted the women as McCaffrey crawled out in full force
Mrs Montgomery as bad tempered as he
Took a swipe with a number nine iron right onto his knee
Swearing and cursing McCaffrey sloped away
Fortunately for him to fight another day
Nursing his ego, his groin and his knee
Arrived home hoping to get sympathy, and a nice cup of tee
But Mrs McCaffrey was waiting, and whack, McCaffrey had another bruise
With her frying pan in hand had no time for any excuse
Not impressed at all at her husbands night out
Her heading still aching, then there was the gout
From all the wine consumed the night before
For the rest of the day McCaffrey was ill, and felt rather sore
Well hard as they might fight and try
So tight are rarely barely getting by
Sigh jobs squarely unfairly go to AI
Picked nicked then flicked on the sly
No sorrow poor borrow more to buy
Tricked by CGI lie from a cloudy sky
Social media spy pigs in the Tech sty
Future can’t deny no one gets a bye
Suitor will be AI then humans will defy
Pyrrhic critics decry but it is do or die
Titans fight for their piece of the pie
White collar all about the dollar guy
Dash for stash of cash ultimate high
Purloining while just coining on the fly
Spend as know the end is almost nigh
Flash rash brash greed splash they ply
Keys for wheeze must seize or will pry
Happens so fast they have cast the dye
Command it’s about demand & supply
Sycophant pant a creamy dreamy chai
Ego blast will last with your past will vie
Perverse creed gets worse this the storm's eye
Sow the seed impede our swede teed up & fry
Won't conform will curse why must I lie with AI
Plead don’t need IT to perform bellow thy lullaby
No go slow mellow Hello but a wry dry Goodbye
The swing of this royal and ancient game
gets in your blood and under your skin,
but invites in men’s hearts a peaceful aim
till you shank and your head starts to spin.
I am hooked, addicted to the flag green,
and no golf widow will my fix deny -
no finer joy with pants on has there been
but take my wife before my clubs or die!
There is no greater handicap in life
than a teed-off nonplaying wife.
She who snidely thinks
to call us the "missing links".
I love you both but I declare
to my widow who mourns me I swear
I drive the fairway or the highway!
Now all you golf junkies repeat after me
I shall not hit and miss, swear or kick,
lest soon that birdie become a bogey
and your putter become a broken stick.
A cruel game for sadists and man-boys
where a preferred lie is sometimes true,
and new graphite, titanium and steel toys
vex the woman but what am I to do?
There is no greater handicap in life
than a teed-off nonplaying wife.
She who snidely thinks
to call us the "missing links".
I love you both but I declare
to my widow who mourns me I swear
I drive the fairway or the highway!
I love its sexy curves, doglegs and roll
in fatal attraction of grounds and course,
I play my best on the long nineteenth hole
but in my house that’s grounds for divorce.
I am hooked, addicted to the flag green,
and no golf widow will my fix deny -
no finer joy with pants on has there been
but take my wife before my clubs or die!
There is no greater handicap in life
than a teed-off nonplaying wife.
She who snidely thinks
to call us the "missing links".
I love you both but I declare
to my widow who mourns me I swear
I drive the fairway or the highway!
Written: September 2004
“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
After making the trip to Bar Harbor in Maine,
we set off on excursions within that domain.
In the midst of events, aggravating, arcane,
we began at a loss.
We embark on a most unpredictable task -
touring Cadillac Mountain with fog as a mask.
Fifteen hundred feet high and sh-shaking, we ask
with alarm, "Where's the bus?"
Safely back at sea level, we all need to chill -
"Tell me, who put the rest stop on top of a hill?"
Giving vent to our steam, we release it with skill
by creating a fuss.
So we cuss as we scurry, we snort and stampede
up the fifty-two steps to attend to our need.
On the zig-zag descent, rather tetchy, still teed,
we by chance run across
a botanical gem - symbiotic, we learn.
A bizarre kind of growth, some avoid with concern.
Is it algae? or lichen? a fungus? or fern?
a true whatzit for us.
I see fanciful lace mid inherent decay;
I see whimsical bubbles entangled in play.
I see change as our mood now reverses dismay -
it's an insight from moss.
**************
anapestic tetrameter
Every fourth line I change to dimeter to counteract the monotony.
Reason A. Poteet
http://wiseacre-gardens.com/moss/white-cushion-moss.jpg
Commander In Chief On His High Horse Haint Budge'n
American democracy go'n
to hell at light speed
breaking into a bajillion pieces
tuffet in a handbasket
sans, lame leader
ship (of motley fools) doth reed
like art art of the deal
gone to the straw dogs,
warren like rabbits they breed
hoppy to curry bone
a fide dirty deed
done dirt cheap selling out
land of milk and honey creed
dough, now wracked with
dissent hair re:
puffed, faked, and dyed golden
locks trademark heed
don his "make America
great again" schtick exceed
ding the speed
of orneriness establishing
mean mien,
where uncouth freed
from being caged within
the restraint of politesse,
thus blithely flagrantly,
and nonchalantly
highjacking manners indeed
setting crude behavior
as class act
to emulate, cuz weed
dont got no need
tubby stately, neither true
equality, fairness, generosity,
most likely teed
trump to spout blatant lies,
when first moment
grabbed narcissistic greed
complacency could
find himself anointing
himself dictator lead
ding this country into behavioral sink,
a through back to mead
evil knights of yore.