A rook, a rook
Flew from the sky
And landed on a tree.
Spoke to the snake
That lie there:
"Snake, what do you see?

"I rise above,
I fly high,
Know all the human breed.
Seen kings and queens,
Even a princess-child
And all the warrior's deeds."

"Rook, oh rook",
Hissed the snake.
"You are so naîve.
You see strength
And beauty, too,
But they lie just as they breathe."

"Snake, oh snake,
What do you say?!
That is not true!
It's merry a life;
That I do know
I watched from high blue."

"Rook, oh rook,
You flew too high,
I know what they've got;
To ******, deceive,
Fight and ****,
Their tales are full of blood."

"Snake, oh snake,
You must lie,
I haven't seen such thing.
But let me tell
Of what I saw
Of wars and weddings.

There was a man,
Vain and full of greed,
So proud and so old.
Would never spare a coin,
But as a beggar he saw,
He gave him a coin of gold."

"Rook, oh rook,
I saw it too,
But that was not the end;
The beggar him stalked,
To his home,
And with a dagger in he went."

"Snake, oh snake
Let me tell
Another one:
Of a wedding so bright,
Of a king and his queen,
He kissed her and gave her the crown."

"Rook, oh rook,
Don't believe all you see!
Didn't you hear the queen cry?
The marriage was forced,
Their bond forged,
And she jumped down her tower high."

"Snake, oh snake,
I've seen battles grand,
Where heroes and legends fought.
The earth shattered,
The elements they've torn,
And flames from the sky they brought."

"Rook, oh rook,
That was no battle fair,
Just unglorious assault.
They died like flies,
All of them,
And were buried in nameless vaults."

"Snake, oh snake,
Listen close,
As I tell you of heartens blaze;
Once I saw two lovers,
Kissing under moonlight,
At a lake that mirrored their grace."

"Rook, oh rook,
That I saw as well.
They soon had broken up.
The next day,
She was found dead,
He murdered her out of love."

"Snake, oh snake,
If you speak true,
Then all I knew was wrong!
But then, dear snake
Wouldn't they be
Nothing but spoiled flesh and bone???"

"Oh, but that's it,
Rook, oh rook,
The inhuman, human lot.
They are alive,
And vivid they breathe,
And yet
They
Rot."

She moves him ‘round the chess board,
dodging bishops, pawns and rooks.
She coaxes him from square to square
without a second look.

The white knight cannot catch him.
Piece by piece, the foe now yields.
Her king is safe; the game is done.
The queen controls the field.

Shook
Took
A pawn and not a rook
Out of my mind and heading home
I could have changed my mind and headed by your side
So unnecessary and cruel
I won the Bet
And took what was left

See what’s next.
Try your best.
Until I finally put this to rest

Black Rook In Rainy Weather

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.

The Response*

Even while flashbulbs go out, every now and then, we all must gather our arms and legs in a heap of human kindling, to rap tap tap on the downstairs neighbors door- for a set of candles, perhaps a chance to go completely insane for one terse moment when the hyperbole of vowels *just don't matter anymore.

And speaking of the sordid state of griseous gull-like creatures. Ravenous ravens gnawing outside the window of the kitchen table. How boring life can become, for at the moment, when we are not biting our nails, playing dress up, or playing doctor- all *******. Or maybe even burying our heads in the looks of rooks or with our noses brimming over with the tops of books.

The tea we have set in the study awaits us, as we all have to drink our tea some time.

Just don't leave the lights on baby. Who needs lamps at full lux at high noon any who? You, Mrs. Sylvia Plath Hughes? Maybe you ought to buy a book of stamps- at the nearest Hobby Lobby, pack a paper bag with an apple and a 'sammich', and list formally your complaints.

We can't all waste our time narrating other people's lives in the third person.