sw00974s-poem16

Scatterings



Chess


About the game of chess I know: the queen
alone most wields the power--not the knights
(for all their fancy moving), not the bishops
(fervently diagonal), not the rooks
(uniquely armed), and surely not the pawns
(gutsy munchkins)--that moves their king

if, once in battle, moved he'll be, and king
indeed, well served, exalt thereby his queen,
think generously of his loyal pawns,
alive and dead, and his jousting knights,
urged and decorated; his adjutant rooks;
validate the blessings of his bishops

who, false or true, represent Belief; are bishops
to the masses.  Better to be a blessed king,
however dependent upon one's rooks
and the holy mobility of one's queen
and the valors of one's sacred knights
and one's solace in having fearless pawns

no matter they be middling: just pawns,
than one unblessed.  O transcendental bishops,
the thought of whom inspires a kingdom's knights
and clasps a cape of wonder on its king!
But, ah, the eyes of the goddess, the queen,
and the deft straight movements of the deep rooks!

What graces out of these!  Always a rook's
intrigue captures, readying behind the pawns
to be a last defense with the piercing queen
long after, perhaps, the ingenuous bishops
have gone; to be a fortress for its king
after the earth inters his bloodied knights

if not our memories of them.  Those knights
I'd often be, and have, and am; those rooks,
venturing for and enclosing my king,
whoever / whatever; and the squat pawns
too; and the slicing, nebulous bishops;
and that feudal jewel above all, his queen.

Though lost be his knights and squiring pawns
and castling rooks and angling bishops,
what a joyous king with a constant queen!


                                     (10-16-82)



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Brian A. J. Salchert      2008-08-12