The Country Club of walking death,
calls out across the ferns
The 1st hole starts with pain unmatched,
its traps to flame and burn
The 9th hole calls you back to life,
just to send you down again
The 14th hole, a dismal swamp,
your demons there within
The 18th hole where soul’s are judged,
double bogeyed with a six
The clubhouse dark, your blood trail marked
—devil carrying your sticks
(Overbrook Golf Club: March, 2020)
Reckoning Storm
With eyes that see and ears that hear,
but hearts that look away
Each child unkept—all life bereft,
to rue these mournful days
(Children's Hospital Of Philadelphia: March, 2020)
Diametrix
Poetry and Political Correctness
—the ultimate Oxymoron
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
Gabriel's Horn
In the end…
all we have left
is the music
And music,
will be
more than enough
(Garrett Hill Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: March 18th, 2020 10:41
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
- User favorite of this poem: Laura🌻.
Offline)
Comments2
Kurt,
A very interesting write.
Do you play golf?
~Laura~🌻
Not anymore, but I was raised on the golf course by 2 fanatics (my parents). While they were hitting golf balls I was dreaming of motorcycles and country roads and distant highways. 🙂
Glad part of that ‘dreaming of motorcycles and country roads and distant highways’ came true for you!
I’ve had two avid golfers in my life. 🏌🏻⛳️ 🏌🏻♂️
The fringe benefit for me was traveling with them to many parts of the world where there was a golf course! It wasn’t so bad being ‘a golf widow’!😉
Now it’s more difficult since I’m not doing much traveling.
🙂
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.