[Muncle]

A Golf Poem

In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
White And Dimpled, Rather Small.
Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.

By Its Size I Could Not Guess,
The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
I've Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.

My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
Since I Chose This Stupid Game.
It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.

It Has Made Me Yell, Curse And Cry,
I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
It Promises A Thing Called Par,
If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.

To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
And Does Exactly As It Chooses.

It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
Often It Will Have A Whim,
To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.

With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
If Only It Would Find The Hole.

It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
But The Ball Knows ... I'll Be Back Tomorrow.



Stand proud you noble swingers of clubs and losers of balls....
A recent study found the average golfer walks about 900 miles a year.
Another study found golfers drink, on a verage, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.
That means, on average, golfers get about 41 miles to the gallon.
Kind of makes you proud. Almost feel like a hybrid.





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[Boomer]

Hey Munc,

You know it's true. Remember that quote that is attributed to one of my main men Mark Twain? "Golf is a good walk wasted." Well, after I read your little follow-up to the poem, I now know what he really meant by wasted.

Boomer

[graciegirl]

You are brilliant Munc, as usual.

No matter whether you wrote this poem or just found it.

Pearls of wisdom and wit fall from your fingers as you type.

[katezbox]

Hey Munc,

I swear that as I face the tee
That little ball does laugh at me.

It sits so still and seems to gloat
That my swing will miss the boat

Then a perfect shot I hit
Just missing by a little bit

It keeps me coming back for more
Oh no, look out, I'm shouting "FORE."

I loved you poem - and they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Kate

[Boomer]

Hey, your poems are good. And inspirational, too, it seems. For some reason I was just overcome with a desire to go over to the driving range. (And yes Kate, those balls do mock me, also. And I know they talk about me when I leave them zipped up in the bag in the trunk and they think I cannot hear them.)

Boomer