Biography of Kris Viscardini
Spiritual Seeker, Athlete, IT and Logistics Consultant,
Father of 2 beautiful children and wife to Mary (married 33 years) Still a child and hoping never to grow up!
Everything is made of love!
Kris Viscardini Poems
Not Swinging But Hacking - A Golfer's La...
Nobody saw him, the errant golfer but still he swished, ball lacking I was deeper in the rough than you thought and not swinging but hacking
On A Wing And A Prayer
I am a pigeon but none cares or knows my friends forsake me like a memory loss alone in the garden I'm consumed by woes my family flies in oblivious host
Activity abounds as we rush around building our houses of cards we think them solid and stable and able to avoid
This Be The Game Of Golf
They muck you up your hook and slice they may not mean to but they do they fill your head with evil thoughts and vice and add some extra just for you
The Sacred Love Of Angels
My dreams cling to me You are beside me Everything is you and me I'm watching you in awe
The Universal Ocean
Everywhere everywhen everyone arising, vibrating, dissolving........ Beginning of form, concealed from our God
My Cousin Paul
My dear cousin Paul So strong, healthy, walking tall What forces came to maul our stoic, splendid Paul?
Sunlight pulses all around Spring's begun and joys abound Lying in our cosy bower the view from which
Let me not to the elegance of true minds Admit impediments. Design is not Design Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with urge to misalign:
The Charge Of The Darwin Clade
Half a job, half a job, Half a job onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the one hundred.
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Bad Swing
Do not go gentle into that bad swing old age should burn and rave at close of fun rage, rage against the dying of the swing though wise men know that shank is right
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing balls and blaming it on fate If you can trust the swing your partner doesn't rate but make allowance for their whingeing too
The Dark Assassins
In tranquil street, the silent feet danced lightly round their quarry their captive fraught did meekly bleat protesting vainly at their folly
Young Tom Morris
A round of eighteen holes in one Tom would have traded for the life Of his darling son and loving wife Too much to bear without his loves
The Dark Assassins
In tranquil street, the silent feet
danced lightly round their quarry
their captive fraught did meekly bleat
protesting vainly at their folly
Ruthless, clinically they stabbed
uncaring for the life laid bare
opportunity starkly grabbed
to harry, wound without a care