ChessMEN forever!

The queens are all in pieces
since their stroppy teenage nieces
have told them they're not chessmen. Yet again!
"We will not be called chess pieces!"
they tell their noisy nieces,
"And the old word meaning people -- that is men!"

The black queen's getting rattled:
"Our ancestors have battled
for over a millennium and longer!"
The white queen adds her voice:
"We are chessmen. That's our choice.
And to name us (bits &) pieces: nothing's wronger!"

"We are chessmen; chess our game!
and, while we're at it, we could name
a bishop and some pawns who would agree."
Both the queens declare, "We're proud
to shout it out aloud:
We are chessmen and, as chessmen, let us be!"

© Celia Warren 2023

Imagine if I had blipped my chessmen once a week, every week for a year: that's how many of their adventures I've shared in word and picture in this journal - only it's taken nearer 13 years. Chessmen blips are like buses, there's none for months and then two come along in close succession - such is the way with this Silly Saturday crowd!

Today's been grey and miserable, so homemade carrot and coriander soup went down well. It's that time of year again.  At least it didn't rain, which I'm glad about. Our garden is still very squelchy underfoot from the last lot. That's the problem with clay soil.

We went into Bourne this morning, picked up my mended hearing aid, got a haircut for me, did bits of shopping, dropped off a bag of clothes in the Sally Annie collection bin, and I did all the driving again - so gradually gaining confidence in terms of finding my way round. (It's my poor sense of direction not driving per se that is the issue!) But I'm getting there!

Hope you're having a good weekend, blipmates!