Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “ Slow “.

Good afternoon Jon and once again greetings from Coventry.

I have to admit to feeling pretty slow myself this week, due in no small part to the warm English beer, and after the mayhem of Radiothon the last couple of weeks I think “Slow” is the perfect theme, and what better place to unwind than the golf course.

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:
[audio:JVG_Poem20130825.mp3]

Also have a listen to the songs on the New Album “Angel In Reverse


Slow

“Slow down Sid” his doctor warned: a total waste of breath
Sid ignored all counsel – but there’s no ignoring death

Playing golf next day, against medical advice
Sid, as usual, rushed his swing: result; a massive slice

He hobbled up the fairway, a consequence of gout
He inched into a bunker: but neither ball nor Sid came out

They found him lying on the ball, toes up in the sand
A cigarette still burning, a beer clenched in his hand

“Well, that’s a five stroke penalty” Bert Smithers made the call
“Two for wasting time, three for tampering with the ball”

“Fair go Bert” cried Clifford Best “That’s taking things too far”
So after much discussion they put Sidney down as par

“A tragedy” sighed Alfie Critch, not one to shed a tear
“A tragedy that Sidney died – without finishing his beer”

“That’s easily fixed” smiled Bert, keen to get his tonsils wet
While Clifford did his part and polished off Sid’s cigarette

There were golfers banked up on the tee while they figured what to do
Clifford huffed begrudgingly “We better wave them through”

“We could strap Sid to a buggy while we finish off the round”
“Don’t be daft” whined Bert, “He’d only slow us down”

“We could fill the bunker in” chimed Alf, “Who’d blame us if we did?”
“Then Sid won’t bother us and the flies won’t bother Sid”

“Fill it in?” sneered Bert “How long’s that going to take?”
“And what we going to use? A sand wedge and a rake?”

In the end they left him bunkered for someone else to find
They still had sixteen holes to play: Sid’s dead, he wouldn’t mind

While Bert and Cliff had practice swings, Alf offered up a prayer
Then placed a plaque above Sid’s head “Ground Under Repair”

All three of them had awful rounds: Bert voicing their frustration
“It’s Sid’s fault, the selfish prick, he wrecked our concentration”

“Typical of Sid” barked Cliff, “No bloody self control”
“The bastard could have waited till we reached the nineteenth hole”

“Well, that’s the end of Sid” sighed Alf: Bert and Cliff concurred
“It’s sad, but on the plus side, that moves me into third”

Golfers note: a slower swing will help improve your aim
For the bunker is a graveyard in every sense but name

© Copyright 2013 Ian Bland

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