Games
 

This thread was inspired by Sam's announcement that River Styx was looking for work on the theme of games. That issue is apparently full now, but some of us still want to play. So, feel free to post your "Parcheesi sonnets and tiddly wink villanelles" here. Met and non-met work equally welcome here.

I'll hop back here to post the one I did in high school about my sister cheating at solitaire...if I can find it...

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Found it. This was in response to my English teacher's objection that my sonnets were not really sonnets, because they didn't follow a Shakespearean or Petrarchan pattern all the way through. I never did convince Mr. Neegard that this was any less contemptible than cheating at solitaire, but I remain as unrepentant about my infractions as my sister did about hers.

My sister cheats at solitaire. She'll deal
and then decide which pattern's best to play.
When stuck, she will unscrupulously steal
an ace whose rightful turn's six cards away.

You might, when clubs and spades are set on hearts,
assume she's alternating black and red;
but don't be too astounded if she starts
to reassemble spades on spades instead.

My sister cheats at solitaire, and I'm
a sonnet-writing cheater, I admit.
I'll start things out Shakespearean, then quit
halfway, to end Petrarchan, half the time.
The turn comes late or early? Let it be.
What's good enough for Milton's good for me.

(My kids were very impressed to learn that back in the Dark Ages of my youth, we had to play solitaire without a computer.)

This is a favorite of mine, penned by Christina Rossetti:

THE QUEEN OF HEARTS


How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we
Play cards together, you invariably,
However the pack parts,
Still hold the Queen of Hearts?

I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze,
Resolved to fathom these your secret ways:
But, sift them as I will,
Your ways are secret still.

I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again;
But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain:
Vain hope, vain forethought, too;
That Queen still falls to you.

I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal
Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel:
"There should be one card more,"
You said, and searched the floor.

I cheated once: I made a private notch
In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch;
Yet such another back
Deceived me in the pack:

The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown
An imitative dint that seemed my own;
This notch, not of my doing,
Misled me to my ruin.

It baffles me to puzzle out the clew,
Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you:
Unless, indeed, it be
Natural affinity.

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses—Cupid paid:
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall (alas!) become of me?

............................--John Lyly

I've always been fond of this one, although I know the chess/death rhyme doesn't work unless you have a lisp.

What a pity I never learned chess,
I think, as I play Chutes and Ladders with Death.

Here's another:

Candy Land

Back then it was the only game in town,
when you were three or four and couldn't read:
the brightly colored cards that moved you round,
the stirring message: Candy's all you need.
You played it with your kids. Though sweets still matter,
they've since moved on to greater thrills and strife,
from the ups and downs of Chutes and Ladders
to the twists of Sorry, Clue and Life.

But now its broader meaning finally
comes clear to you. That path so clear and bright
is fraught with forest, bog and frozen sea.
And when the candy castle looms in sight
and you reflect on just how far you've come,
you always end up back with Plumpy Plum.

Attachment 111

That's lovely, Marion.

Chinese Jump Rope

Hopscotch could be played in solitude.
So could tetherball, or shooting hoops,
as if I chose to focus on my skills.
The swings and monkey bars were even better,
because I could pretend that I belonged
within that swirling, screaming flock of starlings
that didn’t even know that I was there.

But Chinese jump rope was another story--
a simple loop of neon-hued elastic
requiring two to stand, and one to dance.

Santa and the Easter Bunny brought them
just to me. The other kids got games
in which a tiny screen of blinking hyphens
simulated football, basketball,
or hockey (if in doubt, just check the label).
These games, in theory, might be played alone,
but never were. The object was to make
your classmates scream “Now ME!” like baby birds
at each robotic fart-noise of defeat.

But I got Chinese jump ropes. Made in China,
like everything else, but somehow more exotic
to kids at school—the kids who only knew
expensive toys. A toy worth fifteen cents,
available at drugstores, not the mall,
was fascinating...far beyond their ken.
The novelty of poverty enticed
a few each time.

...........................So twice a year, at least,
I'd snare a couple playmates by the ankles.

RESIGNATION

In chess I am allowed to quit
when moves run out and there’s no way
of turning round the game. I fit
the men back in their box and say,
thanks for the match, pick up my coat and key
and wonder why I can’t resign from me.