STOCKFISH
my pieces do not flow
they are all
nut
and bolt
whilst the Stockfish pieces
swarm to devour
attack like piranhas
strip my defence down
to bare bones
there’s blood
in the water though you cannot
see it
Oh, that one day my
chess brain might
be Achilles and his Myrmidons
so brutally fleet
and adept
at butchering
slaughter without mercy
and then we shall find
out exactly what you
are made of
my artificially intelligent friend
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
Have you ever broken a bone?
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
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.
NEED TO
Need to get to
gated community Heaven
whatever the sacrifice
whoever I have to step on
however high
the price
might have to hoodwink a bit
bluff my way in there
try to get
a spot near the throne
or anything upmarket
where the view is nice.
BLUNDER
chess master
wondered
if the Universe
had blundered
itself
into being
now we
know the endgame
best we can hope for
perpetual stalemate
seems a flaw in the plan
that things so
peter out
whilst down
in the dungeon
its business
as usual
just a few thinkers
to distance
from
their thoughts
poems 2 die for