"putt" poems
I was walking down the street
Had an urge to *****
Saw a ***** dumpster
this looks nicer than the girl I dumped'r
I unzipped my pants
shat on the plants
got nice and hard
and shot off harder than a pornstar.
**** THAT DIDN'T RHYME)
I have too much time
because all I do is shoot slime
all over the back
of a president who is black.
I like *****
I bang *****
I make them ***
faster than a game of putt putt.
****** I CANT ******* RHYME)
All of you poetry snobs
are more stupid than calvin and hobbes
You will never be as successful as
Steve Jobs.
End of story. Because I am about to write another ****** poem.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
i thought it’d be poetic
to leave you the same way i found you,
with a contentless text—
a simple entered space
(i knew you wouldn’t catch it)
although you seem to be someone
who thinks very deeply about all someones,
your thoughts about me are puddles
disguised as over-complimenting oceans
and i really do not know
what i am or what i’ve been to you,
or if i’ll be able to keep myself away
from you, or why you’d drive hours
to see me in the middle of the night
when you “plan on kissing at least one
girl in the next three months,”
(could care less if it’s me)
"what would i be waiting for," you asked.
i’m barefoot, chasing a train i know
is on tracks that lead away from where
i want and need to be (but i liked the way
it felt when your hand touched mine)
glad i never gave you any piece of my heart,
because you’re the type of boy who’d
rip it to shreds, hide your claws
behind your back, and tell me that
i should’ve seen it coming
(though you would’ve been right)
maybe you’re just bored,
and that’s why you decorate
your skin with ink and don’t care
about whose lips you’ve touched,
and i wish i could figure you out,
wish i could draw a perfect portrait
with my words (or even just
my thoughts) of who you are,
but i won’t pretend i know you
i hate you and your ***** tattoo
(but i don’t really hate you,
i hate the way i let you make me feel.)
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
The creek out to our cottage
was right out our front door...
The boats were docked on down the line
with fishermen galore...
Motor boat, motor boat
putt, putting down the line...
I know you thought you were quiet
but I could hear you just fine...
I'd lay in bed and listen,
to the fishermen in the boat...
They would talk and laugh
and sometimes tell a joke...
I was just a little girl
wishing I was going with them...
But dad was at work, so there was no way
I'd just have to wait for that special day...
So I'd dream of the time
when I could jump in that boat.
with my fishing pole always ready
had a bobber ready to float...
by ~ judy
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
Put on your face and see as everything get earased
You see things that nobody see's
But they don't listen to you
your a little thing today
So pleas wake up little thing as you try to sleep
you cant escape the pain that this world brings
Putt on your doll face
You see things that nobody ells see's
No they still wont listen to you as you cry out
So put on your doll face wakeup you cant sleep yet
They think that your perfect
But you see things that nobody ells see's
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Saturday afternoon
cycling up a 1in 6 hill
then along the road
toward the farmhouse
you dismounted
and laid your bike
against the fence
and waited
to get your breath back
the farmhouse door opened
and Mrs Putt came out
and said
Jim and Pete are out I’m afraid
her daughter Monica
appeared by her side
they’ve gone out
with their older brother
Monica said
ok
you said
tell them I called
sure I will
Mrs Putt said
I can go on a bike ride
with you if you like
Monica said
Benedict won’t want to have you
to drag along with him
Mrs Putt said
Monica pulled a face
and pouted her lips
I don’t mind
you said
better than riding alone
well if you don’t mind
Mrs Putt said
mind you behave
yourself young lady
she said
and went indoors
and closed the door
just get my bike
Monica said
and went back behind
the farmhouse
you looked around
the farmhouse
and the surrounding fields
and trees and waited
after a few moments
she was back
riding her bike toward you
where we going?
she asked
lets go see the peacocks
along Sedge lane
you said
and so you got on your bike
and off you both rode
she beside you
in her summery dress
and sandals with her
brown hair tied
in bunches
you in jeans
and open neck
white shirt
the sun bright
and hot above you
the birds flying
and calling
the clouds puffy
and white
I’ve always wanted to go
bike riding with you
Monica said
but the boys don’t let me
but I am now
you nodded and smiled
wondering Jim and Pete
would say if they knew
she’d got to go
bike riding with you
she chatted on about Elvis
and the film in town
and how she’d like to go
but no one would take her
and how her brothers
teased her
and her mother
nagged her
after a while
you came to the peacocks
in a wire cage
by a large house
just off the lane
aren’t they beautiful?
she said
peering through the wire
her fingers holding on to
the cage
standing beside you
yes they are
you said
but of course
the **** bird
has the beauty
the hen
is just dull
and ordinary
odd that
she said
wonder why?
don’t know
you said
I’m not dull
and ordinary am I?
she asked
looking at you
sideways on
no
you said
you have
your own beauty
do I?
yes you do
and she blushed
and looked away
and the peacock
called out
and moved off
opening its colourfulness
and Monica did a twirl
making the patterns
move
on her twirling dress.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Gangnam pool Salon Systems 010-3923-7007
◈◈◈1 subsystem ◈◈◈ (bukchangdong expression system)
Total 1 hours 10 minutes in the dazzling music
Battle (early, late), so enter twice
Room sokeseoneun Group hug, and he can touch etc.
Hot and soft feel hot to the touch. Jeonhaeohneun body ^^
Gangnam sarongs at a time in the pool with a drink excitement ~
◈◈◈2 subsystem ◈◈◈ (geukgang lover mode @)
Jilpeon the furnace for 1 hour 10 minutes Part 1 The inconvenience syeotjiman slightly south are you?
Putt regret that much short of a definite home run finished in Part 2
Noldeon lady in the room and go hand in hand up the field unforgettable beats the best
Enjoy ^^ Part Time Lover service total 50 minutes without wanting Gangnam pool sarongs best service!
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
royal rulers mighty roar,jungle dwellers all in awe,mountain,bush, pasture, plain,reigns supreme his domain.but...could this kingdom cat compare,on close cut grasses greens of fair?would he fill ten holes for fun?bag nine birdies, not just one.does he stroke a lengthy club?balls that swing thro greeny shrub,best perfecting all he masters,dimpled ***** inbag with castors.would he ryd-her cup of love? use two hands, just one glove?could he bunk-her in the rough?wedge it, chip it, putt the muff.could he ease the game with foreplay?drive it homeward up the fairway,does he eye the aim while kneeling?as caddy guides his pole to feeling,so who's the top dog ***** cat?won't take long to answer that,would lion do it if he could?i know for sure......tiger wood
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
when She's kissing passion into me
grab squeeze those biscuits
when Her body's pressed so tight along mine
grab squeeze those biscuits
when She's riding into ecstasy with me
grab squeeze those biscuits
when She's bending over for whatever reason
grab squeeze those biscuits
when we're hiking/running
and She's just in front of me
grab squeeze those biscuits
when we're standing in line for whatever...
grab squeeze those biscuits
when She's wading in the waves
in THAT bathing suit
grab squeeze those biscuits
when She's lining up a putt in mini golf
that perfect **** in a mini skirt
grab squeeze those biscuits
when She's stepping out of the shower
wrapping Her hair in the swirl of a towel
grab squeeze those biscuits
when you're spooning naked after the swetest hottest ever lovemakig
or waking up
or the middle of night
or whatever hour she nuzzles your neck
grab squeeze those biscuits
when you've been married for fifty years
and you still Love ALL of Her
and She still digs your ****
She'll grab squeeze those biscuits
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 7:10 PM UTC
Tiger Wood's wins the Masters today
Another green jacket comes his way
Finally, his image stands large at the doorway
For it's been a knock and a hiatus of his cache
As the years after 2008 suffered from his play
No major championships one can say
Only gossip headlines, mugshots, and injuries in gray
Where once a phenom in his twenties on display
Such greatness and legend his star headway
His mid-thirties saw some of his luster fall in dismay
With mostly self-injury to his ego in disarray
It was hard watching a once proud man's fall and decay
Especially one that held his world at bay
With his swagger, swoosh, and shine turning to clay
And like a good drama of accents and descents convey
With the wait and weight on his shoulders belay
He turned the storybook pages of dismay today
The pressure of his swing, swing, and putt on display
And how he uncorked his demons is a pure bouquet
After 43 years of his years, he took the fairway
Running, running, today after his prey
It was great seeing his game not get away
Logan Robertson
4/14/2019
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 12:13 AM UTC
The meaning fo metathesis si easy ot recall
When you give your love a ikss or throw your sno a ball,
Aks fro sugra ni your cup nad dressnig no the greens
Obedience school fro the pup ro you may riks a scene.
Og fro the glod ni all you od nad when you've done your bets
Relax nad know that you will og fra along your quets,
Snik a putt ot get the pra like pors no the V.T.
Write a sotry, count the stras, climb the lod brich tree.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 10:04 AM UTC
What a surprise
i ****** up again
im causing my own demise
im so self destructive
i cant let myself win
i just putt off
and inevitably **** it
and throw it off.
Whats the point
lets just live it
this life
because theres not much more time
because i know i'm gonna die
the best part is
Ill know exactly when.
Im sorry i disappointed you
so many times
your the only people
i cared about
knowing too much
about my life
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 12:13 AM UTC
~
***pitch an putt I never worried about
'cause all my drives were long and stout
now off the tee it doesn't fly so far
and all I can do is hope for par
on my card 3's are 4's and 4's became 5
oh how I long for a 300 yard drive
it's only a game some say unkind
but it grabs at your heart and messes your mind
it's only a game still others proclaim
front nine was fun the back nine shame
so before I tee I ask my Lord
just once put my name atop the leader board
so now it's early to bed so I can dream
of birdies and eagles and a jacket that's green
written by my caddy
Sir Duffy Mulligan
FOUR!***
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
the reason why mr bean has problems
is he is a doofuss, top see the men ditched him because his nye party is
jus vinegar and tree twigs, how weird is that
the reason why the kids teased him at the pool
is because he was such a ****** making it all the way to the top
and then being scared nd climbing down
the reason why his girlfriend ditched him at xmas
is because instead of a ring, he gave her a picture of a man giving a woman a ring
and a hook and mr bean is a ****** because when he was
moving the hole in the wall, he didn’t ****** well check it
another thing that makes mr bean a ****** is the real world
you see at least i pay my way, mr bean is too much of a ****** to pay his way
and another thing that makes mr bean a ****** is at the putt putt golf course
he listened too much to the golf man as he followed the ball around town
i like mr bean teasing the men, but at the hotel there was truth in the matter
that teasers only win the battle, they never win the war because at the hotel
everyone was teasing poor old mr bean
and i liked him teasing the christian man in church, that was fun
mr bean was a ****** there, because he doesn’t look at it as teasing
his character has autism, and autistic people need to be watched
mind you mr bean was a TV character, but still, all guns blazing if we put him in the real world
he does remind me of myself, but i wasn’t that much of a ******
i was just a filthy kid, i am REFORMED OR BETTER TAKE YOUR PICK
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
Threatened curiosity rhymes better than I
A panic attack infused with sinusitis
Willesden digs clang its tentacles
into blobbed concrete.
Cringing as I walked by
Anita scrawled her unsavoury - mercy.
She could not endure a Son of a Publican
on a weekend jolt,
a hand washed duvet potested,
pitch and putt compressed
too many red lines crossed.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
stands alone today and tells a story to clouds
(putt putt)
the worst has happened at the days end
and the frozen orange Gallon
like ice has chosen to now become hand
all in all more or less
3.78lbs put in plastic wrap.
stands alone in the dollar market surrounds with fleeting thoughts sometimes forgotten
today at days end lost while
****** sun at times lost in ******* ******* snake movie
pouring into the retina of the brainless child
o mi babbino mi caro, past is the skating rink of hell but
knock yourselves out in deep perpetual insanity of whats, hows and neverminds.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooosallycan be adisappointmentsometimesbutwestillloveherbecausesheis just whatwe callfamilyandfamilyissoimportanttoidentifyoneselfinaworldofchaoscalledearthoooooooooooooooooooooooooo
computer glitch and error of the metaphysic naiveté of the skating rink of hell near the ******* ******* snake movie in the story of the white trashed oppressively personified virgo at the dollar market holding a gallon of orange juice that costs more than $7.65 because it's apparently organic and thereby magical.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
So, now I have confessed that he is thine,
And I my self am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind,
He learned but surety-like to write for me
Under that bond that him as fist doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that putt’st forth all to use,
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me;
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
1.3k
"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"
- W. B. Yeats: The Second Coming
Dachshund
Bred to burrow after badgers,
what's he doing here?
Terrorizing the underwear
behind my couch.
Is he a true hund,
or just a pan-fried sausage
with a Bluto chest?
I wonder what they called him
back then, in the Black Forest,
when dogs were dogs.
Tracker? Hunter?
Try: Baron Von Putt-Putt Tootsie Roll.
I'm Scot myself.
My people once sacked York.
No, this isn't York.
It's Plano, Texas.
Don't think a Dachshund and a Scot
can't sack Dallas from here.
Until then, we play our little game:
What rough ****** slouches toward my underwear?
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 1:23 PM UTC
The foe now lying at your feet
Your goal in sight,
The taste is sweet,
You survived the ****** war
Bury your foe with one stroke more
He will not cry out in pain
He suffers blows, does not complain
But his revenge, his sword’s sharp cut
Goes to your heart – as you miss the putt.
pwl - 8/14/15
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
I've never cared too much for history, found no appreciation
for it's multitude of names we commit to memorization
there's a certain friend of mine, born in 1989-
Sir Maximilian Relaxilian- and he lacked all motivation
Since the origin of time, I have traced his family line
and their genetic disposition towards supreme relaxation
He's the great great great great grandson
of the founder of vacation.
And this founder's son Clyde, well, he invented the slide
Clyde's kid brother Greg helped patent the keg.
And Greg's great grandson Snyder sold the very first recliner.
So whenever Max was challenged, troubled, bothered, or confused,
He'd recite his family tree, and use the very same excuse:
"Hereditary mutations within each generation!"
And so he sat around and slept,
But never cleaned and never swept,
Never ran, never lept,
His promises were never kept.
Maximilian never managed once to get up off his ****
too tuckered out for bowling, just too lazy to putt;
He Never traveled to the sink nor had he once bothered to think,
too coward for a shower, found no reason not to stink.
And then one super lazy afternoon a quarter after two,
Maximilian had a visitor, I promise this is true:
A tiger stood outside the door which he was too lazy to lock
as if he'd try to find the **** beneath the pile of ***** socks.
And then of course, it's no surprise he couldn't hear the kitty knock
and once you hear what happened next I guarantee you will be shocked...
The tiger tickled him
and giggled him
until his ticker stopped.
So next time you think of staying in,
instead of going out-
or complain about the effort
that it takes to leave the couch,
Or refuse to leave the sheets or venture from a cozy pouch...
just remember Maximilian Relaxilian, King of Slouch
and stay out of bed instead,
stretch your legs and use your head
then count your blessings, kiss your mother
motivate one another.
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 9:08 PM UTC
It felt like a weekend night, and I was curled up on my couch waiting for you come over. It was so cold in my apartment that I had wrapped myself up in all sorts of patchwork quilts. I heard a knock on my window, but when I looked out, no one was there. I opened it so I could stick my head out and get a better look. I must’ve scoured every direction, saving “up” for last.
Craning my neck, I saw you there, in a little plane, hovering just as high as the trees, just below the streetlights. You were dressed like the Red Baron, scarf and all. Your plane looked just like his too. You yelled down, smiling, “Sorry I’m late, I forgot I had promised everyone that I would make it snow.”
Sure enough, you had a contraption on the back of the plane that was making a cartoonish putt-putting noise as it churned out fresh powder all over the sidewalks and streets. It made me laugh, and I pulled my quilts even tighter around me while I watched.
You dropped a rope ladder down from the side of your plane, “You can come with me if you want. It shouldn't take too long.” I immediately ran out the front door to meet you. I was so excited, that the patches of my quilt began to light up—all different colors, humming electric. I was really surprised by this, and I thought maybe I had done something wrong, but you just laughed and said, “Don’t worry—it will be nice to have the ambiance up here.” (Yes. You said “ambiance” in my dream— because that’s just how my mind works. )
So I climbed into the back of your plane, blankets and all. You turned around and said, “Just a couple of things…” You proceeded to tie my quilt around my neck like a cape. I watched the colored lights catch the corners of your eyes and your smile while you did this. You were right, the ambiance was nice. Handing me a pair of goggles, you told me to put them on and just said, “There, that’s better.”
We flew up and down the streets, both of us lit up in a warm, multi-colored glow, letting the snow fall on everything below.
I think I’m really looking forward to winter.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
Dare she lies
With a three inch putt
Tap in birdie
For sure
With a **** in her eyes
She looked askance
How can this be
It was a beautiful drive
Straight down the fairway
A pitch and a roll
Fortuitous is the bounce ... swing
Now standing abreast on the green
Nonchalant
She takes the putter to bed
One under par
Logan Robertson
3/30/2019
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 12:05 AM UTC
After a tortuous hour of
math (algebra to be exact)
I start dinner; Middle Eastern stew:
Cardamom, Coriander, and turmeric.
Cooking is a little like math, but
much more like art. My mind begins
to ease as Bach pumps out
one of his symphonies from
the CD player. The stew boils, and
I want to go outside and play,
chase windmills. Where's Sancho?
Dulcinea's here, frustrated by my inept
ability in the equation game.
I ******* despise algebra.
Where's the Bluebird, the Sunflower,
Bukowski or Eugene O'Neil?
I want to smell a six-week-old puppy,
taste Van Gogh yellow, **** until
I can't walk, and ease my
way into old age.
Vivaldi plays his victorious song.
And I know I'll conquer the
numbers game, but probably not
before it drives me crazy;
actually, it's a short putt.
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 7:46 AM UTC
I hit the ball.
The ball winds down a grassy corridor, gleaming in the fall's orange glow,
My breath stifles, closing a moment, and it all starts to bend.
(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
A troup of lizards march up this chalky hill, and a curve lays like a lanyard discarded, groovy and misshapen
And they walk with detached, floppy fiddle strings across the green to apprehend the ball.
The ball eludes them and redirects to the rough, and the hole sits, agitated and circular.
(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
On the couch, I stretched.
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.
I'm at the apartment, one thumb over my left eye looking at the exterior of a DVD,
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.
A closed mind in transit with a DVD lodged between left and right brain,
Left eye socket with left brain in
Right eye socket with right brain in
I press my thumb to my right eye, and the DVD spins, tickling my brain and playing.
(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
I putt.
Gently, one flinch from the right arm.
Loosely holding the left arm in place.
The ball rolls again, grinding the grass beneath.
It has the gumption to gather its matter and mass.
(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
Click.
It is sunk inside its cubbyhole.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
The President assessed the scene
and gave a terse command.
His caddy grabbed his putter
and put it in Obama’s hand.
The breeze as not a factor
The air was hot and still.
The hole, a dozen feet away,
blocked by a small windmill.
Barrack needed this putt for par.
to help him tie the score.
Boehner got a hole in one
in the clown face just before.
Obama gave his ball a stroke-
it veered wide, an inch or two.
It’s a pity folks are watching
Or he’d lie about that too.
That he should be reduced to this;
Playing at the “Pirate’s cove.
The sequester is a right wing plot
likely dreamed up by Karl Rove.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
Make that putt
he yelled
from the
jalousie window
above.
Make that putt .
I may have
given it
to you
but your
opponents
obviously
know you well.
You missed
a foot
going
what makes
you think
you’ll make it
coming back.
Make that putt.
Don’t pick it up.
I haven’t
given it
to you.
Make that putt.
Earn the right
to pick
the ball up
on a gimme.
Does the rest
of your game
**** too?
Make that
****
putt, will ya!!
Jan 25, 2011
Jan 25, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC