"You should have been out with me yesterday",

He said, as he stood on the Tee.

He addressed his partner, instead of the ball,

And that led to catastrophe!

His club went back, but so did his head,

This ball would land on the green!

He gave it some 'wellie' and, from that moment on,

That ball's never, ever, been seen!

Three of the tee, that isn't like me,

And that was a brand new ball!

He went back to the mat, only gave it a pat,

But no one could find it at all!

"Oh good gracious me!” he was a gentleman see,

He said, with a rueful smile.

He put down another, hit through the ball,

And it went for many a mile.

Up, up, up it went, way into the air,

The fairway was so wide, and free,

But that little ball had a mind of its own,

And it smacked into the branch of a tree!

"You know that I can play much better than this,

I've never known anything like it, have you?"

"I bloody well hope not", said the burly bloke,

Who was waiting to tee off, in the queue.

As luck would have it, when he reached the spot,

He had a most difficult lie.

"I'll play it out sideways", he said to himself,

And he bent down, to give it a try!

Hit down on the back of the ball, he thought,

And get a really good pitch.

Well, the ball took off, like a good'un you know,

And plonked into this watery ditch!

He lifted it out; he was upset by now,

And placed it on a bit of dry land.

His shot was good, his best of the day,

But it splattered right into the sand!

His face took on an incredible hue!

Wouldn't yours, if you ‘re now playing ten?

He gave it some stick, with his trusty wedge,

But it plopped back, deep in the sand again!

By this time the queue, at Dainton first tee,

Had reached the car park, and beyond,

You know what's it like, when a record is on

Because he's now gone from sand, to a pond!

  Have you ever tried to hit out of a pond?

With your trousers rolled up to the thigh?

Well this golfer did, but it didn't come off,

Although he gave it a wonderful try!

He covered the green with water,

His partners were drenched to the skin!

But this man was a persistent golfer,

And he was not going to give in!

Instead of a swing, he adopted the style

Like the hands of a great metronome.

Backwards and forwards he swung, without any pause,

He had to, or he'd never get home!

Every stroke of his club, every mis-hit shot,

Was now greeted with tumultuous applause,

He didn't appreciate it, one little bit,

And wished he stayed home, safe indoors!

His energy spent, he slumped to the ground.

He was exhausted, deathly weary and wet.

"Just tell me one thing", he said to his mate,

"How many Stapleford points do I get?"

"He's had it, he's cracking up!" his partner declared,

"I'm sure that he's going to die!"

He did, and got immediate entree

To that great golf course, in the sky!

Swing low, sweet chariot,

Coming for to take me to heaven,

"Is someone providing a driver?

Or shall I take a seven?"

So he's right up there with the birdies,

You can hear his humorous hum.

He's never been so close to a birdie before,

And no closer will he ever come!

Now he's playing golf there, with the angels.

And, as he plays round, so he sings,

"You should have seen me, when I was on earth!”

"I was much better, without these 'ere wings!"

By Sokit Tooem.  

This poem is dedicated to Ann, Jeremy, Katie and Daniel.

Author: Trevor Durbidge   Copyright © 2001 [TJD].   All rights reserved.  Revised: October 30, 2007 .

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