Chess poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of chess poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on chess are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
The money and the power, like hand in glove, ruling the world from ivory towers, above. Like pawns on a chessboard we follow commands, coolly manipulated by cold corporate minds. They reap the harvest that they bought with our souls,
‘Charge!’ cried the infantry, pushing forward block by block, Paving way for others to follow and stalk – Resulting in heavy casualties on both sides, All for a king too reluctant to fight; Queen, Bishop, Knight and Rook, Fight to
dark matters are floating like bowls made of leaves spilling hunger, make me upset, figures moving like ghosts wrenching out the fish plates from rails, nothing will move now except the eyebrows of stone faces, bodhisattvas sitting in scorching sun,
The train has already departed, From the country that they call yesterday, Into the territories uncharted, Leaving behind the remains of the day. Leaving behind the sobbing hills and churches, And nurseries full of sighing, And forests of ashen pines
I Death doesn’t hurry it knows where we will be knows everything comes back to where it started like any small town Napoleon just keeps building its tower of crap and waits for the flies to return II Death is
I am precious to both kingdoms, both dark and light. I carry power and potential to grow both kingdoms, so both sides are fighting for me. The one king offers: Temporary satisfaction and happiness, but neglects me when I am
We played the game, threw the dice at times we got lucky with the game. although caught in a web of lies… though a picture locked in a frame. Life gave pain, left us with misery, and empty people fought
The deceased has 2 cusps of lid Not quite drawn down over the eyes – I wonder if they are peering askant Into the afterlife! Pale rouge belies The flaccid cheeks; pertinaciously hid The 90+ years he once was ambulant
The native walls were hounding me- out of game. I was playing chess with god. Was stoned to death. A small boy’s arm was crushed. He stole a bread. What was the truism of unheard voices? Groping in green darkness
The penetrating blast of the social disjunction makes it impossible for young people to function it seems as though grown men and women are playing a game of tug-a-war and we the children are the rope they yearn for our
One in love, yet two in a crush- Peering from oneself into another’s! Fall for or get by; all tears are a reality show- About care’s hollow amice of rendition! Riding chariots of audacity to halt the rash- Is a
Blood dripping from the pages of history books, wartime pictures, dried bones, graveyard stones, torture weapons, memorial sites, echoing the atrocities which occurred at Auschwitz. Any poems that capture the glimmers and whispers of a rainbow in another season may
Our Life is woven around relationships Relationships are bound by stages in life An infant is bonded to its mother Kids mingle with fellow children Youths have proximity to friends Married couple share their Love with each other Professionals with
Goddess awakening, born of the sea In a burst of golden light a voice Spoken like thunder saying behold The apple of my eye APHRODITE The Goddess of love and beauty… APHRODITE, APHRODITE OH APHRODITE… Bend an ear this way
The surface rippled, Three pairs of feet plopped in And the tadpoles scurried To hide in caverns. Sighs of relief Brushed over the tiny rock pool As cool water Soothed sore feet. The tadpoles gambolled again, Silence drawing them out;
The restless weather curses me, Why not fly back to your nest thee; There where you always belonged, Where thy heart longed. The Lady waiting on the streets in those eager evenings, Those roads are lost in the new beginnings.
Like a double edged knife That cuts deep and rife Like a cold winter breeze That makes everything freeze Like the sting of a bee Excruciating it would be Like a hot summer heat Unbearable it could be Like an
The hopes of a harvest seem distant, Beneath yonder scalding sun. Oh destinies are you penitent, For all that you have done. The money- lenders scream beyond the din, Of your crying starved children. Dreams in your eyes and a
Every day, for every day when you start your day Look towards Jesus and give Him praise, endless praise Praise to Jesus for His love freely, perfectly given Praise to His glory, His power and mercy Praise to one day
Sea sand wind and rain all will be gurgling in pain whence it has arisen in noises surfing waves alighting high and low above the ravines careless and moody lushing and slushing movements of waves for only surfing Pale is
When you stand in the thrall of the waterfall Overwhelmed by its crashing power When your cheeks feel the sting of its icy caress And you don’t know the day or the hour When your ears and your tongue are
I’m scrunched in partially obscured view seating, hands at my temples, elbows pressed to the balcony rail. Look up, Sherman Alexie! I squint through borrowed glasses, willing your signature pen to drop, your writer’s eyes to find me. I’m cheap.
Who said that dawn doesn’t know him? Yes … Who has said that? He is secreting night when the sunset flows to poem end ; the flute, which surrendered stealthily to the day song, it runs away from the maze
Handprint of innerself was writ large in your eyes. I hear you in your becoming. Are you me and me are you in sameness? The words and silence? I hope you are listening to the waves, from inside, from outside.
The faces of oppression, your mama forget to mention, That the white cop shooting niggas on the daily to collect his pension. Only when a nigga is killed is it brought to your attention, That racism is alive and well
Like a jumbo jet bearing down with a terrible personal gravity an intention to harm as in one of those unreasonable nightmares that treats you like a relative visiting as it wills tree tops thrash spotlight painting the blacktop lurching
I am not a singer But yet I sang… ….modulating my tones… The trees heard, The flowers danced The bees kicked and rocked… The birds orchestrated for me The melody of love I sang just for her…. …but she did
On the transient cage-like throne Amidst columns of arms and might, The regalia holds the unwieldy sceptre….. Lust and lavishness drag him to loot Fiefdoms torn and patched; Fear drives him to frighten others The ‘should be patriarchal arms’ Instead