The Kings Who Rule The Chessboard, Site Unseen Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

They are the Kings
We are the pawns,
not even the Knights
to humor us all
So we'll keep on playing their numbers game
when the fact is...it's a pre-arranged game,
and has nothing to do
with the work that you do-
to rise to the top of their traffic tree top,
so fatuous all these coin-flips are,
in aligning the daily popular bards;
day after day, who's on 1st...
the pitcher is Who?
uuuuuuhhhh......THIRD BASE!

That shed little light,
That is 'less you might
know Abbott, Costello,
and Carmine Gambino.
What's that? I'm wrong?
These three don't belong-
together, in the same poetic song?
'cuz Carmine was an underworld...
all of his own!

Ahhh, mon frère, an vous, mes ami,
for a common element lives in all three.
For shame, for shame, said the poets defamed
by scrupulous measures in gauging word play.

You still haven't pegged the connection?
The one malignant tie to the infection?
It's The Game, The Game, the Chessboard plays
Twenty-Four-Seven in showers of hours,
three-sixty-five, count them, in paydays!
It's a ''techy'' thing
with the chessboard as King,
It's a new day, whose turn shall it be-
to charge to the top in popularity,
passing all members with NASCAR speed,
waiting online for a castling to Knight;
so sad most winners they choose cannot write!

Yeah, it's just a numbers game...no need to beware,
just thought other people, might like to know where-
these numbers come about without truth or care.




FjR-MMXV