A Collection of Golf Poems

Golf is loved by many people and even some of them express their feelings for golf by writing poems.

The author has collected some poems and hopes golf lovers can enjoy them.

G-O-L-F
by Joe Cip
Going
Out of my mind
Learning this
Fun game

 

Little White Golf Ball
by Tom Krause
Little white golf ball please tell me of the trick
to hitting you down the middle with this skinny little stick.

I try to keep my left arm straight - my head is always down -
but still I see my best attempt go dribbling on the ground.

Why do I pull you to the left, or slice you to the right?
What will it take to hit you straight until you're out of sight?

The money spent on lessons - all the practice balls I hit
only adds to my frustration when it doesn't help a bit.

For even when I do things right it only lasts a while.
It never seems like very long before I lose my smile.

Little golf ball please tell me of the trick
to hitting you down the middle with this skinny little stick.

 

Reality Check
by Mark Blakemore

i'm on top of my game
i'm winning all bets
opponents cower at my name
it's as good as it gets

i'm hitting it long
i'm firing at pins
my short game is strong
my putts all roll in

but then i wake up
and remember, alas
my grip is too tight
and my swing is too fast

i'll never amount
to the player i'd be
unless i can somehow
let the clubhead swing free

 

Golf Poem
The author of this poem is unknown, but it could be written by millions of us.

In my hand I hold a ball
White, dimpled and rather small
Oh how bland it does appear
This harmless looking little sphere

By it's size I could not guess
The awesome strength it does possess
But since I fell beneath it's spell
I've wandered through the fires of hell

My life has not been quite the same
Since I chose to play this stupid game
It rules my mind for hours on end
A fortune it has made me spend

It has made me swear, yell and cry
I hate myself, I 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 what it chooses

It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies
And even disappears before my eyes
Often it will on a whim
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 a drink to ease my sorrow
But the ball knows...I'll be back tomorrow.

Resource from mygolfwholesale.com