.
On Being “Chopped”
On TV, watching the show “Chopped,” I see
Three losing chefs go home each episode;
And one who celebrates a victory
For a dessert they called, “Shrimp a la Mode.”
Imagine being a top-notch chef gourmet
And hear your Crab Creole described as “bland.”
Beneath Ted Allen’s lid on full display
You see your entrée “chopped,” deep-sixed, and panned.
In life we all have hope that we will win;
But far more often it turns out we lose.
And though we know that losing’s not a sin,
It wears us down each time we sing the blues.
But winning isn’t everything. The test
Of true success is that we did our best.
.
.
White to Play . . .
The game began, my Black against his White.
His Ruy Lopez opening made sense.
So, to engage him in the chessboard fight,
I countered with a Caro-Kann defense.
We quickly traded knights and from then on
We threatened and defended back and forth.
I took his rook and only lost a pawn,
But he fought back with all that he was worth.
It seems my grandson might have won the game
If he had moved his knight to KB1
But win or lose, to him it’s all the same.
At four years old, he only plays for fun.
One day he will defeat me fair and square.
But as for now he hasn’t got a prayer.
.
.
Hold’em Holdup
Just me and her were still left in the game;
Our piles of chips were stacked about the same.
The cards I held were neither here nor there,
An Ace and Queen of spades, not great, but fair.
The Flop brought up two clubs a Six and King.
But neither of us moved to bet a thing.
The Turn brought up two hearts, a Queen and Ace.
Two Pair, I thought, and kept a poker face
While sliding half my chips into the pot.
“I guess I’ll pay to see what cards you’ve got,”
She said, while pushing in a matching bet.
“There’s one card left, the hand ain’t over yet.”
The River was a diamond Two, no use
To me. “I’ll make a bet you can’t refuse,”
I smiled, while shoving out my chips, “All in.”
She laughed, “I’ll see you. May the best man win!”
“. . . Or woman, as the case may be,” I said.
And as I showed “Two-Pair” she raised her head
And slowly turned a pocket pair of Twos.
“That gives me three of them,” she said. “You lose.”
.
.
James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and three collections of poetry including Mostly Sonnets, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in The Lyric, Poetry Salzburg (Austria) Review, California Quarterly, Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online, Better than Starbucks, Dwell Time, Light, Deronda Review, The Road Not Taken, Fevers of the Mind, Sparks of Calliope, Dancing Poetry, WestWard Quarterly, Society of Classical Poets, and The Chained Muse. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.
Simple, gentle humor.
Exquisite.
Paddy
Fun and games with James! Each one is a pocket gem. I really love the three of them. I especially enjoyed the one playing chess. It reminds me of being taught to play by my six-year-old cousin when I was thirteen and we had moved to Texas. I lost the first twelve games and would not play for a while. I had my parents buy me a chess paperback book. That is when I learned why he always took white, so I studied the Caro-Kann defense and won. After that, he could not win with either black or white.
Alas, I’m a chess ignoramus, though may take the game up as something to do.
That chefs game has a lot in common with submitting work to publishers and getting rejected.
Loved the toing and froing of the card game.
Thanks for the read, James.
Some nice rhymes in “On Being Chopped”.
I like the humor in “White to Play”. It is unexpected and so, more “fun”.
Shouldn’t “Just me and her” be Just me and She?
Phil,
Your suggestion is no doubt grammatically correct. “She and I” would be better. My phrase is colloquial, as most people would speak it informally in conversation. I have never heard anyone say “me and she” in conversation, have you?. Thanks for reading my poem and taking the time to leave a comment.
Perfect ending couplets in all. Bravo.
The two poems on games (chess and cards) are very well done, especially that final verse when the woman reveals that she has three of a kind. That line hits the readers with the same kind of catastrophic collapse of hope that would occur at the table.
The sonnet on a cooking competition was also nicely crafted, but the subject matter annoys me because I can’t stand the way every goddamned activity in America has to be turned into a competitive struggle! Whatever happened to those wonderful cooking shows with Julia Child, or Emeril Lagasse, or David Rosengarten, or The Frugal Gourmet, or America’s Test Kitchen, where you simply watched a highly skilled chef produce a perfect dish, slowly and carefully, and with plenty of intelligent commentary?
Having four chefs compete against each other on TV is utterly out of step with what fine cuisine is all about. It turns one the most humane skills of life into an Indianapolis speedway race. It is irretrievably vulgar, and typically American. It is not about the product, but solely about “winning.” I refuse to watch them.
I’m pretty sure James agrees with me on this, because his sonnet is a lamentation in its tone.
Back in my early college days no one could beat out Graham Kerr, the “ Galloping Gourmet.” My carpool friend and I would watch him tipple himself silly before heading off to our morning classes. Good times, never to be seen again, alas!
James, I can smile at your “Chopped” conclusion because I play chess well enough to lose gracefully in the first round. When an odd number of players shows up, I make it even (great way to win appreciation). Doing my best is success. Like Joseph, I hate the “Chopped” competitive format, most of all because fine cuisine is despicably timed (as he notes by calling it a speedway race). And all the graces of the table reduce to mere “plating.” Not for you, though. Even a dramatically imagined loss at cards (with bad grammar) becomes a winning poem. Congratulations!
I used to watch “Chopped” quite often, so I got a kick out of your poem. I can only imagine what you would do with “Master Chef”.
James, adroit tributes to and comments on competition(s). Shrimp ala mode was it? Anyway, it reminded me of my thoughts about candidates for the Nobel Prize in literature the year Bob Dylan won.
I’m not much at chess, but still I play 2 grandsons as well as I can (not with the success with which my grandfather slaughtered me at checkers), and still less at cards, though I enjoyed making a flash fiction out of them. Thanks for a nice change of pace with these 3.