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 | Dreamstime.com