~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tack sa Mycka
Learned chess quite early from a kind uncle who tried
to instill healthy respect for toxic pawns and liver fried,
blind pigs on the seventh and incremental tempo gain.
Patience met with favor, lighfoot attacks with disdain.
Swedish families wisely avoided coddling their young.
Harsh ancestral beaches cleansed the mother tongue.
-gb (Jan.'08)
Note; Cleaned up, tightened and completed the zero draft best I
could. This RHP 2008 Chess Poem Entry is dedicated with respect
and affection to 'a few, a happy few, a band of brothers' (in chess
and in shared fascination with language). You know who you are...
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the back row mate, my son"
The Jabberwock did say
So I moved my f-pawn freeing some
And we continued play
Come on guys, I'm keeping this thread alive all by myself and I'm running out of stuff to plagiarize
Originally posted by Sam The ShamI was thinking The Raven was going to segue into Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the back row mate, my son"
The Jabberwock did say
So I moved my f-pawn freeing some
And we continued play
Come on guys, I'm keeping this thread alive all by myself and I'm running out of stuff to plagiarize
Originally posted by Grampy BobbyHe lifted his arms,
Thanks for bringing the thread back to life with your interesting lines.
-gb
"Mate soon!," he said
As he locked his fingers
Behind his head.
He considered the move
He was soon to make
That would end the struggle.
This victory he'd take.
He arched his back,
Took a satisfied breath,
Then looked at me
Like the spectre of death.
An impish smile
Stretched across his face,
And his eyes rolled back
In a pleased grimace.
"My rook goes here
And takes your queen,
Then my knight jumps to
Where your bishop has been."
I studied the board.
He was quite correct.
His analysis clear.
His calculations checked.
I searched my brain
For the right finesse
A subtle move that would
Display my best.
Then Cassia spoke
My muse! My rhyme!
I pointed to his clock,
"You're out of time."
Originally posted by PolicestateAlas, not mine, but I was entertained, and it is good to share 🙂
He lifted his arms,
"Mate soon!," he said
As he locked his fingers
Behind his head.
He considered the move
He was soon to make
That would end the struggle.
This victory he'd take.
He arched his back,
Took a satisfied breath,
Then looked at me
Like the spectre of death.
An impish smile
Stretched across his face,
And his eyes rolled bac ...[text shortened]...
Then Cassia spoke
My muse! My rhyme!
I pointed to his clock,
"You're out of time."
Oh, to express,
With real success,
And worthy stress,
The heartiness
With which I bless
The Manliness
Of pensive Chess.
For who can guess
The broad excess
Of thoughtfulness
And steadiness
One must possess
For full success
In playing Chess?
And I confess
That no duress,
Nor dire distress,
Can well repress
The eagerness
With which I press
To play at Chess.
No pitiless
Fair sorceress
Could dispossess
By soft caress
By mien or dress
Th' obsequiousness
I owe to chess.
Anon
Originally posted by Rene-ClaudeNiccce.
Oh, to express,
With real success,
And worthy stress,
The heartiness
With which I bless
The Manliness
Of pensive Chess.
For who can guess
The broad excess
Of thoughtfulness
And steadiness
One must possess
For full success
In playing Chess?
And I confess
That no duress,
Nor dire distress,
Can well repress
The eagerness
With which I ...[text shortened]... Could dispossess
By soft caress
By mien or dress
Th' obsequiousness
I owe to chess.
Anon