Category Archives: Friday Poetry

Sea Fever


I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
By John Masefield 1878–1967
We are getting into summer where I live in the US.  The call of the water is strong…

In the newly founded sandbox we were promised a fuller life

As I jump from my current location into clones in distant space
And think about who owns this station – they, the previous holders replaced.
And before them others had owned it. I watched them flourish and fall.
Yet the gods of the Jovian sectors silently outlast them all.

We were living on land when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That internet space ships were useful and lasers looked hot when they burned.
They gave us space rocks to harvest they promised us ISK untold
They even gave out a space yacht that was made of solid gold.

But some there were who doubted, were lazy, or out of their mind
So they left the Jovians offer and became a plague on mankind.
They wardecced and killed with abandon and on any unlike them gave chase
And the noobs lot became a sad one, as they devoured tears from their face.

They warred on the miners and salesmen. they killed off friendly and free.
They chased away any from deep space now vacant for any to see.
And the Jovians told us, “don’t worry, build an empire of civil respect”
“A place where the friendly and helpful can build to their hearts content”.

In the newly founded sandbox we were promised a fuller life.
Which started by helping our neighbor and then stealing his boat load of ice.
M0o, Mittani, bob, and Lofty sold us a bill of goods
Claiming scamming and combat would feed us so we all covered our heads up with hoods.

They swore if we took up our weapons, that attacks on us would cease
That those who take our things from us would leave us here in peace.
But the arms and building exposed us, they drew envious attackers like flies
They took everything we constructed, then covered their crime with some lies.

So now I sit in the station, that my former alliance laid down
The current masters are tightwads, and the market will not make a sound
Because tho’ we have plenty of money there is nothing our money can buy
For the scammer controls the near markets and the prices have gone up too high.

We’re all looking for some place to setup, safe undiscovered remote.
A place to call a homeland, for those still daring to hope.
But something inside me is leery, I’m doubting it will be the case
That any find peace in a system this side of Jovian space

As the gods of the Jovian sectors plan new mazes to bring us down low
I think up schemes to take outposts that we owned many years ago.
The peace and prosperity promised may never come to this place
As long as pilots with jumpclones remember who settled this space.

– an adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s “The Gods of Copybook Headings” by EVE player Barbara Nichole.  This won a bonus prize in the PLEX for Parody poety contest.

The Charge of the Frig Brigade



The Charge of the Frig Brigade

One more jump, One more jump,
One more jump onward,
All in the Nebula of Death,
warped the six hunderd.
‘Forward the Frig Brigade!
Charge for the gate’ he said
Into the Nebula of Death
warped the six hunderd

‘Forward, the Frig Brigade!’.
Was there a clone dismay’d?
No tho’ the pilots knew
Someone had blunder’d :
Theirs not to Teamspeak ‘why’,
Theirs not to Mumble ‘bye’,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the Nebula of Death
Warped the six hundred.

Drones to right of them,
Drones to left of them,
Drones in front of them,
Primarized and alpha’d,
Fired at with beam and shell
Boldly they flew and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Flew the six hundred.

Setting their mods hot,
using every slot
Gunning for the sweetspot
Charging a fleet while
All the universe wonder’d:
Plunged in the interdictor choke
Right thro’ the blob they broke;
The enemy fleet
Reel’d from the massive stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they flew back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Drones to right of them,
Drones to left of them,
Drones in front of them,
Primarized and alpha’d;
Fired at with beam and shell
While ship and pod fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All of Eve wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Frig Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

– an adaptation of Tennyson’s “Charge of the Light Brigade” by EVE player Don Aubaris.  This won an honorable mention in the PLEX for Parody poety contest.



Limerick Contest Winners

(posted on Eve-O)


These are the winners from the Limerick Contest.

Honorable Mention:
GM Spiral for getting the most votes with this lovely limerick:

A ticket was filed by a man
Who’d lost his jettisoned can
He’d bought all his ISK
And still took the risk
His reward was a permanent ban

Player Winners of 100M isk for most “likes”:

Lucas Kell:

There once was a fella from Jita
Who desired his wallet be fitter
So he found a good deal
Which it seems wasn’t real
And now he is feeling quite bitter.

and (most ironically)
Tyburn Stannis

A contest of poems was the calling
So I penned a swift ditty whilst hauling
But there’s always a risk
Of corrupt “likes for ISK”
And a winner whose rhyme is appalling…

Winners of a Phantasm BPC for being my personal favorites:


I mine only Veldspar for fun
I make just a pittance each run
And although it is dull
I still mine ’til I’m full
‘Cause I like looking out at the sun

Cara Forelli

A rare ship I followed from Hek
And soon I would orbit his wreck
The stargate I jumped through
Scram, web, and then pew
The system, alas, was high-sec

and finally, the winner of a Cynabal BPC as the Poet’s Prize

Sarhyl Connaly

Eve Online is a game without walls,
But this freedom contains painful falls;
Such as learning curve: rough,
meta-game: rather tough,
And controls like a kick to the balls.

Thanks to all who participated and I hope you had fun. Using “likes” as a mechanic didn’t work out as well as I hoped as most of the likes were on the first 2-3 pages even though there were some very good limericks later on. The poet’s council did fantastic job of culling through them and most of their selections (as well as the winner) were from the latter half of the thread. However, it wasn’t quite fair to them as many of them also had submissions that were quite good that probably didn’t receive the attention they deserved. In any case, I feel great about the winners, but I will probably use a different mechanic next time.

A special thanks to the poet’s council of
Nyjil Lizaru, Xanadu Redux, Don Aubaris, Vehestian, Mike Azariah, Barbara Nichole, and Cara Forelli for going through multiple rounds of votes to select the winner.

O Captain! My Captain!


The Shipwreck by William Adolphus Knell

O FC! my FC! our fearful trip is done;
My Atron has weather’d every gate, the button we sought is won;
The station is near, the cheers I hear, the coms all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady guns, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the flotsam of twisted wreckage,
Where on the nebulae my FC lies,
Fallen disconnected.

O FC! my FC! Relog coms and ding Vents bells;
Rise up—for you the fleet is holding—for you we faced Hells;
For you LP and factions rewards—for you the newbies a-twitter;
For you they call, the chaotic mass, their eager voices spurring;
Here FC! dear fellow!
The stars beneath your head;
It is some dream that in your vat,
You’ve fallen disconnected.

My FC does not answer, his corpse spins in space;
My fellow does not heed the coms, he has no pulse nor will;
His ship is but cosmic dust, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, my victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O stations, and ring, O channels!
But I, with mournful dread,
Fly the stars where my FC lies,
Fallen disconnected.


O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman as re-interpreted by Eve player Xanadu Redux.  This poem won an honorable mention in the PLEX for Parody poetry contest.