Poetry Chess 2: Todd vs Brandon

[Todd]

With each move we will write a poem. These poems will mostly be early drafts. Here goes the first move.


Chivalry

Nf3

She is an ice sculpture
under the cold light
of a dying sun.

She is a vending machine
dispensing sex,
into whom you insert
your obligations.

She is the happy ending,
without beginning,
a mute cul-de-sac.

[brandontoh]

It's a nice poem to start with, although the vending machine part sort of takes me to japan and their weird fetish vending machine thingy. I don't know, it just doesn't really fit in well for me.

Reboot
c5

A reset of past screw ups.
Lesson learnt, hopefully.
Aloofness is strength, strangely.
This time will be better, just believe.

Heads up, smile.
Say hi, don’t slouch!
Strong, confident strides;
take note! Be normal!
It’s not that hard,
just socialize,
make friends for once!

Don’t go back to the staircase in the corner,
don’t retreat back into imagination.

[Todd]

Thanks for reminding me of the loss. Here's my move and poem.


Cycles

e4

Long shadow of winter
Stillness of snow
Fallow field
Rot of fallen fruit
Scattered seed
White buds in morning

[brandontoh]

Hey it's not meant to be a taunt! :x

[brandontoh]

Overdue
d6
It takes too long
to finish an epic.
Not the writing, but the audit.
To inspect every nooks and crannies
with a magnifying glass.
God is in the details;
no mere mortal can take on a task so divine!

It takes too long
to complete a dance.
Not the jive itself, but the time needed
to integrate movement with sound.
Something innately unnatural turns natural,
and joy is only found after too much failure,
sometimes.

It takes too long
to make a move.
Not the pushing of the piece, but the consequence
of deciding to leave the 7th rank forever.
It just started, and things are quiet,
but that white diagonal is a permanent gaping hole
asking to be attacked.

It takes too long
to finally learn that taking the plunge
is better than staring down from the cliff,
finding excuses to step down
until you become part of the mountain,
like so many others.

[Todd]

Lots of good lines here Brandon, especially the ending strophe. Here's my move and poem.

Uses for Paper

Bb5+

The girls would savage daisies,
for the fierce love of crushed petals.
Their cootie catchers were divining rods,
a secret origami language whispered
by oracles in gingham skirts.

We already knew the future
was not in gray brick, and unmoving clocks.
We breathed the blue of the sky,
and would not be folded so small.
We were aerodynamic, all diagonal lines.

To control you must remain,
to escape you can only fly.

[brandontoh]

The second and third stanzas are beautiful, but I'm not a fan of the first one. I feel that just the second and the third stanzas by themselves just read better.

Black Swan
Nc6

Candle flame;
dancer in the spotlight.

She departed,
the night swore secrecy,
leaving only smoky vague trails
for personal reasons.

[Todd]

Fantastic title Brandon. I might suggest on L4 "to the night's sworn secrecy" and cut vague. You can develop this one. My move is decided. I'll have the poem up hopefully later tonight.

[Todd]

I realize this move goes against general principles, and should likely be one of two others. What the hell...

Fairy Tale Logic

Bxc6+

The moon walks with dark design,
and love lies
beneath her pale gown.
She is the madness in men,
the howl and the bristle,
the lesson that bedchamber
is not ballroom,
and that every lake shines
with a mother's tears
for the price of union is change.

Straw remains straw in harsh morning,
where soot-filled skies mark each barefoot step.
The bolt has already pierced the swan,
the apple always poison, and the prick
of the wheel demands more than a kiss.

[brandontoh]

You seem to draw a lot of inspiration from fairytales. Really like the first stanza. The subtlety throughout the whole thing is just so intriguing. The second stanza though, sort of misses the landing I feel. I'd suggest removing the harsh from morning, and shortening lines 3-5 so there's a more lasting impact to the whole imagery. Then again, maybe I've just been reading too many poems referencing fairytales. Anyways, here's my move and poem. Pretty much the sole option for this sort of chess. =)

Mum
bxc6

You gave me a magic marker,
Told me it steals stars from space.
‘Just draw them on your walls,’
‘and some starlight will be yours.’
We promised to view the night sky
together in my room,
so we can both make wishes
and live blessed lives.

I’ve stolen all the stars,
one every single day
until I was 21.
A wish is made upon the glow,
for you to come back
so we can enjoy the illuminated night.

I know it’s make-believe,
and that wishes don’t come true.
It’s just a habit
for me to remember you.
The you who gave me love lukewarm.

[Todd]

It's how I free associate. It came from your mention of a swan (not fairy tale specific but I decided to blend it). Beautiful narrative poem. I'm not fond of the ending, but the build up is great. I'll post a poem later. My move is already decided. Since we're playing as you say: "this sort of chess"

[brandontoh]

There was a penultimate stanza which didn't quite work. >< Hopefully it'll be good enough to be included when I'm revising this poem. Well, without time pressure it's not really advisable to go with interesting sacrifices. My hasty pawn sacrifices in the last game taught me just that. :x

[Todd]

Here's my move and poem:

Simon in the Land of Chalk Outlines

h3

Lines would shiver when it grew.
The sky so cold, the world sublime
for the things I draw come true.
Once, I sketched a girl I knew,
whose hands were silk within our mime.
Lines would shiver when it grew.
Hours passed till I withdrew.
There was no ladder left to climb
for the things I draw come true.
I made one, then she made two.
A village rose of chalk and grime.
Lines would shiver when it grew.
A callow god with worship due
amidst the chants, the bells that chime
for the things I draw come true.
On this slate, I begin anew
to erase details of my crime.
Lines would shiver when it grew
for the things I draw come true.


*Based on Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings

[brandontoh]

That's a sweet poem. =) I've never seen Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings, but there's this cartoon called Chalkzone with a similar premise.

[brandontoh]

Sorry it took so long! Was busy with work.

Twilight Moment
Nf6

Distance, like shadows,
elongates.

Paper planes, paper cranes,
all fall when it
pours.

Cement, like resolves,
cracks subtly.

Crevices, crannies,
patched with
endless black.

Reality, like dreams,
surreal.

Setting sun, unceasing rain,
in this scenery together
signaling a world’s end.

Mine.
Let’s go.

[Todd]

Really like the poem. I'd consider killing the end punctuation as you have quite a few strophe breaks where the phrasing flows well when you lose the end stops. I realize that isn't technically correct, but there it is.

---

Let's just keep attacking shall we.

Wet Knife

e5

You mistake it for a flower,
a thorn under the skin
near the heart--
a lover's bouquet streaming
through your fingertips
in silent petals,
silent petals.

[brandontoh]

I like this poem. =) The only gripe I have is with the repetition of silent petals. I think it'll work better as 'in silent,/silent petals.'

Here's my move and poem!

Let’s Talk Over a Cup of Coffee
dxe5

You’re in your seat,
comfy I presume.
Audience to a one man drama
as my story spills.

Words come flooding out,
louder than they should be.
Gestures hard and big,
as if I’m crazy.

I see a slight frown, and you shifting back a bit;
avoiding my fingers pointing, hands waving
with a little too much intensity.

It’s kind of pointless, and hollow even.
A drama needs something that matters,
not a spoilt brat’s whining.
This boring play continues a little while more,
until you got too bored.

Then you say
“Coffee. It’s kind of melancholic.”
And that’s the end of the story.

[Todd]

Nice narrative tone Brandon. I liked how you played with the imagery (i.e., as my story spills).

Here's my poem and my move:

Aubade for the Bipolar

Nxe5

The morning is for Rachmaninoff and bees,
and the soft steps of pollened feet,

as black separates from white
like pressed keys on a piano.

The sun is a bronze chime,
and half the bed shivers.

In the copper glow of morning,
the dew on the leaf is a dappled darkness.

[brandontoh]

Hmm, I really don't like that poem though. The whole thing feels really forced. Anyways, your poem is really nice. I like how each stanza is a different image and how the whole thing still manages to fit together. There's nothing I'd change, other than maybe the 'pressed keys on piano' line. It's the only one that sort of falls flat I feel, mainly because the simile doesn't really work for me. Something like 'as black and white starkly divided,/yet integrated behind the scene like piano keys.' perhaps? The suggestion sucks. Arrgh.

Here's my move and poem.

Ambition
Qd5

I told my dad,
'I want to be a writer when I grow up!'
He replied with a plastic smile,
'Don't look at trees you cannot climb.'

I told my mum,
‘I want to be a writer when I grow up!’
She snided,
‘Why not a real job?’

I told my sister,
‘I want to be a writer when I grow up!’
She obligated,
‘Yeah, sure, uh huh.’

I told myself,
‘I want to be a writer when I grow up!’
And I turned into one right there and then.

[Todd]

The Grape Dreams of Wine

Nf3

Mine was the melody of the vine,
the sun at twilight.
My song kisses your lips,
and you taste its aria.

---

Brandon, I think with your poem. What you may want to try is go to the absurd. Have the parents say highly imagistic things. Push it further...just some thoughts.