Situational Poetry

Sometimes the best poems are squeezed from experience, a picture, something that describes a much larger element of human experience.

The situation: Sunday afternoon chess match
The players: Jonathan Cate and Myself
The story: game starts off slowly; game ends with JPerry winning by a wide margin - he kicked my butt.
The bottom-line: my Queen stepped in front of my King, even when the next move he would clearly be dead regardless.
I write poem:

Blood flows; Queen of the Agèd Land
Stopping herself that Blazing Arrow
Intended rightly for the Divine Hand
Which dealt justice, child and widow

Years and years, King of the Oppressèd
Now Queen fallen, sacrifice, Queen blessèd.

Meter: 8-9-10-8-9-10; not sure if that is legit, but I went with it, so for me it is appropriate.

[oh, and one more thing. Most importantly, if you have not seen it, you must --
http://youtube.com/watch?v=NqD171d0VBc ]

Old Dreams

Oh yes. Graffiti. And me. And New York City. Don't you always miss the places you have ever loved? I often miss the little scenes of places I frequented when younger but have not been in awhile. I miss the rooms of my elementary school, the pathways at the old baseball fields. Little League. I miss the places I would travel to, the cities I have walked and mountains I have hiked. Not that it gets me too far thinking about these places, but I do think they are worth remembering.
I like New York.