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Created on: January 11, 2010 Last Updated: December 23, 2010
Crisp air hangs, first lights dew
Creeping frost teases delight
Under blankets of vivid blue.
Powdered greens awake from night
Welcoming, players eagerly await
Coffee in hand, weapons steel bright
Spikes clatter, rushing late.
Ready for bullets and a fight,
Any shooter could relate
Hunger driver, ready for battle
Steps anticipation to plate.
Frost lifts, a head of cattle
Form according to slate,
Frost delayed, times tight
Tee to green in ready state
Warriors ready with might.
Fierce steps, covered with dew
Last traces of frost despite
Steps the leather'd shoe,
Sticks ready, a game fight
Player or course? Stalemate.
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Poetry: Stalemate
It's a stale-mate situation, though I wish for compromise,
And no matter what solution I propose you don't accept,
That the
Crisp air hangs, first lights dew
Creeping frost teases delight
Under blankets of vivid blue.
Powdered greens awake from
Stalemate
Or cellmate?
Keeper of the fire
Or killer of the flame?
This ice maiden
Cannot melt
And make the first move
by Adam Smith
I sit here at home
Unable to move
I came to the point
Where I have no room
Where any move could bring my end
Stuck here
Stuck in a rut
No one can get ahead
No one willing to give an inch
We cannot move on
There is no end of it
Pain and lamentation
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