I thought for my first diary entry, I'd take a risk and publish a poem I wrote in January 2003 about the coming Iraq war, cross-posted from my own blog
Casual Soapbox. So while the butterflies in my stomach are momentarily still, here it is, "Two Kings Played Chess":
Two Kings Played Chess
by Abram Friesen
Two kings played chess across the sea -
The red below, the white on high.
A grudge they played out truantly,
With naught at stake but currency,
And all our futures in the sky.
The pawns did pout it wasn't fair -
The red was sick, his purse astray.
With paper laurels in his hair,
The white had vict'ries and to spare,
And chess a cruel game anyway.
With hearts of gold, the judges led
Their wallets for a midnight snack.
The white king gave them drums instead.
With fiery fury, then the red,
Brought sixteen knights from 'round his back.
The white knight first to king's rook three
The white queen hollered "What a show!"
The bishop cried that pawn was he.
The red rook crumbled to the sea.
The red was mated 'fore his go.
But with that final score still wet,
The audience declined to yield.
When all was sure and all was set,
With winter come, and battle met,
The world had lost its silver shield.