A dink, a little bubbler up
from the sink, an air
assault on winning ground,
a wing on a prayer
after the scare,
the watery despair.
Four days divided
by steel blades angled under grass
stained visions past the best point,
wishing Titleists had water
wings to fling
at things we didn’t want to happen.
What’s the use of betting
on anything other than surprise?
Who’d expect anything
other than the unexpected?
Copyright Christie Williamson 2013
The time I’d have spent doing some writing tonight has been hijacked – by a number of things, but perhaps most comprehensively the gowf across the pond. So I break with tradition to put this uber rapid ‘poem’ out there.
Good luck to all at Augusta!
One impediment to typing my poems is my recent fondness for mirror writng on the page. It’s not something I have a cerebral attachment to, but I feel the need to move my words about the page, and to have them change direction – as here :
If you can easily explain how to word process this – please let me know! I have scores of poems waiting to get ‘the typing out treatment’. Can I do it without getting a typewriter in order to flip the page around?
Happy writing, let me know… and…. get in the hole!