Starting the Race

Minute form of poetry

The chessboard seem to be calling
my eyes falling
on game peices,
time now ceases.

Our clock is ready to track time
forget snacktime;
my pawn will strike
he will not like.

My queen is eager to take flight;
checkmate in sight
bishop will parole,
King will control.


dropnote ▼

Seabreeze 4/27/2025
Minute Form: twelve lines divided into three quatrains with
syllable counts of 8, 4, 4, 4 in each stanza and a rhyme
scheme of aabb/ccdd/eeff,

I sat down today for a game of Chess
Putting my talents to the test
Knowing I could make a wrong move
Hoping I could get in the groove.

I pushed my pawn out to C3
My opponent pushed to copy me
D2 pawn I moved just one space
Now we are getting on with the race.

I had open the gate for my Queen
Some would think that was mean
I have been caught in his trap before
That is no way for me to score.