Sometimes chess
is a lot unlike love
because there are only six types of people
and half are good
and half are bad
and half can never go backwards

But sometimes chess
is exactly like love
in that it is far more fun to give up on winning
and make out
on top of the broken pieces

Poseidon reared his unkempt head
Above the waves today
An ocean monster dripped in dread
Chest to chest with the bay

“Today, or any day at all!”
The shore-side heard his plea
Salt shucked shoulders tall as islands small
“No being shall ever challenge me!”

One gull omitted a thoughtful word
Which sounded much like “Rak!”
One offended brow raised at what he heard
Poseidon countered with a slap

Five foul fingers touched the sky
And fell upon the sea
A wave as great as mountains high
Sighed upon the beaches knee

With a drunken beat of lazy wing
The gull escaped his perch
Finding another on which to cling
Without a moment’s search

Fists clenched around the shallows
Poseidon was enraged
With urchin riddled lips pursed he bellowed
And blew the beach away

Up went beachgoers along the coast
Into the sandy storm
Sun chapped mums beginning to roast
Castling children, One man named Norm

Gull glided softly on the wind
Providing a flap or two
And to the defeated Poseidon's chagrin
Let out a cantankerous coo

In one last fit of aqueous rage
Posiedon surfaced to land
And in a briny blind rampage
Grabbed the gull with swole hands

Gull in hand Poseidon yelled
“What dare you mean sly poultry?
My kingdom is unparalleled,
All pilgrims seek my choultry”

But the oily gull slipped through his grip
And flew quite far away
And as he watched it dive and dip
He came to see the bay

Debris was strewn across the sand
His subjects were in ruin
Disaster spread across the land
And it was all his doin’

A desperate shade turned Poseidon
As he returned to the great deep
“What use am I as a mighty king
If protection I cannot keep?”

That is how a seagull won
Against The God of Sea
Who forgot about his job, just one,
To keep the big blue world carefree

Chess bleeds the sins
     From my mind
          Into captured kings.

Orange canoe leaves and castling roots
   and a potpourri of rocks and twigs and mosses
     hailed my pathway.
Fresh, white flowers mingled with their rusted sisters
upon the ground, like copper-splashed jasper.  
        The canoe leaves curled
as the white and rusted flowers tumbled through them
like toppled teacups and feathered, Victorian party hats.  
     Their christened sisters mirrored them among the boughs above
and talked loftily about the treetops
      as the fallen ones chattered amidst *******
      and the roots dividing the tables of their tea party—
unaware, and heedless, of how far they’d fallen.

Of cold air

and gloomy clouds

Such darkness on it

It let go the rain

Like the girl I see

Sitting next her paper

Ripping the pages 

out of melancholy

Water streaming

Down her face

Night castling a paradise 

And seeking refuge with dreaming.

I saw the girl

Writing in pain

Howling because of

Anguish

And all her hopes drained


I saw the girl
Staring back at me in the mirror.

Of cold air

and gloomy clouds

Such darkness on it

It let go the rain

Like the girl I see

Sitting next her paper

Ripping the pages 

out of melancholy

Water streaming

Down her face

Night castling a paradise 

And seeking refuge with dreaming.

I saw the girl

Writing in pain

Howling because of

Anguish

And all her hopes drained


I saw the girl
Staring back at me in the mirror.

the huge fragments castling high above the break were tremendous in stature and statues strength could not unmake,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and the swirl of lights were scattered spheres with scattered brains all stained with smears of squares,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and one, some glare led there to veer to here to where a stare could steer the cheer from ware-nightmares, their fear was near,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and over Time the Time stood still to watch itself go by to **** the Time (the thrill it gave from giving itself chills was rare)
                             but i guess you had to die there.
and when i saw it all took place between your collar bone and face (the space of wreck
                                                                                                                             the  taste   of   neck)
                             then i guess there had to be you to be there....
            but i guess you had to be there.

Tides were turning,
are we going upstream or downstream,
not sure,
are the clouds darkening or clearing up,
not sure of that either.

Can a blind oarsman
steady his ship?
Can a rudderless ship
survive the storm?

Heart’s not a sheet of glass
to be broken by a pebble
thrown by a passerby.
Strength of the muscle is in its wisdom.
Anoint it with intuition.

Losing the knights
may erode a powerhouse, yet
castling the king side,
will build an impenetrable fortress
with lowly pawns.

King will rule.
Kingdom will reign.
Remember.
You are not the only
one on this type of a boat.

Alone she rests ‘neath castling towers
outfacing glazy terraces
by just gazing south to west

Alone yoke of bags she appears to shed
like a mother at a crossing
just waiting for the lights

Alone on a rise arc of green
glass to stones engraced
just by her lovely patina’s glow

Alone upon art’s breasted seeing
infants whisper blessings
to a brown madonna just watching

The
night
is so
painfully
blue
that
my
chest
becomes
a cave
of melody.

Cars
exchange
blue
places
like chess
pieces
castling.

The moon
hears the
blue
dreams
of you
that
string
from my
fingers,
& bursts
with
desire.

I watch
planes
crisscross
the tube
of indigo,
but I
don't
care -

you aren't
on one
of them,
yet.

No, not castling, but
a monarchial chess
move, away from her
sobjects of whom many
have had enough of
being ruled from behind
and thus envisage an
opportunity to rid the
queen from the board.

      Permanently!

The queens gambit
was not castling, it's
the endgame counts
and one learns more
from loosing a game
than winning this is
why the plandemic
is a pyrrhic proposal.

Statues are but pawns, front
row resistance beginning to
collapse, next come the rooks
knights, bishops, eventually
the source of all our problems
the Monarch, ultimate symbol
of racism, suppression, greed,
antagonism, privilege, scorn.
The thunderbolt is coming as
Capablanca plays for the blacks
the Queens gambit nor castling
will prevent the Check Mate.