EVE General Discussion

I am sponsoring a poetry contest. Possibly more than one, but we will see how the first one goes.

Basic Contest Rules:

1. Create a new original EVE related parody of a (reasonably) well-known poem.

2. Post it in this thread by 31 Jan 2014. Forum thread timestamp will be used to determine the cutoff.

3. Grand prize winner will receive a PLEX contracted to them in Jita. Additionally, 4 Honorable Mentions will each receive 100M ISK. All 5 winners will also be featured on my blog: pilgriminexile.wordpress.com.



Slightly more detailed rules:
- Must be a new and original parody. In order to determine that you are in fact the creator and not just ripping it off from someone else, the first instance of the parody must be in this thread. If I find the parody posted anywhere else (unless it clearly has a later timestamp than your posting) it will be disqualified.

- Cite the title and author of the original poem as part of your submission.

- Minimum of 50 words. No Limericks or Haiku – they may be a future contest.

- Maximum of 1000 words. As impressive as it might be, no one wants to read an EVE parody of all of Beowulf.

- The parody should match the rhythm and rhyme of the original as closely as possible. Per the word count guidelines above, you can write a shorter parody of a long poem, just skip a few stanzas.

- Since I am the sponsor, I will also be the judge. If you want to help sponsor and/or judge future contests, send Tas Exile an in-game mail.

- If you are a “famous” blogger/personality and want to participate, please consider using an alt so neither of us can be accused of conflict of interest.



Would you like an example? Here is my attempt to parody “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost.


Two gates diverged in empire space

And sorry that I could not jump through both

A lonely wanderer with anxious face

I considered first the lowsec case

And with it dangers, fears, and growth



Then looked at the other, known and fair

And having perhaps the safer claim

Because it was easy for happy bears

Though as for the jumping there

The action was exactly the same



And both that evening equally lay

Ready for jumping back to back

I wanted to save lowsec for another day!

But knowing that if I went this way

My clone was ready if all went black.



I shall be telling this with a smile

Somewhere ages and ages hence

Two gates diverged in space and while

afraid, I still walked the lowsec mile

And that has made all the difference!

Let me not to the strength of our minds
Admit impediments, death is not death
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the capsuleer to take breath.
O no, it is an ever fixèd sod
That looks on wormholes and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring pod,
Whose worth's unknown although his height be taken.
Death's not time's fool, though frosty lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come,
Time alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and herein I lied,
I never writ, nor no capsuleer died.

- I Have a Rendezvous with Death -

I HAVE a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed TCU,
When the Corp calls my vows true
And wrecks now fill the grid—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When the CTA is issued..

It may be he shall take my pod
And lead me into his dark land
And fry my brain and quench my breath—
It may be I shall tank him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred PLEX or just wardec'd,
When the fleet coms fill with fear
As the first Archons appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Docked and spinning the ship round,
Where the ISK mountain grows steep
Scam to contract, contract to scam.
Where forum tears are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
Primary'ed in some null system,
With the Logi's nowhere near.

And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

[ after Alan Seeger's "I Have a Rendezvous with Death" ]

"Arcturus" is his other name by Emily Dickinson




"Mittens" is his other name—
I'd rather call him "Troll."
It's very mean of Goons
To go and interfere!

I slew a Spacemonkey the other day—
A "Savant" passing by
Murmured "Oook"—"Centipod"!
"Oh Lord—how frail are we"!

I pull a Zealot from the hanger—
A monster with a Lazor
Computes the spaceships in a breath—
And has her in a "pod"!

Whereas I took the Tempest
Aforetime in my fleet—
He sits erect in "Herocats"—
The titan CFC forgot.

What once was "Providence"
Is "CVA" now—
Where I proposed to go
When TEST's brief masquerade was done
Is robbed and podded too.

What if the miners should frisk about
And afk upon their roids!
I hope I'm ready for "the gankers"—
Whatever CODE betides!

Perhaps the "Form up system" changed—
I hope the "Razor" there Won't be "new doctrined" when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—

I hope the CEO in the skies
Will lift his little pilot—
Spread point—primary—everything—
Over the stile of "EvE."

"Old Bumpersides" by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894)

Aye, park her in the hangar now!
Long has she boated the void,
And many an eye has danced to see
Her lasers on a 'roid;
Around her flicked the nimble drones,
And hung the cans of ore —
But the Retriever of the high sec belts
Shall sweep the belts no more.

Her hold, once full of asteroids' guts,
The yield of the vanquished foe,
Her hull the survivor of bumpers' butts
(Before I became a pro),
No more shall take a flying path,
Far to out of range —
The victim of the sociopaths
For a Hulk has been exchanged!

Nay, better that this hero barge
Should explode in a shockwave —
Her lasers slew the veldspar belts,
And there should be her grave;
Jet now her cans and loose her drones,
Switch on the self-destruct device,
And give her to the God of Belts,
The Scordite and the Ice!

Edit: If this one turns your stomach or makes you want to smash something dead, you should see O.W. Holme's original one....

Not a poem, but a nice old song from "Suzanna Vega" - "My Name is Luca"

The Trader

My name is Iwan
Trading on Jita four four
never undock from there
Yes I think you've seen me before.

If you sell something late at night,
some kind of module, some kind of freight.

Just don't ask me what's my price
Just don't ask me what's my price.
Just don't ask me what's my price.

I think it's cause I'm greedy
waiting for the next bargain
Maybe it's because I'm needy
Trying not to trade in vain
Undercutting until they cry
and after that you might ask why

You just don't trade there anymore
You just don't trade there anymore
You just don't trade there anymore

so much depends
upon

a red jump
freighter

glazed with space
dust

beside the white
jetcans

(screw your 50 word minimum - the red wheelbarrow is a classic)

Original Poets/Songwriters: SMITH, WILLARD C. / TOWNES, JEFFREY
Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air Lyrics

Now this is the story all about how
My pod got flipped, turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the ganker of a system called Auga

In lower Syndicate cloned and de-noobed
Out in null where I spent most of my days
Scouting out, jumping, shaking all cool
And all shooting some spaceships outside of the station

When a couple of Goons, they were up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighbourhood
I got in one little fight and my CEO got scared
And said "You're moving with our Blues and Absinthe Dudes in Auga"

I fit up a Cheetah and when I got near
the gate was all littered and had flashies on my rear
If anything I could say that this gate was a scare
But I thought nah, forget it, I'll carrier jump to Auga!

I jumped to a cyno about seven or eight
And I yelled to the cynomate "Yo, noob pop you later!"
Looked at my system I was finally there
To kill in my plexes as the ganker of Auga

W. B. Yeats must've been writing about Eve, because I barely had to change anything in The Second Coming:

The Second Decade

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The Falcon cannot jam the Proteus;
Things fall apart; the cyno cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Decade is at hand.
The Second Decade! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Dodixie to be born?