Stalemate -Another Poem I Did for the Poetry Slam

The red queen of Chess stood firm in her space,
Her sister, the white queen, in the opposite place,
And they stared at each other, both bitter with hate,
(They were not on good terms, of late).

“My Dear Red Queen, ye overgrown lump,
Tis a wonder thy king smacks thee not in the rump!
Thou art too fat, disgusting, obese;
Indulging in fast food and banquets and feasts!”

“Take that back, I daresay, or I’ll tell my king!”
“Then I’ll tell my king, who !”
“I’ll set my knights upon you! Just wait! Just you wait!”
“My bishops will curse you to a terrible fate!”


“I’ll gather my armies of pawns,
With heads and hearts of solid bronze!”
“But by then my rooks will soon be readied!”
You’ll be sorry you tarried!”

“Have it your way, you curse of a sister,
I’ll tell my king, and you tell your mister!
Then, a duel to the death, to test our true mettle,
Then our troops will converge in heavy, pitched battle!”

And so they gathered their numerous hordes,
Knight pawn rook bishop, and the queens with their lords.
Pawns to the fore, the rest hide behind,
Stiff on the chessboard, in perfect straight lines.

They clashed in the field, pawn versus pawn,
It wasn’t long before half were gone.
The knights came, to rescue friend to rout the foe,
But the bishops came and cursed them, and their fate (who knows?)

The troops were exhausted; the knights were half-slain,
And the mighty rooks were the bishops’ banes.
But the queens were released, and went into the fray,
And each had in mind the other to slay.

Queen against queen, they battled and battered,
‘Twas the enemy losing, not the Winning that mattered!
They fought and they fought, they tumbled and tussled,
Armed with great swords and great Muscles!

The kings had long since retreated,
And the bishops were already defeated,
Almost all of the pieces were ready to quit,
Though that the old queens just refused to admit.

At last, no one else was still willing to fight,
Except, of course, the queens, (who yet battle and bite!)
With desire for vengeance naught could satiate,
And their forever they fight, so we call it . . . STALEMATE!