Chessmen
CHAFING on flags of ebony and pearl,
My paladins are waiting. Loops of smoke
Stoop slowly from the coffee-cups, and curl
In thin fantastic patterns down the room
By cabinets of chinaware, to whirl
With milky-blue tobacco-steam, and fume
Together past our pipes, outside the door.
Soon may we lounge in silence, O my friend,
Behind those carven men-at-arms of chess
Dyed coral-red with dragon's blood, and spend
The night with noiseless warfare. Queens and rooks
With chiselled ivory warriors must contend
And counter-plots from old Arabian books
Be conjured to the march of knights and pawns.
poem by Kenneth Slessor
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Related quotes
The Game Of Chess
Red knights, brown bishops, bright queens,
Striking the board, falling in strong ‘L's of
colour.
Reaching and striking in angles,
holding lines in one colour.
This board is alive with light;
these pieces are living in form,
Their moves break and reform the pattern:
luminous green from the rooks,
Clashing with ‘X's of queens,
looped with the knight-leaps.
‘Y' pawns, cleaving, embanking!
Whirl ! Centripetal ! Mate ! King down in the
vortex,
Clash, leaping of bands, straight strips of hard
colour,
Blocked lights working in. Escapes. Renewal of
contest.
poem by Ezra Pound
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You March On
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
Look back, never, even by mistake
forget, never, the hardships you bore
guide, will be your past deeds of life,
full of pangs on the bed of stake
What holds destiny?
Not to worry?
............Just march on, march on, march on.
Adversities make you a fast learner
Desires are snakes, so be a shirker
search the deep sea to find a pearl
get to the shore, while facing the whirl
Think never to be feeble & meek
deliver everyone from the misdeeds
while truth you seek
clear all hurdles regaining your strength
you will reach the destination
march on...march on....march on.
Carve out your name on the horizon
as your stars are on the ascendant
work towards the goal night and day
be illuminated in such a way
sluggish should appear the milky way
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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The world organization debates disarmament in one room and, in the next room, moves the knights and pawns that make national arms imperative.
quote by E.B. White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Sorrow Leads
You walk in the door no one does anything
Your walk to your room without a word
They say nothing
Their silence is the wound, it is the sword
You take the knife from your table
You slit you wrists and watch the blood drip
They wouldn't help even if they were able
They would just smurk and curve their lip
The blood slowly drips to your bed
This is where sorrow has led
For tomorrow you will be dead
Your eyes search for answers, they look deep
The knife shines red, as you turn it
Tonight you will forever sleep
The room is lightly lit
Tomorrow will never come
This you know
A distant horror for most yet a dream for some
Some say it's black as night others as white as snow
The blood slowly drips to your bed
This is where sorrow has led
For tomorrow you will be dead
Your mind is filled with pain
Waiting, waiting for a sign
The lamb will rest with the lion head on his maine
You think as you watch 'I know no future, but this is mine.'
Your heart beats it's last beats
Your eye lids close and your head falls
It is the creator you will meet
When you think this you smiles and then your heart stalls
The blood slowly drips to the bed
This is where sorrow has led
For now you are dead.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Youre Missing
Shirts in the closet, shoes in the hall
Mamas in the kitchen, baby and all
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But youre missing
Coffee cups on the counter, jackets on the chair
Papers on the doorstep, but youre not there
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But youre missing
Pictures on the nightstand, tvs on in the den
Your house is waiting, your house is waiting
For you to walk in, for you to walk in
But youre missing, when I shut out the lights
Youre missing, when I close my eyes
Youre missing, when I see the sun rise
Youre missing
Children are asking if its alright
Will you be in our arms tonight?
Morning is morning, the evening falls I got
Too much room in my bed, to many phone calls
Hows everything, everything?
Everything, everything
Youre missing, youre missing
Gods drifting in heaven, devils in the mailbox
I got dust on my shoes, nothing but teardrops
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chess Like That? (Mumbai 2008)
Just another round of the chess game
Rooks and bishops fall dead on the board
Apolitical horses have gone lame
As the dead count to a hundred soared
Black and white squares are now bloody red
Grieve for the pawns who've been blown up dead
Regroup, restart, this political game
Plot a quick 'rechauffe' of the same
And then fix a duel of nuclear kings-
For aren't your motives, just a chess thing?
-
(Written December 10,2008 Tarlac City Philippines)
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Red Dragon Tattoo
Monday gonna take a ride on
The n train down to coney island
With the money I saved
Gonna get me engraved
Drink down a lot of basil hayden
Get kicked out when I cant see straight and
What an island can be on
Under the neon
Red dragon tattoo
Is just about on me
I got it for you
So now do you want me
With nothing to prove
Will you be my honey, oh yeah
In you I confide
Red dragon tattoo
Im fit to be dyed
Am I fit to have you
I hear the man say you want to see the others
A mermaid and a heart that says mother
But I dont know from maritime
And I never did hard time
I brought a .38 special cd collection
Some bactine to prevent infection
And in case I get queasy
A photo of easy rider
Red dragon tattoo
Is just about on me
I got it for you
So now do you want me
With nothing to prove
Will you be my honey, oh yeah
In you I confide
Red dragon tattoo
Im fit to be dyed
Am I fit to have you
Will you stop pretending Ive never been born
Now I look a little more like that guy from korn
If you came a little bit closer
Youd see it isnt painted on
Oh no no no
Red dragon tattoo
Is just about on me
I got it for you
So now do you want me
With nothing to prove
Will you be my honey, oh yeah
In you I confide
Red dragon tattoo
Im fit to be dyed
Am I fit to have you
In you I confide
Red dragon tattoo
Im fit to be dyed
Am I fit to have you
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ah! You Didn't Know?
In an evening of events,
He and I met together
In the City-Coffee House
And broke the silence of a millennium
Over a steaming-cup of coffee.
He spoke and I listened.
Slowly I discovered
The iron-gates of the castle-in-ruins
Opened up with a crackle before my eyes
And the rusty past shed its darkness
To a shining glory.
He identified the strange and precious gems
Stored in the womb of the ruins
And I, on my part, recognised them
In their antique glory.
Encouraged by his profound knowledge
And sense of beauty I thought;
I could at least show him
The mundane vapours
Flying from the hot cup of coffee.
He observed them,
And admonishing me for
My idiocy, said:
“You thought they’re ordinary vapours,
Nay, they are ephemeral curls of steam
Heading upwards
Like benign souls! ”
And further added
“These curls of steam are cycles
Of birth and death,
You didn’t know”?
I said, “No, I didn’t know,
Now that you said,
I know.”
An Invitation.
She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor
and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall
Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away
and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs
to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in
and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?
tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said
and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down
he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat
was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day
she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit
like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in
with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa
and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile
then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine
and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down
and began talking
about the night
he had met her
and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited
him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink
and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him
and made him laugh
and how after that
they'd all meet
on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband
had invited him
to their place
to play chess
and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting
her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often
and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand
on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine
and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him
and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting
on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.
poem by Terry Collett
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Life is Chess
Lets play a game of chess
A game that could bring about stress
A game that could also depress
If you strive to win without success
Chess is life Kasporov said
Thats what l thought off when l went to bed
Its funny you have a king and a queen
That represents a whole lot of things
Marriage, Politics, love and dont forget natures law
While the bishop goes with religion
The knights go to war to represent the nation
And the pawns march on like soldiers without a choice
But to defend our lives
The castle a wall around our thoughts
A protector for what our identity is worth
Who is behind the strategy
Does the player represent leadership
Are the pieces part of the world
If l draw a game what do l define myself
And if l win am l the supreme
Or is this thought merely too extreme
To play chess better
One has to constantly work harder
Recently l have acquired a bag of tricks
Which comes with experience
And while l play
I sometimes pray for luck
Which sometimes works
Such is the representation of real life
A queen so strong is sometimes sacrificed
While a king with only one move to his name
Is always the last to stay in the game
Thats goes to show that life is unfair
With all the pain and suffering that women bear
Life is Chess
I have to confess
© Sylvia Chidi- 17 October 2005
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Ebony And Ivory
EBONY & IVORY"
Words & Music by Paul McCartney
Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect harmony
side by side on my piano keyboard, oh Lord, why don't we?
We all know that people are the same where ever we go
There is good and bad in ev'ryone,
we learn to live, we learn to give
each other what we need to survive together alive.
Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect harmony
side by side on my piano keyboard, oh Lord why don't we?
Ebony, ivory living in perfect harmony
Ebony, ivory, ooh
We all know that people are the same where ever we go
There is good and bad in ev'ryone,
we learn to live, we learn to give
each other what we need to survive together alive.
Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect harmony
side by side on my piano keyboard, oh Lord why don't we?
Ebony, ivory living in perfect harmony (repeat and fade)
----------------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Regular John
Who are you girl?
Who are you boy?
Bet I know what your up to
Can I come along?
Your home numbers on the wall
I just had to call...had to
I'm not the only one who will
Run with a knife
Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms
Third 16th Sunday
2:16 Sunday night
Where's your daddy now?
I heard he went away
Who are you girl?
Cause i'm so bored with myself
Anyway...anytime...anyplace
I just hang around
Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms
Third 16th Sunday
2:16 Sunday night
Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms
Open up your door
Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms
song performed by by Queens Of The Stone Age from Queens Of The Stone Age
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So you are back reading this poem again
I see you sitting alone in a coffee shop
Two cups of coffee now, just to pass the hours away
Waiting for nobody
You pretend
Busy with your wireless laptop
Typing some words
Looking at the road beyond the glass walls
Cars keep passing by
Not one is stopping
Shall you pretend some more
That any of those cars is the inspiration
Of your write-up for today?
Okay, you are into advocacies for women
For the underprivileged
For the kids
For those who do not know how to smile
But let me suggest
As you read this poem
Back to my arms again
This time
Take more time with me
In this game
Of loneliness this passion for boredom
Have compassion to both
Of us-lonely souls searching meanings
In laptops in coffeehouses on more
Cups of coffee
I am taking the mug, it is bigger
And its holding effect is a little longer
And some cigars this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bom, Boom, Boom, Boom
If you're alone and you need a friend
Someone to make you forget your problems
Just come along baby
Take my hand
I'll be your lover tonight
This is what I wanna do
Let's have some fun
What I want is me and you
Boom boom boom boom
I want you in my room
Let's spend the night together
From now until forever
Boom boom boom boom
I wanna do the boom
Let's spend the night together
Together in my room
Everybody get on down
The Vengaboys are back in town
This is what I wanna do
Let's have some fun
What I want is me and you
Boom boom boom boom
I want you in my room
Let's spend the night together
From now until forever
Boom boom boom boom
I wanna do the boom
Let's spend the night together
Together in my room
Boom boom boom boom
I want you in my room
Let's spend the night together
From now until forever
Boom boom boom boom
I wanna do the boom
Let's spend the night together
Together in my room
Boom boom boom boom
I want you in my room
Let's spend the night together
From now until forever
song performed by by Vengaboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Days From Knowing
(gillian welch/matt rollings)
Now the nights turned pink
On the eastern edges
But the sky is cold and still
And I wonder if its the sunrise
Warning the desert
Or the lights of tucson from over the hill
Its a hard way to love you
This long distance romance
Always stopping and starting again
I dont mind the miles
When im out on the highway
But even when im with you the miles just dont end
And im two days from knowing
Whether I can be strong
If I spend one more night in your arms
So ive a mind to keep going
And drive right past your door
But im two days from knowing for sure
As the night closes down
It fills the horizon
And stretches it out at the seams
And im not sure if tomorow
Im gonna be any closer
To closing the distance between you and me
And im two days from knowing
Whether I can be strong
If I spend one more night in your arms
So ive a mind to keep going
And drive right past your door
But im two days from knowing for sure
Well ive a mind to keep going
And drive right past your door
But im two days from knowing for sure
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pipe and Can
I
THE Indian weed withered quite;
Green at morn, cut down at night;
Shows thy decay: all flesh is hay:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
And when the smoke ascends on high,
Think thou behold'st the vanity
Of worldly stuff, gone with a puff:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
But when the pipe grows foul within,
Think of thy soul defiled with sin,
And that the fire doth it require:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
The ashes, that are left behind,
May serve to put thee still in mind
That unto dust return thou must:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
II
WHEN as the chill Charokko blows,
And Winter tells a heavy tale;
When pyes and daws and rooks and crows
Sit cursing of the frosts and snows;
Then give me ale.
Ale in a Saxon rumkin then,
Such as will make grimalkin prate;
Bids valour burgeon in tall men,
Quickens the poet's wit and pen,
Despises fate.
Ale, that the absent battle fights,
And frames the march of Swedish drum,
Disputes with princes, laws, and rights,
What 's done and past tells mortal wights,
And what 's to come.
Ale, that the plowman's heart up-keeps
And equals it with tyrants' thrones,
That wipes the eye that over-weeps,
And lulls in sure and dainty sleeps
Th' o'er-wearied bones.
Grandchild of Ceres, Bacchus' daughter,
Wine's emulous neighbour, though but stale,
Ennobling all the nymphs of water,
And filling each man's heart with laughter--
Ha! give me ale!
The Frontier-Land
YOU of the past, are you present?
Draw nearer! my heart is sore.
Was yours the fall of the foot in the hall?
Was yours the face at the door?
As I lifted my eyes I saw you;
You vanished, and all was still;
And only outside the white owl cried,
And the moon stared over the hill.
Wan-blue were your eyes, O Shadow,
And paler your aspect than seems
The mystical star, that glimmers afar
In a land of mysterious dreams.
O Shadow, the past is present,
And empty your coffin and tomb;
Draw near, draw near, chill child of fear,
From the frontier-land of Gloom!
Did you know that I loved you, Shadow?
Did you guess whence the violets came?
And the delicate heart with its Cupid dart,
All opal and ruby-flame?
Ah, once brown-gold were the lashes
That shadowed your dreaming eyes,
And your teeth were pearl 'neath the coral curl
Of twin portals of Paradise.
And warmer your cheeks were and softer
(Alas, they are pale and cold!)
Than the rose of the East, or the wine of the feast
Red-rimming its carven gold.
It was all so sad, O Shadow,
And you faded away so soon,
Like a note that flies, and fades, and dies
Ere it grows to a golden tune.
Gone! utterly gone, O Shadow;
No whisper, no word let fall;
No light is shed, and the moon is dead,
And a chill creeps up the hall.
I shall follow and follow you, Shadow,
Till the sun, remote and red,
Burns like a spark, and dim and dark
Rise up the hosts of the dead.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Quiet Lodger
The man that rooms next door to me:
Two weeks ago, this very night,
He took possession quietly,
As any other lodger might--
But why the room next mine should so
Attract him I was vexed to know,--
Because his quietude, in fine,
Was far superior to mine.
'Now, I like quiet, truth to tell,
A tranquil life is sweet to me--
But _this_,' I sneered, 'suits me too well.--
He shuts his door so noiselessly,
And glides about so very mute,
In each mysterious pursuit,
His silence is oppressive, and
Too deep for me to understand.'
Sometimes, forgetting book or pen,
I've found my head in breathless poise
Lifted, and dropped in shame again,
Hearing some alien ghost of noise--
Some smothered sound that seemed to be
A trunk-lid dropped unguardedly,
Or the crisp writhings of some quire
Of manuscript thrust in the fire.
Then I have climbed, and closed in vain
My transom, opening in the hall;
Or close against the window-pane
Have pressed my fevered face,--but all
The day or night without held not
A sight or sound or counter-thought
To set my mind one instant free
Of this man's silent mastery.
And often I have paced the floor
With muttering anger, far at night,
Hearing, and cursing, o'er and o'er,
The muffled noises, and the light
And tireless movements of this guest
Whose silence raged above my rest
Hoarser than howling storms at sea--
The man that rooms next door to me.
But twice or thrice, upon the stair,
I've seen his face--most strangely wan,--
Each time upon me unaware
He came--smooth'd past me, and was gone.
So like a whisper he went by,
I listened after, ear and eye,
Nor could my chafing fancy tell
The meaning of one syllable.
Last night I caught him, face to face,--
He entering his room, and I
Glaring from mine: He paused a space
And met my scowl all shrinkingly,
But with full gentleness: The key
Turned in his door--and I could see
It tremblingly withdrawn and put
Inside, and then--the door was shut.
Then silence. _Silence_!--why, last night
The silence was tumultuous,
And thundered on till broad daylight;--
O never has it stunned me thus!--
It rolls, and moans, and mumbles yet.--
Ah, God! how loud may silence get
When man mocks at a brother man
Who answers but as silence can!
The silence grew, and grew, and grew,
Till at high noon to-day 'twas heard
Throughout the house; and men flocked through
The echoing halls, with faces blurred
With pallor, gloom, and fear, and awe,
And shuddering at what they saw--
The quiet lodger, as he lay
Stark of the life he cast away.
* * * * *
So strange to-night--those voices there,
Where all so quiet was before;
They say the face has not a care
Nor sorrow in it any more--
His latest scrawl:--'Forgive me--You
Who prayed, 'they know not what they do!''
My tears wilt never let me see
This man that rooms next door to me!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Dreeka Dragon’s Crown
Cold blue ice rain falling down,
falling on the dragon’s crown,
Making it sparkle and shimmer real bright,
the rain keeps pouring all through the night.
When Dragon Queen wakes up to see,
she notices crown has one but three,
three stones that where placed there last night,
placed in the crown very just right.
Placed by an elf that is the keeper at the gate,
he is the one who will see the dragon’s fate.
For he knows where the potion is that will break her spell,
he was there the night in which it fell.
For now dragon is waiting against time,
where she will one day rule in her kingdom divine.
(May 21,2011)
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Must i convince you again, if i must, i must
passion, it is the sound of
blankets and
pillows it is the song of
bedroom and
shower that make our hearts
join in the symphony of
the choir of passionate
melodies, remembering and
contemplating
on those satisfied nights
away from the usual crowd
of lonely people,
and so i ask where is the passion now?
what table what space have you
put it? what are those chairs
with no one sitting there?
those cold coffee cups
and burned cigars
a room filled with smoke clearing up
with time
i guess we have a role to play
in this domino of jejune
this long waiting
passion must be reborn in books
and monitors
those poems unwritten
because you have encircled your body
with flimsy arms
fingers melting into water
feet without soles
shoes with molds because of
non usage
dead nails that you have not pulled
or cut
sow the seeds again
on those grassy fertile lands
of forgotten desire
come with me, i am alone in my bed
we can talk and then
decide
what we can fill with those blank spaces
those closed doors
those broken stairs
our eyes may wink again
and be
sympathetic at last....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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