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Hands Up

This year’s Masters deserves a commemorative poem. Here is my offering:

Hands Up

Sunday at the Masters
With Rory up two
Would he finally slam it
Or again not come through.

His followers were many
With the same unease
When he doubled the first
A plaintive “please.”

Then at the second
He fell back by one
The crowd behind him
Was not having fun.

They had come to cheer
To rise with hands up
Instead, they were asking
Will he ever lift the cup?

The betters had made
DeChambeau the villain
But after thirteen
Rose was the fill-in.

Rose rose from way back
To now one behind
An unexplainable water ball
Put Rory in a bind.

From fourteen on
A two man show
With Rory one up
With one more to go.

But the hoped for ending
Would have to wait
Rory’s putt slid past
There’d be no checkmate.

The patrons’ anxiety
Was peaking for sure
An unwanted playoff
They’d have to endure.

On eighteen again
Rose gave it his best
But Rory one better
Ended the test.

He fell to the ground
Finally, no grief
The slam was completed
His feeling, “relief.”

Fans ‘round the world
Shared in his glory
An exclusive club joined
One hell of a story.

Leon S White, PhD

Author of:
If Golf Balls Could Talk – Collected Golf Poems
Golf Course of Rhymes – Links between Golf and Poetry Through the Ages

Both available at Amazon.

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Birdie Flu

Newspaper articles about the bird flu and the controversy regarding vaccinations (shots) got me thinking how these concerns might relate to golf. Here is the result:

Birdie Flu

I’ve got the birdie flu
And it's killing me.
No birdie two’s
Or four’s or three.
It starts with driving
Left and right
Birdie chances
Out of sight.
Second shots
Become the test
Pushes and pulls
Lead to pars at best.

With pitches and chips
They’re never near
Leaving putts that even
Good putters fear.
If you catch this bug
And you’re tied in knots
The only prescription
Find better shots.

Leon S White, PhD

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Looking Back Once More

I published a poem a while ago with the title, Looking Back. I guess the regret of having to give up golf weighs on me enough to compose a second retrospective.

Looking Back Once More

Old age has its limits,
There’s no way to rebut;
I’ll never have another dog
Or make another putt.

Reality can be difficult;
But all’s not lost by far.
I’ve found a number of new pursuits
Like playing jazz guitar.

Some of what keeps me happy:
Being present in my mind,
Letting gratitude be my attitude, 
Trying to be kind.

The fairways of life are many,
I’ve been lucky that some were green.
Thirty years of chasing a small white ball,
Great memories on which to lean.

Leon S White, PhD

P.S. A reminder: If you need an unusual $7.00 holiday gift for a golfer, consider my book, If Golf Balls Could Talk, available at Amazon. Thanks.

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The Ball (Again)

I began this blog in December 2008 to introduce golfers to a golf history they were not likely to have encountered – poetry about golf. I also wanted to share golf poetry that I was writing. Now, after more than 15 years, the blog has grown to maybe 250 or so entries and lately interest seems to be increasing. Understanding that blog readers have limited time to spend on the internet, and recognizing that many entries have been read rarely, I have decided to re-introduce some of the poetry that you might have missed and would enjoy. I’ll begin with a poem I wrote in 2013 called “The Ball.”

The poem was inspired by one written by Raymond Carver (1938-1988), a famous American short story writer and also a poet. His poem was called “The Car.” It begins,

The car with a cracked windshield.
The car that threw a rod.
The car without brakes.
The car with a faulty U-joint.

And continues in a similar fashion for 44 additional lines!

Using Mr. Carver’s poem as a model, I wrote a more modest poem of 20 lines:

 THE BALL

The ball with a smile.
The ball with dimples.
The ball with two colors.
The ball with a liquid center.
The ball with mud on it.

The hard wooden round ball.
Old Tom’s featherie ball.
The  Woodley Flyer ball.
The balata ball.
The three piece ball.

The ball that missed the tree.
The ball that hit the spectator.
The ball that hung on the edge.
The ball that sits on the tee.
The ball that lands in a trap.

The ball lofted in the air.
The ball lost in the gorse.
The ball left on the range.
The ball belted with a driver.
The ball signed by Tiger.

Leon S White, PhD

(“The Ball” is included in my book, “If Golf Balls Could Talk,” available on Amazon for $6.95.)

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Swing It

My older son has been trying to improve his golf swing and add distance to his shots, a common goal among golfers. He has been focusing on using the count, one and two, to control the rhythm of his swing and it’s working. I, on the other hand, gave up my clubs and picked up the guitar several years ago with the goal of playing jazz standards. Most jazz standards are written with four beats to the measure. So, as I have often done, I put these swing thoughts into a poem.

Swing It

Swing’s the thing in jazz and golf,
With rhythm is how you do it.
In jazz the count is 1,2, 3, 4;
In golf you 1 and 2 it.

Leon S White, PhD

A book of my poetry, If Golf Balls Could Talk, is still available on Amazon. But it may disappear if it continues to go unsold!!! Please consider giving it as a gift to a literate golfer. Thanks.

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Golf and Behavioral Science

Thinking Fast and Slow by the late Daniel Kahneman has been on the New York Times best seller list for 387 weeks! In it, the Nobel Prize winner in economics includes some research on the psychology of putting to illustrate an observation on how golfers react to situations regarding potential gains or losses. I put the observation to verse.

The Psychology of Putting According to Kahneman

A putt for par, no matter how far
Is a cause for concern for a golfer.
His blood pressure rises, he wants no surprises;
If it misses, he’s liable to mutter.

Research reveals for a birdie putt
The pressure more steady and down.
No matter how far, it’s two in for par
So, a miss will at most cause a frown.

Losses are feared more than gains are valued
Say behaviorists who’ve studied the game;
So, next game track your par putts and birdie,
Is the stress that you’re feeling the same?

Leon S White, PhD

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Looking Back

Looking Back

I wish I could still play the game
I’d surely shoot my age;
A lack of balance holds me back,
I’ve had to turn the page.

I came so close, more than once
Not too long ago;
But missed my chance by a putt or two,
One thrill I’ll never know.

I did have luck with a hole-in-one
A wonder to be sure;
Though I didn’t see the ball go in,
It was in the hole secure.

Satchel Paige said don’t look back
With golf it must be done;
The tales that need retelling,
The frustrations and the fun.

I hope that when you’re eighty-eight
Your thoughts like mine, the same;
Recalling many years of joy
For having played the game.

Leon S White, PhD

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My Tiger Hat


MY TIGER HAT

I still wear my Nike Tiger hat,
Though it never improved my score.
Somehow it linked my to Tiger;
Could Nike want anything more.

But now that link has been broken,
What new hat would be opportune?
For me, not any labelled LIV,
At least not anytime soon.

Leon S White, PhD
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Better than Golf Balls

Golf and poetry
Go together
Like a golf umbrella
And heavy weather.

If Golf Balls Could Talk
For a golf club swinger;
As a holiday gift
It's a humdinger.

So don't hesitate
My book's great fun;
Better than golf balls -
It's at Amazon.
(And now at $6.95)

The Author
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The Golfer’s Epitaph

I recently found this poem among my golf poetry materials. It appears to be from a book, but I can’t provide a reference.

The Golfer’s Epitaph

When I have played my last stroke through,
When I have putted my last ball down,
Dig my grave ‘neath the sky’s own blue,
Far from the smoke and din of the town.
Plant me beneath the 18th green
With never a tear when I am done,
My epitaph by all men seen;
“Dead to the hole and down in one.”