Damian Garside

UNBOXED

UNBOXED

chess:
so many games played
never
a masterpiece

moves missed (many,
many)
victory
falling by the wayside

and so
I do not succumb to
the joy of a world
of sheer
possibility

where every thought
of genius
lies the far side of a
blunder simply
begging to be

blunders of the kind
you can no way redeem

but here I am
sweating my way on
supposed improvement
trajectory

puzzle after puzzle:
mate in five, four,
three, two
find the best move
now plodding through

with each opportunity grasped
tiny chess revelation

this box-like wonder of a
a perfectly square game
all
blocking, line and
angle

divulging the logos
of its beauty,
glimpse of mystical infinity

unpackages the light
takes
me heart and soul

Yes, wrist and elbow separately

Have you ever broken a bone?

SPIN

SPIN

the odds against
you reading this poem
are very steep

the odds against this poem
ever coming into being
are even steeper

you and I not destined
to meet, talk
across this
metaphorical table
in this
unreal forum

unless
we perhaps be
as the quantum theory
people tell
it,
sub-
atomically entangled

which we
can test, can test

when we dance
this moment out
together

be on exquisite lookout for
equal and complementary
opposite
spin
(odds
on this
an absolute certainty)

A UNIVERSE

A UNIVERSE

give me a Universe
where our is still blue
and the sea
is not raw sewage

give me a world
where Sylvia did not
stick her head
in a gas oven
to commit suicide

give me a world
where there is not
by some other name
the practice
of slavery

give me a world
where there is no nuclear threat
giving us
the chance
to survive,
perhaps thrive

ALL ABOUT

I am all
about impartiality

giving all sides
equal footage
equal representation

when I report
on the great chess
championships

I see only grey;
never white, or black.

SUCKERS FOR PUNISHMENT

there is no time
there is
no reality

it is all just a dream
with special ingredient:
suffering

so
you have
been here before
.
with me
again, back for your,
and yes, my sins,

reading the poem
which you could not recognize
if you were not
already remembering,
already familiar

shock
(slight aftershock)
of recognition

sucker for punishment
(we are all
suckers for punishment)

SORRY FOR ASKING (SCORE)

Sorry for asking
but are these rituals
not meant to show
continuity
rather than rupture?

I sat and watched
the whole gaudy display
took me back, Coronation
Babe that I am
to those early wooden
watch-it with Mothers
(by which I mean benign
Matriarch, not
Frank Zappa,
no place here
for Beyond the Fringe Satire
though Python
himself did say he
found it Pythonesque)

but it was hard to square
Hal at Agincourt, Edward
at Towton
with that solid golden
carriage

the Met swooping in for
the kill
to add more stars
onto their shields

determined that
everybody asking will
be sorry that they
did so

forgetting history”s great,
great capacity
for evening the score.