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Golf Poetry

Golf Poetry is quickly becoming one of the hottest literary picks of the decade.  The following are samples from anonymous poets not quite brave enough yet to lay claim on the work they are currently penning.  The Poetry of the Gods.

“Toe to Heel”
Toe to heel, I shift my weight
I breathe and hold and sink…
One glance and one back
All my world is silent but for
Tee and me and thee.
Tee and me and thee…

“Ode to the Golf Umbrella”
Oh, shelter me, your many stripes and size and strength and kind
I am and always will be to thee a servant just behind
Or under
Under you
I’ll hold your steadfast hand
And when we pace along the green
In triumph we will land
Oh, golf umbrella
You’re more to me than any cart or tee
You are my open and my closed
You are the game to me

“On the Green”
‘Twas a day fer turnin’ heads
a day fer screamin’ gulls
a day fer swings and pulls and treads
and punchin’ with the roles.
I wandered out and touched me bag
I placed me tiny tee
And all before and aft meself
Was nuthin’ but the green.
Jus’ nuthin’ but the green.

Currently, even the popular genre of “Slam” poetry is familiar with the game of golf.  The following are some examples of the fine work being done in this brave niche of performance poetry.

Golf! (slap! Slap!)
I (slap!) am (slap!) the game (silence)
Tee and balance and off I go and scream myself dizzy (so dizzy! Slap! Slap!)
As I fly
Like no one flies
And I am silence and wind and overturned by nothing
(Slap, slap, silence slap!)
I (slap! Whoosh, slide, slap! Slap!)
Am! (silence)
The game.  (leave golf ball at the microphone to receive applause.)


“Golf Daddy”
Golf Daddy
Where are you Daddy weekends weekends weekends
Cry. (howl at the moon for effect.)
As I stand (so silent, so so silent) at the front window
Watching (breath/hiss/breathe)
As you leave with your mistress
Your game
Your child you love who is not me
(Howl, grab hair, howl)
I am lone child left
Lone child
Your game (hiss and shudder, hiss again)
Your game is you
And I
cry for
Oh, Golf Daddy,
One weekend (puff air!)
One weekend
And you will return to me on Monday.
Too late (beat fists, tear hair)
Too late
As I am grown
And will never play your game. (Drop head, wait for applause.)

Writers old and young are finally tackling a subject no less worthy of Verse than love, and loss, and gain.  This exciting new poetry will soon be available to you and your loved ones.  Perhaps it’s time you picked up a pen and paper.  Perhaps it’s time you tried your hand at the Poetry of the Gods.  Golf Poetry.

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