The Grandmaster’s Simultaneous Exhibition
(Syllabic count variant: 5; 4 in the quote; 6 in final thematic line)
He stops at my board
The small grey man with
Darting, hungry eyes
And watches my move.
He leans on one hand,
Ponders his reply,
Then his other hand–
A fell bird of prey–
Swoops down to capture
The piece I have moved.
When he comes around
To my board again
I ask him to pass;
Let other players
Fall before I do
I think in my pride;
But his souless eyes
Look up from the board,
Their gaze fixed somewhere
Deep inside my head.
With finality
He utters these words: ‘There is no point
To further thought,
Your game is lost’
And shows me the win
Before moving on.
I leave the table
Humbled and disgraced
That I did not exist.
Cinquains
(Form: syllable count 24682) The old desert Bushman
He dreams
Of stories untold
In the time of this place
As others gather in the dark
To hunt
A young poet declaiming his works
This child
Who thinks he knows
The birthplace of his muse
Speaks powerfully to the gods
Who laugh
Druid’s waning powers
Come here
Worn out old man
Your time among us folk
Has bled away into the dark –
Follow