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Does anyone here own a set of golf clubs?
And does your wife nag if you use them?
(Some wives are quite happy to use local pubs
To avoid the golf club’s sad amusements)

But men bred in Fife are a different class.
For golf is their only addiction.
And though they may not be averse to a glass
To accuse them of more would be fiction

This story begins on the Leven golf course,
On the tee at the eighth, a par 5.
My good friend, Wee Ginger, was bad, getting worse,
Had developed a hook with each drive.

I said I would study his swing on the tee,
What else is a friend for? And then….
He drove! What a smacker! Right into a tree!
Then ricocheted back out again.

With really bad timing, the St Andrew’s bus
Was passing this fateful location.
The ball smashed the windscreen, and caused such a fuss.
Were passengers due compensation?

Old Jim, the bus driver, was hit by the ball,
And laid out unconscious, stone cold.
The bus left the road, uncontrolled, hit the wall
Of the tank where red diesel was sold.

The tank then exploded, into a fireball!
With blazing debris scattered round.
North sea gas pumping station erupted like Hell
And that was the end of the town.

Wee Ginger looked at me, with tears in his eyes
“Please help me, please ….. what can I do?”
I thought long and hard, then said” It’s no surprise,
Just move your right thumb : follow through!"

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


Great fun this one, my sister is a dab hand at golf, and has been on the Leven course, among many others, she no longer uses the long strangely beautiful wooden golf clubs that belonged to my grandfather, we, as a family of four, used to use them, all of us, and as teenagers they were quite a swing.

I enjoyed this, a story poem.

Love Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

I love stories
if they are tall
this is!
we have all kinds of widows now
and now the best and most
no not urs
but tops

heard of APPLES
and Mackintosh

Do read me
I was a maestro born


Especially the one selling scotch and a view of the conflagration.

Always a delight to hear from you, my friend.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

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