Chess Poems by our friend and CCCR member, Kenn Scullin

THE 64 AT 64

You sit there
And stare in your chair,
As the magic pieces, dancing in your head,
Await your deciding touch.

"What is he thinking?"
You think.
"What is his plan?"

So much
Depending on the next move!

Should I defend my King
Or strike at his wing?
Watch that lethal Knight!
Its forking flight
Might be your downfall!

If he doesn't see at all
My pawn strategy,
It'll be one for the small guy!

Is the exchange worth control
Of his seventh rank?
Give your Queen for two rooks,
Then charge his flank?
Hook a Bishop to a pawn
Until the dawn of the Endgame?
...or YOUR END!

Play Positional or Potluck? 
Go for broke, or block and tuck
His Highness behind a wall?

It's all 
But, what the heck!
Better a thinking wreck
Pushing some wood, I say,
Than a Zombie, oggling
The tube of mental decay!

by Kenn Scullin
Rochester, NY
November 1990    

Chess is a game 
Just played by two, 
Mind over matter, 
Me vs. you 
"What's your rating?" 
The stranger does ask, 
He wants to know 
The degree of his task! 
"1400, and what is yours?" 
I kindly reply. 
"Oh, I'm unrated!" 
Watch out for this guy! 
A silence begins 
As their minds shift into gear, 
They parry and spar, 
Seems there's nothing to fear, 
When all of a sudden 
On move thirty eight, 
One player moans, "Oh, no!" 
As a whisper breathes, "Mate!" 

by Kenn Scullin
Rochester, NY
April 19, 2003

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