Black & White Raga

As the game begins

Queens dominate their own color squares

white and black Queens opposed on the d file

tension builds as they contend the center

then white pawns slip into position

encroach on black squares

black Queen moves to a white square but it is too late

white has taken hold of the game

our opponents

playing games of increasing complexity

weighing advantage   disadvantage

terror   lesser terror

right & wrong

unlike chess masters they cannot see far ahead

but like chess masters they delight 
                      in defining equality

qualified    of course    by who's next to move

& sometimes they move surreptitiously  like pawns

or savagely like rooks

stately like Kings

they are renowned for never exposing Queens to  early attack

guarding the center

developing strong points

minimizing weaknesses

in between two games

one hand reaching

hesitant to move

because that move

restricts subsequent choice

there is no going back

especially for pawns

when pieces encounter conflict

they can move away

pawns must stay and fight

meanwhile musicians play a cyber raga

                 DO WHILE misunderstood

                 PERFORM UNTIL, Black = White

in between two songs

one hand on a taut drum

damping percussive effects of crowd

the other on cymbals

needing silence again they play

weaving meaning

on a thousand line octave

© Dick Russell, 2016

      St James' Bell

      St. James' bell    St. James' bell
      it isn't named in London's rhymes
      but I'll not return to Camberwell
      now St. James' bell no longer chimes

      St. James' bell    St. James' bell

      he rang it often when a boy

      before singing hymns    and singing well

      in St. James' choir they sang for joy

      jubilantly they played in Myatt's Fields

      its Easter flowerbeds ablaze

      with tulips, daffodils

      sparks of spring that pierced dazed

      bomb battered London

               they sang for joy

      though some were fatherless, iron

      in their hearts    a chill alloy

      that belled pure notes in spring

      when sudden gusts shook dust from trees

      drab Londoners changed their skins

      donned country airs    shelled new peas

      but where they sang none sing there now

      St. James' choir    St. James' bell

      both made redundant    silent now

      except my memory hears this knell

      St. James' bell    St. James' bell

      it isn't named in London's rhymes

      but I'll not return to Camberwell

      now St. James' bell no longer chimes

      © Dick Russell, 2013

                                more urgent now to return

                                to that table   those chairs

                                                those

                                               bottles

                                               of myth

                                                   we

                                       poured nightly

                                                Market Forces

                                   

                        There's a force plants bulbs for profit

                                    then severs their stems in spring

                        there's a green fuse drives daffodils

                                                to genius

                        while bulbs divide     beneath

                        such forces in our genes

                        though life's beset

                                    beset by forces unforeseen

                                                            like cancer

                        unfairness is a market force   as yet misunderstood

                        it's not the caprice of callous gods   

                        have not the gods long left us?

                        then where's the meaning   cause and effect

                        where's the profit in untimely death?

                       

                        we go on as we've always gone

                        hear news

                        who's up    who's down

                       

                        & wonder why it was not us

                        may these cut flowers

                                    these daffodils

                                                bring cheer

                        life comes full circle

                        with bold display

                        cut flowers on its grave

                       

                        © Dick Russell, 2013

The Henge

Blue stones were pushed to the henge on rollers

floated down rivers on rafts

then Tess came there

he saw her riding among solitary stones

looking for sanctuary      Just a brief glimpse

in his mind's eye    Tess    stress      tristesse

Naked lengths lain in a warm ward

where swing doors trolley cold pails

"Her past, her past"   murmurs by the elevator

"Explains her painting’s strangeness"

those swing doors bringing brass bands

profile parades      Does he/she remind you of...

grey shades inlaid in the brain

until spring painted brighter colors

            She sought advice from a hermit  

            clambered down to his beach through the fog

            but when she arrived he had gone

            just a note pinned to his door

           your past has the shape

           of a long bodied dragon, a Chinese dragon

           with legs, many legs, ducking and weaving

           like a low cloud chased by wind

           go stand by an eucalyptus tree

           breathe deeply and be free

A fog had crept up from the sea

voices off were magnified

while mist filled hollows with its balm

a sparrow chipped its cares out

He sat

fogbound

thinking of Tess

mute with music contained

© Dick Russell 2014
revised version of a March 9th 2013 post

Drinking Under the Moon

                                    by Li Po

A jug of wine         among flowers

in the moonlight      nobody close

so I raised my cup to the bright moon

bade it drink with me

just the three of us

bright moon     my shadow     and me

shadows only imitate

the moon cannot comprehend

in spite of that we were happy

you must enjoy life in Spring

I sang   the moon listened

I danced   my shadow capered about

we were once all strangers

now    we are such good friends

we drink

we laugh

we laugh

we drink

though we’ll part

we'll all meet once more

to journey beyond time

T’ang Dynasty

translated by David Sen, Dick Russell

© Dick Russell, 2013