Apprehension a nasty culprit
Putters outside my window, that mud pit
Pulls, tugs, draws inward
Rushing towards scarred vineyard
Emotions fresh, newly healed over
Hoping to not once again spillover
Every time my being is hit
Nudged to stir emotions by some half-wit
Somehow, they stick in the knife and turn
Impale the tender taciturn
Opening the door to boiling emotions
Notions leave, fill me with Holy Spirit's devotions
Categories:
putters, anger, character, introspection,
Form: Acrostic
Behold sequestered by the sea,
not whale, nor seal, nor small sand-flea.
This is the face of old grand Ewe,
whom from the cliffs, has come to view.
Though slit-eyed stare, gazes at the ocean,
watching it move in glorious motion.
And then slowly moves across the land,
as trotters deep in arduous sand.
But none the less, the ewe finds the rock,
somewhere steady, to rest her flock.
And signals up with baas of glee,
as sheep come down, all primed for tea.
Yet when the waves do come to shore,
Ewe is perplexed by fish galore.
It flaps its tail, and moves its fin,
yet gasps for air with frightful grin!
For no chud nor chard to eat but bark,
blown in from prior stormy dark.
Ewe signals to the nearby scene,
and struts upon its golfing green.
And takes a bite and likes the taste,
and soon the whole flock emigrate.
Yet by the morn, when putters come,
the grass is gone, all in Ewe's tum.
And so sequestered by put and club,
Ewe takes her flock all way back up.
To grassy cliff, to rocky hills,
away from modern-day, beach side thrills.
But never will the Ewe forget,
The escapade, with no regret.
03.17.2024
Categories:
putters, animal, beach, creation, cute,
Form: Couplet
I nodded off for forty winks,
and dreamt of scrod, so odd, methinks!
For they were golfing on the links,
about to putt a halibut,
while slurping fizzy, fishy drinks.
’Twas then, a walrus did inhale
that halibut, from head to tail.
Those scrod, to God, did surely rail,
insisted then, a mulligan;
their rantings were to no avail.
Then muttering at their confound,
they threw their putters on the ground,
no halibut nor flounder found.
Round squashed, nay, squished without a fish,
off to the pub, those scrod were bound.
A ruddy server rudely poked
my ribs; I suddenly awoke.
I do not fib nor do I joke;
there at the pub to have some grub,
some fish and chips; one lucky bloke!
—————
for the Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest
sponsored by Eve Roper
written on 2/26/23
Categories:
putters, dream, fish, food, nursery
Form: Rhyme
This is start of my poem that over 8,000 other poets
have read.
Be A Better Putter
Was with naughty iron that is a nine,
Which some say has become benign,
That balls seemed slow as molasses;
Did need to take a few more classes.
Categories:
putters, allegory, analogy,
Form: I do not know?
London
Past meets present meets future,
Smoothed pavement meets uneven cobblestone, water filtering through the divots accumulated from consistently dull weather days,
Tall buildings, cathedrals, skyscrapers, each holding different people, stories,
Short buildings, flats, pubs, filled with red-faced arguments over the classification of ‘chips’ in fish and chips,
Bumbling tourists getting pickpocketed on the Tube, an expat know-it-all watching from a cafe, a local haughtily observing it all as they speed-walk past,
The ferry putters by, the captain repeating his script and jokes he probably now hears in his sleep from the repetition, repetition, repetition,
“How can you tell the tourists from the locals? Wave and see who bothers responding,”
The people on board cackle because it’s their first time hearing it, and “Oh, Mark, dear, can we please tip him a little extra? He was just too kind,”
The London Eye keeps turning, blinking as the days pass, blinded by the cherry red buses that shock against the gray concrete,
The cars keep left, the people who have left are replaced on the next flight over,
London
Categories:
putters, 12th grade, city, london,
Form: Free verse
If you're putting your putting on hold
perhaps the putter you putt with's too old
Categories:
putters, golf, word play,
Form: Couplet
Ye Olde Classoom Days
Let us take a cruise to the great past.
Hold tight, it won't be an easy task.
Look here, pencils and erasers,
and books to hold, again!
Classrooms, no 'putters,
Loose leaf paper,
New crayons,
Rulers,
Clock
November 27, 2019
Categories:
putters, memory, school,
Form: Nonet
Dressed in spike shoes
And summer whites
He steps onto the manicured fairway
Heart in the game and focused
Toting proudly a new bag
With left-handed custom
Putters drivers and irons
Glistening in the sun
Studying every curvature of the lawn
He carefully analyzes distances
Sandy bunkers and water hazards
Pulling out the perfect driver
Defending his championship title
His tournament life on the line
Practicing the swing in his mind
Like he’s done a million times
Stepping up to the tee
A prayer under breath
Positioning the ball just so
There it is the perfect swing
In control of every motion
Everyone follows the flight of the ball
Towards the flag fluttering in the breeze
Kerplunk right in the victory cup
A hole in one !!
Crowd roars and there it is
The jubilant victory dance
And a kiss for that lucky driver
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.1~ 2020
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on June 6, 2019 for contest DRIVER OF VICTORY sponsored by JULIA WARD - RANKED 2ND
Categories:
putters, games, golf, pride, sports,
Form: Verse
The horizon cuts straight, long, hard
silently declining less than a degree
like toys across a cartoon’s one frame stillness
a small yacht rocks like a child’s boat
a helicopter putters, a small jet silently
bellies over the sea thundering suddenly
against a graded blue sky
children flying a kite
a plummeting twisting tied bird in its death throes
falling from the warm seemingly red-speckled blue
broken only by a smudge of grey cloud
curling white-tipped waves swirl against rocks
a lonely Zen-meditative crab in their shade
the sand, ridged, striated, pockmarked
small holes left as bubbling miniature blowholes
fine lines webbed around
sand rippled like the sea, waved and cleansed
a poetic transgression? – Neptune’s impost?
the soap-sud foam his in-coming joyful jouissance
the thin receding water a pin-spot bridal veil
and a bridal train, its white scalloped lace edge
pleating, folding, hiding under the next wave
in rippling curving line-patterns
Categories:
putters, beach, sea, simile,
Form: Blank verse
Their lawn chairs in the sun
Outside a standard door--
They are considered nonproductive.
They passed their buying power
For the next to last measured lot.
The old man putters about the yard.
Turning earth for flowers that she wants
Beside the fence of hedge and vine;
And to a reel gone out of style,
He dances with his dog.
She feeds all birds and stops to watch
A squirrel glide like a leaf
Among the thoughts of friends
Whose deaths predict their own;
The papers tell them so.
She brings him tea and stories,
Retelling all that made them glad,
And love for children who had fled in fear
Of palsied hands to faster places
Where an hour can wear no dust.
Categories:
putters, age,
Form: Free verse
The green was bespeckled with putters
Till 'long came a singer, Miss Sutters
She started to sing
The golfers did swing
And now, poor Miss Sutters, she stutters
Entered in contest "Old or New in Five or Less." Placing: first.
Catagory: Humorous, Old Poem
Categories:
putters, humorous, sports, woman,
Form: Limerick
Help me
He won't wake up these weekends
I came back home
I help him get unsick
Mom runs her usual parade
Dad just watches TV and escapes
He wants to change
But can't make himself rearrange
Disk problems in the back
Ironically im schooled in physical therapy...
he doesnt want to listen to me
So time putters on indefinitely
Categories:
putters, childhood, death,
Form: Free verse