Long Chess piece Poems
Long Chess piece Poems. Below are the most popular long Chess piece by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chess piece poems by poem length and keyword.
On Reading Bertrand Russell --
A History of Western Philosophy
copyright date 1945
Trenchant treatise purchased
August 25th, 2020
at Limerick Chapel Book Sale
(in Church gym)
offered old library books
cost 25 cents apiece.
Musty tome
seventy five years out of print
found welcome home
nevertheless mine brown
myopic eyes eagerly roam
affixing knowledge
within fifty plus shades
double fisted size
gray matter with cerebral dome.
Aging long haired pencil necked geek
said storied author I effusively bespeak,
his whose pedantic trademark style
revered analogous to beholding
resplendent riches property
of selfless sheikh.
Impossible mission to describe
intoxicating sensation when
yours truly doth imbibe
superfluous words cannot oversubscribe
most august emotional vibe.
Though agog where euphoria doth alight
each word, sentence, paragraph...
metaphorical tasty bite
read outloud with deliberate delight
(tis akin to kid in candy store)
senses luxuriate across
elapsed millenniums excite
genuine fanciful flight
comfortably numbskull buzzfeeding
until time for goodnight
becoming learned about height
civilizations flourished
food for thought insight
bedazzling mental receptors
as if fingers fondle jadeite
perhaps carved as
chess piece (think) knight
phosphorescence generating light
emanating courtesy enthusiasm
powered thru awesome might
thru simple pleasure reading
me oblivious to approach of night
ever since boyhood reveled within world
printed pages poured splendor
(worth more than fine spun gold) outright
dependable catharsis to ameliorate
most any psychological plight
strong medicine agreeable with
garden variety generic bookworm quite
now if ye will please pardon me
aye venture to experience
remote contra dancing right
fully ceased going since coronavirus (COVID-19),
if curious just access
https://www.thursdaycontra.com/
virtualDance.html website.
My sweetheart, you work like two keys
unlocking my shy tendencies.
Like a chess piece, your presence frees
me from myself – worst enemies.
Your strength brings to mind young oak trees.
Your notches and grooves satisfy
need for attention, you supply.
Then securing our doors whereby
my reluctance you rectify.
On life’s chess board, we’re residents.
Castling’s allowed but your presence
guards our pawns from my reticence.
Life’s holes can still leave me depressed,
but safe in your limbs I find rest.
You lift me high, my steady oak.
Melting in your arms, I unfreeze,
my king, my defense, my great guy.
Your keys fit the lock common sense.
We are a team, we’ve coalesced;
all’s kept in check under your yoke.
written March 29, 2018
My "FAKE" Genealogical Knighthood
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands
hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,
nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,
indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing
fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as
courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,
an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,
lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,
and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
Tell them I'm back
Flying higher than before
They probably can't see me
Cause I'm where their eyes can't see
Now they have to believe
Cause it's only that which would allow them to see
Cause I'm in levels they never knew existed
Levels they can't even imagine
But I can see them
Cause like a good master
I monitor every chess piece
So that the pawn doesn't become the queen
I keep refining the art
And refining my heart
So that I can speak more about it
Cause that's where I speak without holding back
Now they just have to wait
To see what I'll be dropping
Cause I've carried a lot
And now bit by bit they'll see me getting lighter
The PO£T
Macabre icicles dangle from Winter’s chandelier, chilling
the chamber of the queen, lachrymose lighting for dears.
Children feel her icy breath against their cherub cheeks,
shivering from shoulders to feet - she promised them treats.
Squid tentacles, icicles from ceiling to floor, edge doorways.
The children suck frozen pops — in summertime they’d
make them smile but instead a chattering appears from
the queen, ear to ear, “Eat up, children. There’s more!”
Cold water droplets eek from the ceiling like scurrying mice
landing on the tip of the nose and fingers, lingering too long,
until icicles form, make no mistake — the storm is cruel!
“Stand back!” an older brother’s armed with flaming torches.
Winter is sweet for sweethearts, Morgan bells, hot cocoa,
but this Winter scene is vomitus. Only one chess piece
moves in this Winterscape. The older brother’s interrupted
the nestle of plum-children in sleigh beds, so white and pale.
Snowlids open, slowly the children’s limbs stretch and crack,
melting like snowmen. Crackling’s all around, like a scream.
Kids swivel their necks and find a warm cave, no queen.
Brother scolds for a second or two, serves them hot chocolate.
12/23/2020
Inspired by our agency. We are not for sale. Every person is valuable and important and worthy of love and kindness. Stay strong. Blessings.
I am light
(My Soul is powerful)
By Michelle Morris
19/11/2025
I am worthy
I am light
I am love
I am mighty
I am not yours
I am not for sale
I am not a chess piece
I am not here to fail
I am valuable
I am strong
I am important
I am belonging
I am not limited
I am not weak
I am not a follower
I am not a sheep
I am powerful
I am compassion
I am integrity
I am faith in action
I am not afraid
I am not blind
I am not daunted
I am not unkind
I am a fire
I am a storm
I am a phoenix
I am reborn
So, no matter what you think
Remember my agency deserves respect
It is an honour to be in my presence
My Soul is powerful - a magical essence
I have courage, hope and faith, always
God and His Angels know my name
And every single evil thing you do to me
Will come back on you like Hell's fierce flames
© Michelle Morris, 2025
"The Pearl Essence and Dark Horizon"
Just,
as a pearl of wisdom
plucked like a
luminous silver apple
from a blue sky forest,
an entrancement;
the Sun watches
like a voyeur
from afar
tucked under
his tenebrous horizon,
while the dark night
is fully illuminated,
the romance
like Guy Fawkes
straddling 4th July
lush lit and lotus-eating
blue independence,
calls forth the
circadian goddess
blushing like a new bride,
who has waited for this
moment, it would seem
her entire life,
waxing and waning
shifting hues of
shimmering pink nude
into revealing shades
of ultraviolet
sans sun, but,
just the same,
romance
ignited
Just,
as a pearl of wisdom
plucked like a
luminous silver apple
from a blue sky forest,
an entrancement;
temptation,
Sun
rises
like a fallen chess piece
to take his untouchable
luminous silver
teasing
Moon
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"Tell me the story
about how the Sun
loved the moon so much,
that he died every night
just to let her breathe."
What breed is this?
Sage or Lunatic,
Chess-Piece or Bard.
Do they see silver in the bloodstream,
hearts pumping hard.
Turning lead to gold.
Re-frabricating a life lived hard.
Pieces of eight, to pay for a life of piracy?
Or innocense stolen, seeking equilibrium and sanity?
Do they have knowledge to pass on,
an altruism
of animal, magnetism,
a charged badge of honor, crested in heart,
emboldened home-sheath, sleeve to cry,
then hone your metal upon.
What propels them on?
Is it the real Olympus, clear,_- Mountain Dew?
Atlantis estranged in Camelot, pouring rivers by the light of the moon?
What propels,
which witch is the spark?
Is it one of Union and Love.
Or did they lose the game
and menace for vengeant troves, of the dark.
Do they Familiar the con of silver,
alchemy,
mesmerism for the greedy?
I want to believe they are rivulets caroming
among the needy.
So I wonder.
Do they speak in a different tongue?
One that reaches out like a serpent,
feeling for the vermilion colored heat under the Son.
It is true, one is the saddest thing.
Reach out, it is the Festival Season
starring a Carnival of Souls.
Stars, not so far out.
North shining to a ship of fools.
Saints and Angels,
under the sleeve of the Triune One.
Of this I have no doubt.
They come with polished shoes and clipped smiles,
a delegation of two parties, two chambers,
chasing headlines across the sea,
while the ice beneath our feet has no such illusions.
“Do not worry,” they say,
as if reassurance can purchase sovereignty,
as if Greenland were a chess piece
on the board of tweets and tariffs.
We nod politely, pour the coffee,
watch them measure fjords with their eyes,
thinking in votes and press releases,
while we measure time in centuries of ice.
Takeovers may glitter in their imaginations,
but here, the land remembers—
it remembers treaties,
it remembers patience,
and it laughs quietly under the aurora.
So go back, legislators,
to your chambers and your cameras,
we will remain:
not a prize, not a footnote,
but Greenland,
with glaciers that do not bend to ambition.
Notoriously tenacious Ravenclaw Rook and Chess Master Knight
In the middle of the tournament had an internal fight.
The rest of the pieces could not see it, it was truthfully not in sight
But the queen was prophetic, and she was amazed at her knight.
The king of the opposite army had not a solitary clue.
The battle was fierce, ‘til the silent trumpet of chess finally blew.
The rest of the pieces stayed on their squares that fine day.
Un-magical rooks and the rest stayed true to the skirmish-y fray.
The battle continued for weeks and weeks upon end.
Bishops wanted to be enemies, queens leaned toward being friends.
Ravenclaw Rook and Chess Master Knight admired each other though.
They would always relay the story as a different tale of woe.
For that is what chess piece players usually do in the end
They pretend to be enemies even if they actually are kind of now friends