I must beg all of you for forgiveness as I never read the little print.
In our highly refined Stone Age Society, we don't write odes to a common piece of "cheese" (pardon my french) we think that we know now that the challenge was for Chess and there was a typo in the invitation.
My deepest apologies, not that our pink wearing PeeWee Ed will be forgiven for sprading so many false rumors, but we gratiously will let it pass considering him a lower rung of the family ladder.

Well, well, so at last we have a Intellectual cave
where to indulge in a civilized game of chess,
without the company of hairy and loudly women
making of themselves a royal pain and a pest.

Brother Jersey is the cunning one, he has Rufuz
as a trainer, a thinker, a strategist for the game,
with Salty Walt cheering for the heck of it, and
D’artagnan William showing off of being tame.

As always the sissy Fee will side with PeeWee
because he can call the ladies by first names,
and get the Intellectual-Con-Man to melt,
by decorating with frilly lace the funny cave.

Stonehenge-Andy as been not heard from, yet,
he is another little Anglo and a cunning one,
he tried to sell me of a Salisbury condominium
a time share, I hope PeeWee buy false smiles.

But back to the Chess Poetry Contest we may,
the king is mad with the Mexican peasants,
instead of fighting they are taking their siesta,
I suppose that all will start first thing mañana.

The intellectual imperative of the exercise
is to put at work the brain cells on gear write,
too many just don’t care what is written
because so few excellent poets don’t dare.

Our Exclusive Society, we don’t say gamblers,
welcome all the ladies that come from refined
houses catering for tastes of exquisite, and,
not counting head coiffeur, are totally shaved.

We are a few refined ones on the cultural…
…how can I say it…beyond reach scale,
for those that write about a piece of cheese,
poor devils! Chess is the name of the game!


PS. I am confused My Lord Sir PeeWee
you say Chess or cheese poetry contest?