Lingolf (Chants from Walkabouts - 15)

entry picture

Poem 144 of 230:  LINGOLF


Eb2 G1 G2 G2 A1 A2
A2 Bb2 c3 c1 c2 Bb2
Eb2 F2 G2 A2 A2 A2
F2 A3 Bb2 G3 G2 G3)

Your honour, Your Honour.
    Watch out - he’s a burglar.
I’m to school on your putt.
    That’s one heck of a cut!

It’s my bread and butter -
    A left-to-right cutter.
That’s where elephants die.
    That’s a grave - not a lie.

I’m in the old plum-duff;
    Tough - I’m on the cut-stuff.
The hooks with my driver,
    And fades with my putter.

There’s a goalie in there.
    Trees are some nine-tenths air.
I have a soldier’s plight -
    Always left, right, left, right.

Everything was fine -
    Apart from weight and line.
It took a member’s bounce.
    A rare bird to announce.

An unlucky horseshoe.
    Had a look - liked the view.
Poetry in motion.
    Read with blind devotion.

He’s just hit a cracker.
    I’m only a hacker.
I wish I’d missed the well.
    A fried-egg where it fell.

A crop of a divot.
    It was speed that killed it.
Your wedges land so neat -
    Butterflies with sore feet.

Like pitching in pudding.
    Never up, never in.
Drive for show/putt for dough.
    Can’t beat bad luck, you know.

He’s just missed a gimme.
    That, then, would be dormy.
It went in the side-door.
    A Bradman of a score.

Just spoiled a good walk.
    Can’t play, but can he talk!
'Twas daylight robbery; 
    Not “how” but “how many.”

The nineteenth’s not too far -
Have a jar at the bar..?

(Last two lines of tune.)

(C) David Franks 2003

◄ Windermere (Chants from Walkabouts - 16)

In a Small Pot (Chants from Walkabouts - 14) ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message