"golf" poems
One cup of tea is not enough...
Two cups of coffee is what usually wakes me up and
two sugars in the morning is,
perfectly sweet.
One day you'll be mine,
if not Today then, some other time
Well that's what I'm hoping,
Please tell me you'll have hope too
and two songs are not enough,
to say "I Love You"
Well just one of me,
can't do much for you but
two hearts beating like ours sounds pretty beautiful
and sometimes one word,
can make a difference
well for me that one word is you...
So come into my life now
and don't you dare leave without me...
'Cause one plus one can make an infinity
One photograph is not enough,
I'd want a couple more of you of me and both of us
two pair of eyes...
occupied with thoughts that can't be sung
Well if you want to play dinosaur mini golf,
in the summer...
You can just call me up any time that you wanna
and we can grab a takeaway coffee
and take the long way back home.. (woah oh)
One cup of infinity please, to go...
One plus one can make an infinity if you want it to,
and that one plus one could be me and you.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
I love baseball and football.
basketball, and hockey too.
Boxing, golf and wrestling,
but not as much as I love you.
Never think I put sports first.
You’re more important to me.
Now bring me a drink & pretzels,
and get outta’ the way of the TV!
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:39 AM UTC
It must be nice Peter
To have a **** girlfriend like her
The ride sent her into ecstasy
It really was beautiful to see
What a wonderful woman
She told him
"Peter, the ******* I have with you are good
But this one was really crazy."
I once cared for a woman
Better to be alone
Hitting golf ***** by myself
Forever alone
Golf won't hurt me
Like a woman can
So I'll stick to golf
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
I pass back and read late at night
write poetry,
eat yogurt, things I had sworn off and return to with ever more vigor
I am caught in an orbit,
the gravitation is just enough to keep me spinning and too much
to let me go free, I fight it,
I fight it with stolen cigarettes and late nights
and tumbling over and over on a golf course
I fight it with drinks by myself and the purchase of ridiculous items
song lyrics composed on the spot and bold winks across the room
smiley faces and pickup lines to people I should not dare
a fantasy of LSD and the hope I'll see a dragon
so I can finally stop dreaming of them.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
I would've given birth
To you,
Endured whatever
Mothers do.
Instead, I did
What Dads do.
I rocked you
Til my future shook;
Watched you til
I couldn't look.
As you changed,
I changed too,
To do the things
That Dads do.
You were bathed,
Dressed and fed;
I loved you so much
I was saved.
If there's credit,
Well, I get it,
For teaching you to read.
I took the blame
When you got bored
With school's ABC's.
I followed you
In all your roles,
Your teams,
Your solos,
Your trips,
Your shows.
First to clap,
Last to sit;
I taped it all,
From start -
To finish.
I taught you
How to tie a lace,
Ride a bike,
Golf and skate.
When time arrived
For you to drive,
You learned
On standard,
Never stranded,
You came home alive.
Your highs
I took in stride,
By example taught
Humility's pride.
Your lows,
I couldn't internalize,
I dropped my guard
With my eyes.
When Dad's do well
It's a double edge,
The future wedge.
The world
Revealed
Desired you too.
I don't dismiss
What mothers do,
But when Dads do well,
Both lose you.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
You know, there's always a song that takes me back
To a year, so long before
It's not always a top ten song
That hits my very core
It just grabs me and transports me
Back in time while standing still
It might take me to a good place
Release a memory I should ****
But, my soundtrack is different
It's not just music in my mind
There's sounds that make my playlist up
Sounds of a different kind
A baseball smacking leather
God, that sets me free
Some good, some bad, some coaching
Some involve my ******* up knee
The click on every eight track
When it switches channels to play on
Brings back those early mornings
when the house cleaning was done
But, music, yes the music
makes a large part of my list
Some take me back to dances
And the girls I never kissed
The good songs stretch my senses
Make me smell things from the past
The memories still linger
While the music didn't last
Sirens, car wrecks, yelling
Have their place on my list too
It's not music to most people
It made my list though, who knew?
A sound as small as raindrops
Take me back to a morning when
I stood on line with a hundred others
Brave women and brave men
Cornwallis, Nova Scotia
rain and U2 take me on a track
To basic training on the east coast
Wow, that's 25 years back
A car crash and a siren
Takes me to when I met my wife
This was on the television
when Princess Di, she lost her life
So, my soundtrack is eclectic
It's not just music fuels my trips
It might be a golf ball bouncing
That takes me through a time warp slip
A song, that's just too easy
Everyone has one of those
But, can you travel back, oh, 30 years
When someone blows their nose?
There's more sounds that effect me
But, those I think I'll hide
I will write about them later
And I will take you on that ride
In 50 years of living
Lots of sounds have hit my ears
We'll sit and chat about them
One day over a few beers....
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
We'd bound around
For golf downtown
Frisbees always in hand
"The students are coming!!”
Was a seasonal refrain
As we’d goofily gallivant
Mother’s Day shows
We‘re free, mother-suckers
For your kids, a show we grant
A CLOWN SHOW!
A DOWNTOWN SHOW!
THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN’T!
Rock their world with juggling
See the Doctor for what ails
Rudi and O in laundromat land
Jeanie, Splash, Allison, Donna,
Silly girls astonishing with
Leaps, jokes and handstands
Chewey, Steamboat and Grog
"Yeah-yeah! Yeah-yeah!”
Silly boys grandstanding
All hail Papa Gale! We
Funned with Cpt. Plunge
Leader of the band!
Sweet Georgia!
**** croquet!*
It was grand!
**** croquet was the official lawn game of the Sweet Georgia Brown Clowns during the summer 198x Trinity Country tour [wherein we masqueraded as a Norwegian Salmon Kissing team at a Moose Lodge Talent Show in Lewiston, CA* {true!}]: “Don’t forget your hat!”)
*(we won)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
Turquoise blues guitars
Laughing baby elephants (that paint)
Melodies singing lullabies to sleepy baby elephants
(tired from painting all day)
Blank canvases full of blackberries on the inside
The antidote to love
All the dotes that didn't get doted
And all the ones that did
Playing badminton in the backyard of Cupid's summer home in Manarola
The ruby that died to make Dorothy's slippers
And the shortest hair from the Lion's tail
Wine filled grapes
Water balloons filled from hot springs and melted mountain snow
Two spokes from Steve McQueen's "Great Escape" motorcycle
Three kisses from Ilsa Lund
And a smile from Sabrina Fairchild
Tom Robbins' typewriter (it's magic)
A flying dragon
A dragonfly (grounded for not doing her homework)
Jenny's phone number
The pillow that hit the floor at Cecilia's that afternoon
The third stair from the top of the Stairway to Heaven (best view)
One of the lost souls swimming in a fish bowl
And a grain of salt from the sea the other is swimming in
An olympic size pool full of melted crayons
A vile of sweat from the ever fleeing muse
A refrigerator the size of Rhode Island
Full of magnificent lines of magnetic poetry
Poetry (all of it)
The monster under the monster's bed
Every foul ball ever caught by any kid
Hammocks (any and every)
The cardboard boat that never stopped sailing down the gutter of the world
The secret to everything
(kept securely under the bed of the monster, under the monster's bed)
Santa's real address (you won't believe this)
The blue ink from the blueprints of Atlantis
Golf carts with no maximum speed
The energy dust left from dancing, hugging and smiling
Freshly climbed trees
A warehouse the size of Antarctica completely filled
Wall to wall with raw, unfiltered laughter
Beer
Everything that was left on the field
Passionate embraces and embracing a passion
Apology free, but full of forgiveness
The wild of the wilderness
The tame of the un-tame
Language
Intuition
Conception
First kisses, waves and winks
Goodbye hugs and thrown in kitchen sinks
Art
Music
Pain
Puddles that have been danced in under pouring rain
Empty film cans
Films on screens
All of these ingredients
Are what makes up
Dreams
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play."
sang Paul McCartney in his song
and my first lover to me a long long time ago in the Atlantic mystery by the golf of Mexico.
I believe it's better that,
"when we love someone,
we do so un conditionally- without any expectations no riddles or fill in the blank games or cold computer screen mirror- button- pushing disaster!
Like my wealthy elite did to me just to show me how troubled he really was. Even though hurting to test a woman's heart is acceptable if worthy material.compensation exists.
Nothing really beats the face to face dialogue
embracing his lady with a hug and a passionate smiling kiss
an adorable " I love you"
from a true love lover
who was Lost and~~~~?
~~~~~~
Lost~~~~~~~~
passion~~~~~
change~~~~~
earth~~~~~~
(Fill in the blanks please.)
~~~~~~
Revised:03/30/19
By: Karijinbba.
(Asg/Bba)
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Maybe,
It’s not about finding
The light at the end of the tunnel,
Maybe,
The tunnel doesn’t even
End, and the light isn’t
The warm glow of a
Sun so high above,
But the dim illumination
From a floodlight, dusty,
And draped with cobwebs,
And maybe,
The floodlight isn’t there,
It’s shattered and its pieces
Bury into the skin of your
Bare feet as you step on them,
And continue to trek forward in
Darkness, towards the next light.
Maybe,
That’s a good thing.
You’re in a tunnel after all,
You can’t drown in blackness as
Easily as you can the sea.
Maybe,
The extra darkness
Makes the next floodlight
Brighter, and you’ll
Stop, and bathe in it a
While as your aching lings
Finally rest.
Maybe,
If you’re brave,
You’ll think you can
Live under the light,
Unaware that you’ll
Lose your knowledge
Of the darkness,
And when your light
Finally coughs,
And shudders
And dies,
You’ll get lost in the dark again,
Turned around,
Heading away from the new lights ahead.
Or maybe,
You prefer the shadows,
Carry a bat,
Or a golf club,
Or whatever blunt weapon
Catches your fancy,
And you smash each light
You pass,
Cutting the feet of all those
Behind.
Maybe,
There isn't a light at the end of the tunnel,
Just an endless string of floodlights,
Bright,
Shattered,
And lost.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Would you let me walk you back to school?
And maybe later, teach me how to play pool?..
Oh maybe Friday if you're free,
Play dinosaur mini golf with me?
I know I'm uncool..
But I like who I am when i'm with you
Wont you tell your bro to add me back
Tell him I play guitar too but mostly when I'm sad..
Rock and roll is pretty cool,
And Hip Hop was better when it was old school..
But I write acoustic tunes...
Oh you know I do.
Did you ever get the message that I never sent?
You always said you could read me,
Well did you figure I was upset
When you didn't answer the phone
All these days I've felt alone
Just a little hollow and not okay..
But i'd still be here tomorrow,
Despite yesterday.
Oh I'd still love you tomorrow,
Even if my heart breaks apart today.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
I pass back and read late at night
write poetry,
eat yogurt, things I had sworn off and return to with ever more vigor
I am caught in an orbit,
the gravitation is just enough to keep me spinning and too much
to let me go free, I fight it,
I fight it with stolen cigarettes and late nights
and tumbling over and over on a golf course
I fight it with drinks by myself and the purchase of ridiculous items
song lyrics composed on the spot and bold winks across the room
smiley faces and pickup lines to people I should not dare
a fantasy of LSD and the hope I'll see a dragon
so I can finally stop dreaming of them.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there's doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.
And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
Mud is good,
Its dead good mud,
It's in me blood,
But where not understood,
Us people of mud,
In the shadow of a gas tank and born on a Mersey bank, I lived on cobbled streets dark and dank,
I played on a ship that sank, and for anything else I wouldn’t thank....... you
On king street docks, girls in cheap frocks, curly locks, time tocks, the boat rocks,
The tanyard smell made life hell for all that dwell, under the bridge,
In Garston L19, it’s the scene, its clean, it’s where I’ve been, it’s not obscene or green, if you know what I mean.
Its community security sincerity and every other word that ends with erity,
But it’s fallen apart,
Don’t lose heart.
I go into town when I’m down, it clears me frown,
I don’t go in me jarmies or me dressin gown,
There’s men with round bellies, toddlers in wellies,
Posh ladies gather in their marks and spencer swagger,
There’s scouse brow teens, sunbed queens,
Hunks and punks, lonely drunks,
Suits in boots forgetting their roots and hens in *****
Big issue sellers, statue fellas holding golf umbrellas,
Coz of all the rain,
But it’s all good, coz we come from mud,
Let’s cheer, why?
Coz I’m here,
I’m me, me names T, and me hubbys P me best friends she..... lagh,
I like coffee and toffee and Roger Mcgoughy,
I like statistics logistics eye shadow and lipsticks,
I like bags and wags and cigarette **** but not beer,
I’m fine on wine if I take me time,
I don’t do a line, unless I’m hanging me washing on it,
I work in a bar, not far, I don’t drive a car, and I don’t say Lar or kid or lad or lid or mar,
I’m proud and loud, don’t live on a cloud, and I don’t follow the crowd,
I’m a mum to some, I’ve got a big round *** but I’m me you see,
I’m not square, I dye me hair, I swear but you can take me anywhere,
Coz I care,
I’m good,
I’m mud; it’s in me blood,
Understood
By Christina Ford
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
Many a miner has gone
into the deep pit
to receive the dust of a kiss,
an ore-cell.
He has gone with his lamp
full of mole eyes
deep deep and has brought forth
Jesus at Gethsemane.
Body of moss, body of glass,
body of peat, how sharp
you lie, emerald as heavy
as a golf course, ruby as dark
as an afterbirth,
diamond as white as sun
on the sea, coal, dark mother,
brood mother, let the sea birds
bring you into our lives
as from a distant island,
heavy as death.
4.8k
Another definition of sadomasochism is golf.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
my turtle doves are pondering the broth of my head space.
tingling.
they gibberish the nest and lay eggs of dragons that still believe in dragons.
they wish for thick lightning in the lustrous void. they beak the shell of no made thing.
the Eternal Hum.
the one Always that had Never Begun.
Only Ever, Ever Been.
and That's It's
Name.
my turtle doves are robbing the bog of it's undead wyrms. they swoop in the morning.
down down down
to the gamma ray golf course lawns
of our suburban necrophilia. the one with the empty dreams in their peanut butter stars.
the one
with the eggshell Camary Toyotas and the delinquent epiphanies.
n' more ice cream than Ben n' Gerry's Wet Dream of Selling
More ******* ice cream
than You
can Imagine.
Plus One.
my turtle doves are holding me hostage. in the dizzy breach. of god's contract.
a damp shade of misspent youth. the Old Way.
seasoned by the Eons
and the swollen Love of the First Love.
engorged in the Kingdom of Desire
like a fat mosquito. Sated on Cyclopian forearms.
and the shoulders of Giants
on a small blue world
in your mouth.
just sayin'.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
on the green
hole 8, and five over par
southern california sunshine numb
leaning on a putting iron
leaning on a fistful of xanax
i had given up on the game a long time ago
just didn't know it yet
my friend was strung out on speed and coke
"breakfast of champions", he said
he had been aimlessly whacking the ball for the last hour
"fifty bucks to whoever hits Brian Wilson" he suddenly yelled!
sure enough, there was Brian Wilson,
standing by the mexican food-truck,
waiting for a taco or burrito or God knows what
i felt xanax confident
so i walked over and shook his hand
i told him thank you,
and that his music probably saved my life
"probably" he asked?
"yes" i said, and walked away
i told my friend to take some xanax and chill out
"xanax is just xanax spelled backwards" he said
and i could not argue with that
we never finished that round of golf,
but somehow i still feel like i won
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world?
Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day.
I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels
Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"
The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz
Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File
Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs
Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?
Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico
You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
Well I don't know if you saw me and passed on Coffee Meets Bagel a few days ago or not, but you look pretty adorable and sound interesting too, so I wanted to say hi either way! 4 weeks in Ireland sounds pretty great too - was that for work, or some other opportunity?
If you had to pick between only skiing or snowboarding for the rest of your life, which would you choose?
Hey! I do web work too...what do you do for the sports coverage website? No workaholism here haha, but I do work hard.
Where do you like to get ****** up on a Friday night?
Love the uggs on the one male stripper. Gotta get myself a pair.
Aww, you and your pup look like super good cuddle buddies. It's really hard to pick something to watch on Netflix...or Amazon Prime in my case. Watching anything good now?
What is there to get butthurt about on your profile really? Except for short guys, maybe. Oh, and gamers. I play games sometimes, but not excessively. What's the cooper tires thing you did?
6 pounds is tiny! What kind of dog is he, a yorkie or something?
Hey, hope you're having a good weekend. Kinda feels like a golf day today based on the way this last week has felt ha. Do you play a lot?
Hey, how are you liking the city and school so far? I went to an engineering school not too far away, you might have heard of it - ...
Sometimes it's hard to sum up our IT jobs in a few words, but nice job ha. A constant challenge and learning something new every day is what I like about mine!
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
It's like stepping up to a golf ball. A white glove grips my left hand and an 8 iron dangles in my right. I slowly ***** my tee into the moist ground. I place the white ball upon it. I think of the possibilities of what could go wrong when I strike the ball. I aim. I breathe. I think: back straight, arm straight, mind straight. I exhale. I swing. Then watch and wait, like hearing that sharp drone and waiting for the flat line to waver so I don't have to say, "I'm sorry, but there were complications."
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 12:58 AM UTC
Sigh
I tap my pen on the desk like my teacher extracting my freedoms
and plastering it on the whiteboard.
He preaches and preaches about how he lost a game of golf last week
I need to take a dosage of education,
But whenever I take it I forget to check the side affects.
SIDE AFFECTS MAY INCLUDE;
-Boredom
-Faeries pulling down on your eye lids making you fall into the pit of sleep.
-Drifting in a car called imagination across this classroom.
-Hands are under mind control as you draw twisters in your notebook .
-NOTE: when you flip back to your notes when you are studying for a test,
they will be useless
Useless like "excuse me sir but is your love for the Broncos going to be on the test?"
I feel like this teacher is testing me not on the subject,
but how long it takes until one of the students in this class to go postal.
Too soon?
Sorry I should ship off my mouth to my mother
cuz mommas got the magic of Clorox Bleach
momma oh momma, use your powers to clean out my filthy mouth
yet he is still talking,
why is he still talking?
I'm still writing this poem,
Should I be writing notes on his college days
Or should I wait until his head lands on this landing strip
So he get his head can leave the clouds
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC