"chessboard" poems
The city is a grid
of lights projected
by man-made mountains
built of glass and steel;
they reflect, distorted
off the glass surface
of Lake Michigan.
Good morning
The sun rises
with heavy-eyed commuters,
homes filling with
the smell of coffee;
yesterday’s events are
brought inside, rolled
up in a blue plastic bag.
Soon the traffic on the Dan Ryan
will turn the stretch of road
into a temporary parking lot.
Life enters the veins
of downtown;
it heads down Michigan Avenue
to the heart of The Loop.
The ferris wheel at Navy Pier
begins to turn hypnotically,
attracting all walks of life.
A Muslim passes a Christian
on the street;
they smile at each other;
their backgrounds don’t matter.
Someone is calling;
someone is answering.
Today is the best day for one,
the worst day for another.
The day does its job to go on
Chicago fills its lungs,
then exhales life back home.
The sun colors buildings,
traces of day
to be soon replaced
by the form of lit office windows.
From a plane passing over,
the grid is a chessboard
waiting for the next day,
the next game.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 2:07 AM UTC
All of the moves on a
chessboard of which
the permutations are
infinite, have been
witnessed at Camp-
Nou by the G.O.A.T.
Upon hillside tracks
and mountain passes
where herds pasture
on unsure footings at
cliffs edge in all types
of weather is the Goat.
Think of a goalkeeper
waiting for an indirect
free out of vision from
behind a wall of players,
imagine the thoughts-----
between predator & prey.
................
|˚ |
| |
Tribute to Lionel Messi
Barcelona on his 7th Balon D'or.
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 6:20 AM UTC
it's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse
a woman, a
tire that's flat, a
disease, a
desire: fears in front of you,
fears that hold so still
you can study them
like pieces on a
chessboard...
it's not the large things that
send a man to the
madhouse. death he's ready for, or
****** ****** robbery, fire, flood...
no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to the
madhouse...
not the death of his love
but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left ...
The dread of life
is that swarm of trivialities
that can **** quicker than cancer
and which are always there -
license plates or taxes
or expired driver's license,
or hiring or firing,
doing it or having it done to you, or
roaches or flies or a
broken hook on a
screen, or out of gas
or too much gas,
the sink's stopped-up, the landlord's drunk,
the president doesn't care and the governor's
crazy.
light switch broken, mattress like a
porcupine;
$105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at
sears roebuck;
and the phone bill's up and the, market's
down
and the toilet chain is
broken,
and the light has burned out -
the hall light, the front light, the back light,
the inner light; it's
darker than hell
and twice as
expensive.
then there's always ***** and ingrown toenails
and people who insist they're
your friends;
there's always that and worse;
leaky faucet, Christ and Christmas;
blue salami, 9 day rains,
50 cent avocados
and purple
liverwurst.
or making it
as a waitress at norm's on the split shift,
or as an emptier of
bedpans,
or as a car wash or a busboy
or a stealer of old lady's purses
leaving them screaming on the sidewalks
with broken arms at the age of 80.
suddenly
2 red lights in your rear view mirror
and blood in your
underwear;
toothache, and $979 for a bridge
$300 for a gold
tooth,
and China and Russia and America, and
long hair and short hair and no
hair, and beards and no
faces, and plenty of zigzag but no
*** except maybe one to **** in
and the other one around your
gut.
with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
thing
enters a
madhouse.
so be careful
when you
bend over.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
The Persian Chessboard
as the story goes, it happend in Persia
could have been India, or even in China
the King was bored, so he looked for someone wiser
the Grand Vizier, being the principle advisor
entertain me the King said, challenge my senses
I need something different, I'm tired of burning fences
the Vizier scratched his chin, and stared straight ahead
how about a new game, where you have to use your head
we'll use moving pieces, on black and white squares
the King will be the major piece, the rest nobody cares
capture the opponents King, to make him surrender
be careful of the others, the ones who are pretender
we can call it 'shahmat', or death to the King
and when this death is proclaimed, everybody sing
the final move is checkmate, there will be no place to run
the game sometimes in real life, the loser had no fun
the pawns and the knights, each one fell to the side
eventually then an added piece, the King's special bride
the Queen was entered in, she also had some power
she was just as deadly, cutthroat behind you in the shower
the King was very pleased, he granted Vizier a treasure
he told him, pick your price, anything you pleasure
the Vizier tried to trick the King, he made mistake instead
the game lived on and on, but the Vizier turned up dead
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:17 PM UTC
we long for what we can't give. (title for now) I long to converse with you without our words turning to anger, but still we find ourselves standing at opposite ends of a verbal battle. I long to spend time with you, without it turning into a confrontation, but we still stand at opposite ends of the chessboard. I have longed to hold you, even close, but you kept me at arms length; both physically and mentally. I try to do right by you but I always seem to fail, like a child blindfolded in a dark room who was asked to distinguish between colors. You ask for passion, almost like that of two star crossed lovers who have stolen a single night for themselves. But the many times I've tried to express it, the passion was unreturned like a lover waiting under the stars for a soul that seems will never arrive. I've waited for the happiness that is supposed to come from two hearts joined as one, and yet I'm filled with a sadness that comes from a pain of a solitary beating vessel. I have asked you for affection, that of a caring mate that says "I love you" without words, and here I find myself unknowing of a speechless love, for when I'm in pain I can't feel you there holding me. I hope for a strong open mind, one that can not only stand up for her beliefs, but also admit to the mistakes that befall all human beings. Yet, for you to see your errors would mean for you to admit your faults and imperfections, which your pride may never accept. I simply ask for a companion that would take the time to understand me and love me for my imperfections; for I know I carry many with me. However that effort and understanding has not been received from you. And even though I've had all these obstacles in the way, I've tried to love you with every drop of blood that pumps through my veins, but no longer can I shed tears for your sorrows, or bleed for your pain, for it is as if my heart has pumped its last drop of my pain.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 9:19 PM UTC
Chessboard 's out
you move your Queen
to face my Knight
the last blackbird
is singing in the night
& the coffee's grown cold
my pawn eats
your King & you
sigh and shake your head
& show me a postcard
from Istanbul as we
decide to take a break
the summer is dying
the telephone sings
but we don't answer
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
*Like pieces on a chessboard
I took a leap of faith
Taking my destiny in my hands
Challenging uncertainties of fate...*
© Raphael Uzor
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
Shadow of life
Always has your back.
Loves your reflection of character in the sun.
It accepts your flaws and splendors.
It wishes it can remember your actions.
It can't cause it has no brain.
Only you can remember what you've done.
It's underneath your control
It feels lonely without some light in your life.
It knows a new day will be around.
It's seen in every direction like a Queen.
It's on a chessboard wondering where you want to go.
It wishes it can touch you.
It wishes it can make you king.
It wishes it can help you with your ambitions
It can't cause it knows it takes time.
It understands confidence.
I loves to walk with you.
It loves to run with you.
It follows you when your in love.
It wishes it can wipe your tears
It can't, but it acknowledges your pain.
It loves to be hugged.
It loves when you hug your soulmate.
It questions if he, or she is the right one.
It loves when you drink coffee.
It wants to feel energized and alive.
It watches when you drink alcohol.
It dislikes you when you pass out.
It loves when you stay hydrated.
It knows, i't wont help it's shadowy skin.
It wishes it can take care of you when you're sick.
It can't but it knows you are the doctor at heart.
It knows when you become young and old.
It knows, it will vanish when you're dead.
It wishes to see you in heaven someday.
It wishes it can hug you when your in solitude.
It can't comfort you, but knows you need someone.
It Comprehends your exertion.
It wishes it can move again, cause it's your friend.
It wishes it can talk, and meet your new friends and shadows.
It can't but it's comfortable with who you have in your life.
It wishes you can give it a name.
It knows you can keep the same same, or change it.
It misses you when you are sleeping.
It wishes it can get rid of the monster under the bed.
It can't get rid of the monster, but it knows you grow.
It wishes it can fight for you.
It can't fight your battles, but it will cheer for you.
It wishes it can take care of you.
When you can't take care of yourself.
It doesn't want you to be afraid.
Cause then you are afraid of yourself.
It loves you for who you are, so don't run.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
I am made of infatuation, shame and forever gloom
You could not fall
This is not the chessboard of your dreams
No pawn makes—
No bishop makes
The queen takes, is taken an equal
This is not an aisle of rebirth
Or some sombre remembrance
It halts, it halts
The numbers lessen
I did not abandon, I am still here
Yet, a halt lingers
Like death stuck on the precipice of throat
A life of a single lifetime of a thought
I am energy, a little restless
But restless so out of the nature of self
Like the eye of a rook
On the king through a rook
A stupor unblinking
Like the sharpening of a dream
The knight-slide like an Arabian sword
The king scuttles
Rook takes rook, king takes rook
I fancied myself a manly dream
But it doesn’t work like that, does it—
The game writes, and children play
Now I wait the shameful minutes away
(And I watch your hands, so patient, simple
Say, are you dead or pleased?)
And I watch your hands
I should’ve looked up when I had the chance
Now the brooding leaves
And my eye hardens
Father, you have won
With a dream so well, you played just right
I should have not worshipped the pawns like that
Oct 1, 2022
Oct 1, 2022 at 6:09 AM UTC
each bird has its own branch and i am alone now
in mid-february midnight desolation
under a web of stars white as salt and just as plentiful
waiting on the celestial cyclist to bring the dawn across
my face and scorch the cool wet grass
tonight the clouds are arranged like a chessboard
a cosmic design in darkness and light
and i am a crippled pawn meditating with
with my pants off and my naked feet
in the sand of a north florida crossroads
trying to lose my own gravity and merge
with the stars cloaked in maniac faith
and american sweat
i'm waiting to be found by a bush doctor
with my head filled and floating like a nitrous balloon
under a canopy of hi-frequency bats
and the infinite disco ball hoping
this mighty poem might expand
time and fill space
i am no longer a jail cell poet starving
and pacing like a goldfish in an orange jumpsuit
the miraculous sunbreak has touched my deepest cells
hypnotized my life and caught
the tears on the right side of my face
i am a bee trembling in sunlight
salute me
i hope there is a mild breeze today
to dance sensually with my drifter's spirit
and swirl blond hair and pure cotton against
the sky at the top of this abandoned railroad bridge
covered in rust
all the sudden i am singing radically
about overcoming cosmic humiliation
bruise-purple tongue unhitched and lilting
long throat curled up toward the sun
as the birds and deer stand dumbfounded in the clearing
the sound resonates in my gut as my big white
teeth slam together
in this devout moment among
my share of god's abundance
i am only approximately human
one with the smell of living trees
dancing on the salad hillside
big eyes birthed inside sunset colors
soaked in warm honey with toes
twitching above the imagined
fire at my feet
when the singing stops and
the sun goes down i melt
back into my own temporal lobe
caressed by a butterfly finally
able to sleep
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
my mother is like the queen
she is the queen of everything
but in the sense that all that matters is reputation and
i am merely a means to an end.
i am the pawn on the chessboard
and she likes to play with her pawns carved out hollow,
brittle shells on the edge of breaking.
she likes the power of holding a fragile heart in her hands
to nurture and then destroy as she sees fit
for her own entertainment.
is it still my fault i turned out the way i am?
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 1:05 AM UTC
Enter: Insecure like your neighbor's router.
The girl next door vs. an identity crisis
Caught in the torment of her name
Konfusion
The Konstantine of your dreams
In a nightmare of reality
The relationship
She fell out of
To follow a polluted path
To become
A misled materialized martyr
After
He says to her,
Something misogynistic
about her role
Or what he thinks he can control
To put her in her place
She's just a pawn on his chessboard
Never a Queen he should be fighting for
Using her body as a human shield
to avenge his own shadows
Exploited.
This is their daily
He's the blade
And she's the self-harm
Tracing the anti-battlescars
Writing love on her arms
Just when the knife couldn't cut any deeper
Somewhere between
Too far
And fillet o' soul
She had enough
but didn't break
Just felt her ego pull
Broken/Free
She packed her eternal baggage
And hit the runway
Running on the emptiness inside.
Fueled by frustrations
To keep the fire burning
Before she doused herself in the elixir
A hungry ghost
purging patience
In spite of everything
Soon to be made up
And lined up for the onslaught
Led to slaughter what dignity she has left
She says, "Oh, but I'll show him now. I'm not his precious little prize"
...
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
This life is a big chessboard,
You are the only pawn on your side.
It is your call what you be,
You can be any of the many pawns.
Take care what to choose,
You be a pawn star, not a pornstar.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
you don't see life as a game of skill
playing hopscotch on the
white and black checkers
reaching out to infinity with their
comforting symmetry
and severe geometry
you say you're unobservant
but how can you look down
at your calloused mud-caked feet
and not see the
chessboard that is pressing
just as stiffly against your feet
as you reach down
and root yourself into it
burying your head in
the world of fantasy games
without winner or loser
i envy your blissful ignorance
your hope
however misplaced
do you simply refuse to see
how every pensive move
rook to E7
knight to C5
seems to me not an attack
on the mockingly vulnerable king
but an action of
vicious hostility towards
the most powerful piece on the board
so the queen enacts
her equal and opposite
reaction
to slash the entire cosmos to ribbons
an infinite fury of blind terror
that seeks blood
and scavenges the last flesh
clinging to bone.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
light my fuse on fire and set me aflame
watch as you singlehandedly set me ablaze
what is it like to watch me burn, baby?
I'm no better than cinder, ashes in an urn.
lately I feel just like charcoal residue,
remember when I was sweet and wet like honeydew?
do you remember when I was good to you?
how much longer can we pretend?
that we know when this war will end,
I can't express how badly I miss my best friend.
charging towards each other from opposing ends of a battlefield,
no matter how much I beg,
your sword you will not yield.
pull out your guitar and play a chord
I don’t know how much longer I can afford
to run around on this chessboard
moving pawns and rooks
when we should be swimming in ponds,
and reading books.
thoroughly covered in brambles
I‘ll wait as you amble
who knew we could get so tangled in something we thought we could handle?
we’re filled with pride and jealousy,
resentment and envy too
how can we come back from this?
what did we lose?
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 8:21 PM UTC
The world is my chessboard.
The people are my pawns.
Moved to acquire my needs.
Everyone is just a piece,
In this cruel game.
I play them as I should.
Moving slowly and carefully.
Making my way to the checkmate.
Everyone has a part to play.
Mother and father, the Queen and King.
Brother and Sister, Knights.
Teachers, Bishops.
Friends, Rooks.
All just apart of the game.
Even me, the ruler of it all.
Fate as my opponent.
Conquering all the pieces of the game.
That's all it is.
Just a game.
And I will win!
When it comes to the end
And all my pawns are played
The words will slip off of my tongue.
The words that end it all.
My final command.
Checkmate
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
Capri
roofless cubes, spidery with wire,
cakes of azure and enzian;
above at the Villa San Michele
Rilke smiles down at the broken beaches,
coves of defiant waves, compacted sea
Pompeii
a chessboard of honest stones
open to a sky of hushed shouts;
we huddle in a ***** frame
of another life, a stopped day
Napoli
warm and secret, olive-eyed
you make a new face
as we gaze from a bus:
an act of moment
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
You know things are wrong,
when you see yourself
as nothing more than a game piece
when you see him
as the player controlling your moves.
There's something wrong with society
when all you see is a chessboard
but no one playing.
That's not true though,
that no one is playing,
because there will always be him --
moving a knight to block her path,
using the queen to scare her into his arms.
She's check-mated into a corner
and doesn't even realize it
because he's got one hand playing her
and the other up her friend's skirt.
But I can't look away,
because everywhere I turn
is another game being played.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Orange rinds and coffee grinds
Take me back to easy Sunday afternoons
Playing chess with former churchgoers in your tiny café.
I met a man who didn't believe in God
But instead put his faith into the Queen
"She protects" he'd say after ousting another piece of mine
"He forgets" he'd mumble as an afterthought, directed at no one.
But as it goes one fateful day
Student surpassed teacher
And didn't think twice about killing the Queen.
As if a bomb detonated just within the cappuccino brown walls
The chessboard flung against the wall
Causalities flying in all directions
A porcelain blood bath.
He left in a hurried huff
All owl eyes all snapped in my direction
I sat frozen -- shocked.
You broke the trance
Kneeled down to pick up the fallen Queen
Placed Her Royal Majesty in my right hand
Placed a free coffee on my table.
The café resumed it's normal character
Scattered chatter and newspaper shuffling
I took a sip of the burnished brown liquid
Tasted a hint of bitter citrus
And came to conclude that there exists a distinct conflict between
Power and Empathy.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
I'm your pawn
Usesless and used
But I don't seem to mind.
You're my king
My everything
But now...
You have your Queen
I've tried Knights in shining armour
All have been quite a charmer
But I would still do anything for you
Even though you have no clue
Maybe one day
I'll make it to the end of the board
And I'll be your Queen
But then again
That only happens in my dreams
'Cause I'll always be your pawn
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC