You know, I've been watching golf for the last week now and there's been talk about effort more than talk about Tiger Woods. It's like, "Yeah, he's old." I just don't understand the mentality of golf because there's so much air in discussion but the small meanings go nowhere. I think golf is this way with the broadcasters since golfers on those silent fields don't want to be disturbed. Some of the iron swings are pleasant to see though. Sometimes I wish a poet like me can calm down like those golf athletes; however, maybe my insight of their clean atmosphere and noble conversations can reveal possible qualities in determined guess. In particular, a German golf player has been chatting with similar equals near sunshine to perfection and reconciles eternal calmness when moments between relaxation go bright and dandy.
Now, onto my poems! Do you mind art? I sure do!
I've been attempting to find original music and so far have found two albums' worth so I can cherish a strange radio of originals. Google Music is recommended, especially with the greatest hit compilations of Queen and Jewel's traditional poetry. Just keep watching golf! Things happen in golf.
War Poem- "Sustained Crowd"
The golden free, getting lost without its trenches.
A perfume coil, lingering smoke beneath these sniffles, reminds me so.
Silly Poem- "Patience of the Influence"
A dentist is cunning, but I’m not eating.
Defense Poetry- "Fortified Reliance"
I watch without a mirror.
There’s no roof in the sky.
In poor thunder, clouds are starting to roll.
Our grass hasn’t yet any roots or heads.
Mountains around here are open sills to the bowing rain.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiger_Woods
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