May 242012

By Bob Smith.

The game o gowf is puzzlin
Causes frustration yet gies pleasure
Fin ye think ye’ve got it cracked
It shows it’s got yer measure
Yer drive it splits the fairway
The nine iron shot’s a dream
Ye miss anither twelve inch putt
It’s aneuch ti mak ye scream
Anither drive doon the middle
Next shot’s bang on the stik
Fit silly sod pit a bunker ‘ere
His brain it maan be thick
Ye crack een verra close ti green
Syne thin yer next wedge shot
Fit wye div a play iss silly sport?
My game’s gien a ti pot
A five widd at a blin par three
Yer sure it maan be close
Ye fin it’s fifty fitt awa
Yer feelin fair morose
Yer next tee shot’s a bittie  hookit
It his feenished on a bank
Nae problem – jist an easy swing
Oh no! A bliddy shank
Ye reach the turn in forty
Ah weel it cwid be worse
Next shot flees weel oot o bounds
It’s time ti sweir an curse
Ye hit a richt monster drive
It’s soarin weel oot o sicht
Yer partners shak their heids an say
Yer swing it wisna  richt
Maist  shots are oot  the sweet spot
Fit are ye deein right?
Next roond it’ll be back ti slicin
And playin a load o shite
Ye hit the green in regulation
Syne ye tak three putts
Ye stan ‘ere  an scratch yer heid
It fairly drives ye nuts
Yer keepin yer game tigether
The last hole -yer nearly hame
Seeven shots later an ye mutter
Fa inventit iss stupid game?
Ah weel there’s aywis next wikk
Ye return wi fresh hope an vigour
Ye duff yer first drive seeventy yards
Did I hear some bugger snigger?

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie “ 2012
Image Credit:  © Boleslaw Kubica |