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David Leadbetter: It’s OK To Spin Out-Setup Basics-Golf Digest

It was the Bondi golfing man
Drove off from the golf house tee,
And he had taken his little daughter
To bear him company.

‘Oh, Father, why do you swing the club
And flourish it such a lot?’
‘You watch it fly o’er the fences high!’
And he tried with a brassey shot.

‘Oh, Father, why did you hit the fence
Just there where the brambles twine?’
And the father he answered never a word,
But he got on the green in nine.

‘Oh, Father, hark from behind those trees,
What dismal yells arrive!’
”Tis a man I ween on the second green,
And I’ve landed him with my drive.’

‘Oh, Father, why does the poor Chinee
Fall down on his knees and cry?’
‘He taketh me for his Excellency,
And he thinks once hit twice shy.’

So on they fared to the waterhole,
And he drove with a lot of dash,
But his balls full soon in the dread lagoon
Fell down with a woeful splash.

‘Oh, Father, why do you beat the sand
Till it flies like the carded wool?’
And the father he answered never a word,
For his heart was much too full.

‘Oh, Father, why are they shouting ‘fore’
And screaming so lustily?’
But the father he answered never a word,
A pallid corpse was he.

For a well-swung drive on the back of his head
Had landed and laid him low.
Lord save us all from a fate like this
When next to the links we go.

Banjo Paterson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wreck-of-the-golfer-3/

During her second-round U.S. Open match against Aliaksandra Sasnovich, Caroline Wozniacki’s hair caused some problems. As the blond bombshell went into her back swing, her braided hair became tangled in the racquet causing her to miss a shot. Watch the hair malfunction here.

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Following the real-estate market collapse, luxury developers are taking a new approach to golf communities, touting things like more recreational activities, fitness options and five-star dining. Photo: Alexia Fodere for The Wall Street Journal

Copyright 2015, Dow Jones & Company, Inc.

Tears well up, threatening to o’erspill these blackened lashes.
Blackened; That’s what society calls fashion.
Little girls playing in mother’s make-up.
Wind, whispering through bright, green-leaved trees.
Running around barefoot, the wind in your face.
Falling back, your hair flowing behind you on freshly cut grass.
Looking up at the clouds; sunshine streaming on a beaming face.
Bliss, eternal and sweetly innocent.
Reminiscing years later…
You’ll never have that innocence and youth again.
What’s lost is lost forever.
You’ve moved on from happy child to stressed adult.
No more fresh-baked cookies; ‘Who wants to lick the bowl? ‘
No more trips to the park, nothing to do but slide, swing, play, so carefree…
Work, worry, the list grows longer and the bottle emptier by the second.
No time to relax and unwind; it all mounts up-a formidable force indeed..
Tears well up, threatening to o’erspill these blackened lashes.
Blackened; you gave in to society’s dream of fashion.
Seeking comfort wherever comfort can be found.
When all else fails; the last resort.
Tears well up, o’erspilling blackened lashes.
Creeping down your powdered cheek; slipping down your neck.
No one was there; no one cares.
Life is meaningless.
You have no purpose; you’ll be replaced as soon as you’re gone.
Crimson stains the sink basin; dripping down the side.
No one was there; no one cares.
Tears well up, o’erspilling blackened lashes.
Blackened; never again will you give in to fashion.
Crimson, sliding down a background of porcelaine.
Seeking comfort wherever comfort can be found…
When all else fails; the last resort.

(October 2006)

Elizabeth Sheaffer

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-last-resort/

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

kemyion carey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maya-angelou-3/

Georgia: Reckless Ally Putting Entire World at Risk by Inciting Russia

daddy putting his baby girl to sleep

Sheep Stampede in Chipping Campden

Details 3 in 1 Golf Practice Set Mat Driving Net Chipping Net and Bag Slide