The kings of backgammon, descendants of
Bulgarian kings and Austro-Hungarian princes
Russian counts and countesses, Czech barons
Your ancestors have seen better days.
They accepted their fate as the natural state of affairs
And when it turned out to be just a fickle fortune
They had the nurture and tact not to show their shock,
Though usually such a ruthless discovery crushes many.
Now, as you spend your days playing backgammon in smoky cafes
You rarely remember the fragments of days gone by.
You've learnt to rejoice in trifling victories, and not to be disheartened by losses.
The descendants of exiled kings and ruined nobles
They organise championships of sad joy
The winner owes a round of beer for everyone.
The new Russian opposition makes the right acquaintances
Just like the old one did a hundred years ago
And in their later years, they all convert to Catholicism
Since Orthodox churches don't have pews
At least with Catholics you can doze off unnoticed
With a sniff of incense through the candle light.
Some folks think their advice alone will suffice
But I’m inclined to seek a second opinion --
On a few occasions, I’ve sought some thrice.
I don’t think getting more knowledge is a vice,
Even if solicited from a friend or companion
Some folks think their advice alone will suffice.
When I receive excellent advice, it is so nice
Receiving affirmation improves my disposition
On a few occasions, I’ve sought some thrice.
Of course, for good counsel one pays a price
Especially from a professional to reexamine
Some folks think their advice alone will suffice!
Opinions? -- sometimes it’s a toss of the dice
Like playing a competitive game of backgammon
On a few occasions, I’ve sought some thrice.
It’s probably not good to ask an expert twice
Seeking more advice doesn’t bring on a famine,
Some folks think their advice alone will suffice
On a few occasions, I’ve sought some thrice.
written April 22, 2022
America First is our creed
Let’s use all we can at warp speed
It’s great when we play
And make foreigners pay
While from any debt we get freed.
One person alone can consume
A few things in a big stockroom
But acting en masse
Generates greenhouse gas
As an off-the-books toxic plume
While this crisis might us annoy
Hate adds considerable joy
Disease and famine
Are fun like backgammon
And entertain the hoi-polloi
Poison water and land does create
Strange meals to eat and hydrate
It’s not much concern
Since our goal to discern
Is a country made again great?
It makes us feel safe after all
The structure we worship that’s tall
Since immigrants scare
Private water and air
Need tombstones arranged as a wall.
Two chains in our DNA linked
Give humans a code quite distinct
But with a god’s mind
We’ve become strangely blind
To who’s next to end up extinct
‘Oh I say isn’t this spiffing or what?’
says Jeremy taking the horse for a trot.
It will be pheasant for dinner which the butler will sort
followed by Havana cigars and a nice drop of port
in the billiard room where the gentlemen play,
then a nice game of backgammon if it’s on a Wednesday.
The silver spoon in his mouth means he speaks rather strange,
words like golly gosh, old bean- all rather deranged.
The Rolls will be cleaned for a trip to the course
where golf will be played in tidy plus fours.
Then it's off to the cricket with the boys for a jolly,
joined by stock brokers and bankers with plenty of lolly!
It’s lunch at the Ivy or tea at the Ritz
all terribly posh, just like St Moritz
where his chalet will tend to the winter delight,
skiing with royalty on champagne powder of white.
The hallway displays portraits of the old,
founders of industry which took hold
securing old money to ensure a liquidity
where one will never face financial humility.
Nothingness fills every inch of me
abominable sensations crawl from deepest recesses
anxiety lunges at me – clawing at the soul
already battle-weary, depleted…
Mortalities plague my waking moments
ungodly images rouse the mind to endless tortures
trepidation ignites every nerve – electrocuting me from within
conflagration, inferno…
Fractured surfaces blind me with incandescent lies
obscuring the truth behind enigmatic imaginations
dread and death roll the dice – a game of backgammon
double six, double one…
Frantic hands smudge the tears that cascade down paralysed marble
leaving stained trails in their wake excavated through frustration and pain…
A splintered glimmer breaks the void -
there is hope…
Copyright Deon J.H. Burger 2017
Black plays red in age old battle
A click or two as dice are shaken.
Collect your thoughts before moving
Keeping a close eye on the count.
Gammon could be on the cards
As you counter move against Red.
Much jubilation as you hit a stone
Marching Red quickly to the bar.
Oh no, back in with a vengeance
Now Black becomes the under dog.
Pocket knives, tape measures.
An extensive collection of coins.
Nails, screws, numerous sizes, and sets
of nail clippers, files, polishes and brushes.
Shoes, always shoes. And dresses.
Shirts and ties. Loud and quiet.
The sick and the dead are forever quiet,
never quite quiet. Our solicitude's unnecessary.
Playing cards, backgammon games,
chess. Every move's a variation on the next.
And so it is with words, numbers,
shapes and sizes. Feet and hands,
knees and eyes. Why and where and how won't matter
once we've divided the bags of clothes
among the poor and destitute. It's not too hard
to laugh too hard. The son and daughter deliver them
and then go home. Letters, wallets, clocks and watches.
Photographs in which the name and face don't match.
Remnants of Love
Nearly ten years since you were called away,
yet still I recall as yesterday your touch,
Your smile, your sense of fun and joy with life.
I remember you playing your guitar, singing along.
You cooking a gourmet meal with great a-plume.
Sharing a bottle of wine over cards or backgammon.
You filled my life with the sunshine of love as
together we shared glances at a humorous joke.
We shared daily strife's with practiced ease
facing each and all together standing strong.
Still I feel your touch in night's shadows
as you softly flit by reminding me of us.
Lonely now is life as I travel onwards,
none can take your place within my heart.
Some good men have tried, yet they can never
be you or be able to share life with your ghost.
Yet as I pause, remembering all you taught me
and experiences we had together I am happy.
Sometimes in life less is indeed far more
now I treasure the memories we made together
written 08/26/2014
contest True Love #2
I loved you because
Your voice was the first thing I heard
I loved you because
You were the one I preferred
I loved you because
You were kind and respectful
I loved you because
My present husband was dreadful
I loved you because
We had so much in common
I loved you because
You played backgammon
I loved you because
You took an interest in my daughter
I loved you because
You become her friend first then her father
I loved you because
You accept my life
I loved you because you made me
Your wife
I taught you to play Candy Land
I love you like a sister
So I'm gonna come out straight with this
'bout you and dreamboat mister.
Your friends have started talking
they're getting rather bored
They're tired of your disposing them
when you see him at the door.
Popcorn kernel, they're calling you
He indulges his urge for a snack
and heats you up, you emerge full bloom
to be swallowed up, entirely consumed.
Thirteen was near two lives ago
It's not precious at thirty-four
To moon and swoon and let his whim
decide what kind of mood you're in.
He's playing you like a yo-yo
pogo stickin' it to you
better watch your backgammon
and put on your poker face.
Go out and paint the town
I'll help you, ruby red!
We'll dance and sing and laugh and fling
that boy right outa your head.