Treasure Island

Kenneth Slessor

(27 March 1901 – 30 June 1971 / Orange, New South Wales)

Chessmen


CHAFING on flags of ebony and pearl,
My paladins are waiting. Loops of smoke
Stoop slowly from the coffee-cups, and curl
In thin fantastic patterns down the room
By cabinets of chinaware, to whirl
With milky-blue tobacco-steam, and fume
Together past our pipes, outside the door.
Soon may we lounge in silence, O my friend,
Behind those carven men-at-arms of chess
Dyed coral-red with dragon's blood, and spend
The night with noiseless warfare. Queens and rooks
With chiselled ivory warriors must contend
And counter-plots from old Arabian books
Be conjured to the march of knights and pawns.

Submitted: Thursday, April 01, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Chessmen by Kenneth Slessor )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. X, Midnights Voice
  2. Drone .....[little SPY 'fly-by'; definit.., Bri Edwards
  3. Opposite People, Tony Adah
  4. The Exception Perception Has, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  5. You Know, Whats-his-name, Lawrence Beck
  6. Isis: Syria and Iraq, do something!, Rachel Nichols
  7. THE POOR PEOPLE AND THEIR POVERTY الفقرا.., MOHAMMAD SKATI
  8. I PROMISE, Poet Akinwemimo Idris
  9. The Spyders, David Lewis Paget
  10. Monsoon., David Lessard

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]