Tag Archives: Poetry

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.

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The Charge of the Frig Brigade

CHARGE

 

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.

 

 

O Captain! My Captain!

the-shipwreck1

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.

“Goodnight Noob”

goodnight moon

 

In the great deep of space
there was a Goon
and a welping noob
and a fleet of PL jumping over the moon
and three carebears in Typhoons
web links to kittens and, of course, Mittens
and a little POS and a fleet boss
and a blob on a gate
and pods all irate
and a quiet bittervet whispering “HTFU”.

Goodnight, noob. Goodnight, Goons.
Goodnight, PL jumping over the moon.
Goodnight belt, and the ganking crew.
Goodnight, carebears. Goodnight, ‘Phoons.
Goodnight Mittens, and pics of kittens.
Goodnight, rocks. Goodnight, docks.
Goodnight, POS and goodnight, boss.
Goodnight, blob. Goodnight, gate.
Goodnight, pods. Please don’t hate.
Goodnight to the bittervet whispering, “HTFU”.
Goodnight, missiles and goodnight, guns.
Goodnight and GF, everyone.

 

– Parody by EVE player Vehestian of “Goodnight Moon” by Margaret Wise Brown.  This poem was an honorable mention in the PLEX for Parody Contest.

The Moa

800px-Moa1

“Improved” photo by Kirith Kodachi (click for link)

Sometimes poetry is all about how you feel.  Had the poetry contest been held this week, this would have been the winner.

The Moa
Moa! Moa! burning fugly
In the vacuum of the night
What “artist’s” hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful asymmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the depravity of thine lines?
On what wing…?  suitcase…?  spire?
What the hand dare shatter the hull?

And what shoulder(?) and what “art”,
Could twist the sinews of thy shape?
And when thy hull began to creak,
What dread tail?  and what dread neck?

What the duece?  what the hell?
In what fever was thy brain?
What the suitcase?  what dread whatever that is in your grasp
Dare its fugly visage show?

When the designer threw down his stylus,
And watered EVE with his drooling spittle,
Did he LOL his work to see?
Did he who made the Ishtar make thee?

Moa! Moa! burning fugly
In the vacuum of the night,
What “artist’s” hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful asymmetry?

– an adaptation of William Blake’s “The Tiger” by Eve player stoicfaux.  This poem was one of the bonus prize winners in the PLEX for Parody contest.