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Satellite images flash in his eye's.
Looking for weakness in search of demise.
For lack of defence, he must prove.
A fault in my plan, in every move.
He sighed in relief, and let out a yawn.
While taking my Knight, using a Pawn.
Computing my options, I counter attack.
A Rook undefended... I strike back.
In all her cunning the Queen comes running.
Wrath in her cup, surprisingly stunning.
Bishops fall as she pours out her vials.
Splattering blood all over my tiles.
Spontaneous laugh I notice a glitch.
Mistakenly judged she left out a stitch.
Her King unprotected, and feeling rejected.
Humbly subjected, Politically corrected.
Checkmate.
©2003-2009 ~Hydroman
:iconhydroman:

Author's Comments

When I started writing this poem. I invisioned myself playing another person.
Halfway through the poem it took more of
a personal note as if I was actually playing the pieces themselves.

Comments


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:iconlongshot:
Hey bud finally found you. Lol Looking good but you need to correct the word splattering. : )
:iconhydroman:
Thankyou for correcting me on the checkmate poem. I did not notice the error. Hydroman.
:iconaliceinthematrix:
Wow! You have... amazed me and sent me into throes of wonderment; thank you! Oh, wow... just... this is incredible. A +Favourite for you, indeed! What a poet... so strangely Carrollian, too. Ah... so wonderful. I'm all smiley now, thank you. I needed that bit of cleverness after this very strenuous day.

--
The only flower in a concrete garden, destined to be the rock that would not harden.
:iconhydroman:
Thankyou for the compliment. I showed this poem around at work. They liked it also.
Hydroman.

Details

November 15, 2003
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