A Moral or Amoral Verse

What’s “edgy” in a poem? It’s not as though
I shoot someone or launch a missile swarm,
And say, “I think this moment wants a poem!”


boom-boom boom boom-boom
boom-boom boom-boom-boom boom-boom
Boom boom-boom boom-boom


Do you remember, days of innocence;
To gaze above at stars in firmament;
With wonder of heart that knows not vengeance?
Living the summer days without torment.
I took the one way ticket to fight for Home;
Left you alone among the fallen leaf;
That broke under foot, my dreams to roam;
Together with you, my love and my grief.
I build the walls of my winter garden;
From the stones cast down in a ruined life;
Where nothing grows in dirt ice will harden;
As the flower of my hate blooms in strife.
Bury my bones forgotten in the snow;
When the winds blow, of me no one will know.


Comrade! Share your drink with me by the fire;
Of love lost, and battles won down to the wire;
We’ll drown our life in sorrow’s bitter cup;
To fill the urn with ash fresh from the pyre.


What is good in life? Wine, whores and fighting –
That is why I arise in the morning.
Disagree, but such are the salty cucks;
Whose lives of ease I submit are boring.


Oh, Veik. Tesseract
Of broken mirrors-- all edge.
(I like your first one.)


Hardcore edgy reputation maintain;
Because I like to if it’s all the same;
Keep to a sense of fun, and the pleasure;
Of not being serious in quatrain.


Anime was the Caldari mistake;
Adults watching cartoons we must forsake;
Oh, the Federation must be destroyed?
Get better tropes the officer you fake.


How were we ever so cruel
as to make mock of the fool
with demands for civility
and a certain humility


Empyrean wisdom,
Where ever it is you live,
Do keep clean the place.


Roses are red, Violets are blue, You are a Stabbed Farmer, and I hate you.

(My refrain after chasing yet another unarmed and stabbed atron from a Large Plex)


“As capsuleer,” you say to me, “this means that I’ll do as I want, to buy out men and rule the stars and in the souls of foes I’ll haunt,” but really, friend, if you were me, and saw your facial tells I caught, you’d likely sit on down a moment; give yourself another thought.

Or two. Or three. Man, I don’t know. Iambic rhyme is tough, although in rhythmic verse I’m not adverse to cooking up some inane stuff. My judgment flows like river streams to call you on your silly bluffs and metaphors for egger scores where blood of men is not enough.


A home,
A hearth,
A place to laugh.
A debt,
A door,
A broken floor.

Memories of my
Belonging flow like water across
Sand, slow and dirty, sinking away.
Life has long been different and the
Fields I once wandered now lie withered and
I cannot remember.

A sister,
A brother,
A missing lover.
A mother,
A father,
But, would you rather?

Distant birds circle above
Me. Once I was raised among them, now I watch them through my
For a City built of dreams,
Heaven has been good to me, in its way.

I apologise for putting you all through that. Decent rhythm is not one of my many talents. Inspiration strikes at will however!


This rat race.

Your cute face.


A distant night swallowed up in the endless river of prickling light.
Life is a continuously pained existence made up of the endless fight.
Yet the struggle is as much a part as the comfort of a lovely sight.
In the end it is seen cooperation is the true sense of might makes right.

Warlords, mutineers, pirate queens and dewy tears.
Baseliners line up to die while we fly, eternally lie.
‘We warn them’ it is said as every single one winds up dead.
But if we were true we would rue our patterns of recklessness hitherto.

For only the reflection is left, death after death.
Myriad parts of memories assembled eternally.
Some think this is why we are left bereft.
I think I am whole, but an entirely different soul.


How could you do this?
She was your child.
But men and
women in robes
Said that your girl
Is just a vessel.

The mind it has
Is not yet formed.
Memories of another
Will flood her brain.

One who was
Will be again.
The one who might
Will never be.

They did not know
All seemed well.
Memories once saved
Are now lost.
The potential mind
Is also gone.

Something new
Both but neither
Lives in this shell.

Which daughter
Did you want?
The one born
The one restored
Or the one who is?


Communal Property

This is to the one
Who has been stealing from my fridge
I will find you soon,
When I do you will have no kidney

– Excerpt from corporate memorandums YC119

Missing Interns

What interns? I have no idea,
Of where they end up,
Here today then gone tomorrow,
Such is youth these days.

(Jev has no clue either - don’t ask)

– Excerpt from corporate memorandums YC116


Pew pew they went
Blah blah they go
Always fighting
With laser or words
Can’t we all just get along?
Of course we can
But probably won’t
Is this a bad thing?
Of course not!
Is this a good thing?
Of course not!
What the hell is it then?
Pew pew


“Your body’s a wound, you’re a raving madman.
This world is an arrow that impales you,
A ghost ship of what never was
falling towards the event horizon.”