Is there a Second Life poetry?

OK visual arts are flourishing wildly, but what about poetry? Some nice poems, serious or funny, surface occasionally. Here are a couple to kick off an exchange for a while, maybe?

(Hey - lets keep them short! None of us have good attention spans here on the forum. Haiku or limericks or maybe a sonnet at most. This wouldn't be the right place for epics).


A haiku

Posts explode and die
Shining Threads stay in my mind
Like morning snail tracks.


A limerick

There was a brave Fig Tree called Ray
Who outed the Clique one fine day.
It was like a red rag
So with targeted lag
They withered his figs right away.


Over to you.

Clever Cherry, to me you're the most
Friendly post after post after post
We've never yet met
But one day, I bet
It's in Champagne I'll make you a toast.

I posted a rather long poem just a while ago. Haiku verse form, but many stanzas...


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OMG! I was going to say yes I personally write poetry. Mostly diabolically bad poetry (my profile is evidence of this I'm afraid, though I don't think many people have realised it's about ummm "congress".

I digress! Awww you've made me blush now. Champagne? You bet - with a crystallised violet and Parfait D'Amour

If you can keep your inventory when Linden Lab
Are losing it and blaming it on you,
If you can trust your girlfriend isn't a guy when all men doubt it,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait for the connect button to appear and not be tired by waiting,
If you can voice chat with crowds and keep your sanity,
Or walk with Lindens - nor lose the common touch,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the world and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Probably one in a dress if here or the rest of the net is anything to go by

Hey Ceera I take the liberty of quoting one stanza from your poem to give people the incentive to go and look at it:

Once a destroyer,
talent now used to create
new Realities.

(It's long and very personal and I suspect we would need to know Ceera quite well to understand it fully. Worth a visit)

*grins*

That poem describes my Roleplay character as Ceera Darkwynde / Ceera Murakami, as she has developed in over 6 years of playing that character.

I write a LOT of poetry, in Haiku form as well as traditional formats. I even participated a roleplay session once, on a text-based forum, where EVERYONE had to speak in Haiku!

Anixiety bubbling, and rising.
Impermanence's fatal tide.
Zomg, the sky is falling.

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to SL
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid prim.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle /me
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don't!

The only poetry I've really seen was the infamous SLough (a rewrite of John Betjeman's "Slough", about Second Life, and posted anonymously on a blog site), but it's a bit horrible. I have to omit some parts of it, because it attacked some residents by name:



(I don't know how much of that was really meant and how much was just to fit with the original, which complains about very similar things.. well, ok, not texture lag, but you know what I mean )

Aside from that kind of thing, aside from poetry I think there's a fair amount of SL-related filk, which is at least similar. There's been some posted on the older forums here (try a search of the old General forum).

Urgh Slough. I wonder if the "Mr Egg" cafe is still there?

Shudder.

I don't know, but it does have the bonus of being able to drive around the roundabout from the beginning of The Office. So that's something.

Me, I want to see SL's answer to the epistolary novel, a narrative composed entirely of chat and IMs.

Notice that I said I want to see it, not that I want to read it.

It was unforseen
We cannot connect you now
Try again later

Why does my prim drift?
Lag can be a harsh mistress
And it is Sunday

No water ripples
My computer is too slow
Shaders are all off

In the casino
The Gorean ageplayer
closed their bank account

I have ten Lindens
Gained here in my camping chair
I play "Second Life"

I have a prim kitty
She once made me a cookie
But then she ated it.

alpha sorting glitch

blowkiss
helicoptor
lamp that sheds no light
parrot that does not orient itself to my shoulder
sploder in the corner of the skybox taking names to distribute linen
artists wooden figure sits in the chair next to me
his arm occupying the same space as my arm
do I need to say something
excuse me
why is everything so dark did I force the sun to noontime yes
can I rise above the darkness oh I teleported to underwater coordinates
the world rests on a hippo standing on a watermelon
poseball residing in the pineal gland
macro avatars incarnating ones and zeros
default setting for physics is off but I could buy a script that will turn it on
set my flexi-skirt to auto-return
fingers tweening
do I look ok
how ugly do I want to be
hanging on to my assymmetry
lets me know where the hell I am I am the bell that cannot be unrung
ladders along xyz
cookie cutter divot of orange sky
she shifts from hip to hip in the fling air

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I spent 6 weeks making a photosourced skin using photos from the photosource subscription service called 3d.sk Here is a poem I wrote about that model.


model

how can I translate you to another surface your eye's recess your mathematical tenderness the shadow of revolution over your aristocratic nose your veins rolling over crevasses your too red legs stark flesh that has taken root did the light scatter under your surface did you witness the photographer turning into a werewolf howling at the fullness of your ass did the manager grouse about shifting the talent to after lunch did the session pay for a new muffler a bottle of whiskey jellybean shoes did you go home to a flat where everything is painted white

This little piece of (I assume intended) rubbish has a more interesting literary history than at first appears. It is of course a direct reference to the 'poems' of Douglas Adams (Hitchhikers Guide) cited as an example of poetry used as torture. In turn Adams was probably referring to Around the Horne, a classic British radio show of the late 1950s or 1960s, and probably from there back to Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll. There are hints, perhaps, of Beowolf. I wouldn't want Love Hastings to be mistaken as uneducated.

(By the way, is the name Love Hastings itself a reference to B****r Bognor? I've always wondered.)

Yes, but did you see how I changed a few words to be SL specific? Are there Vogons in-world? And no. Must be a coincidence.

I remember a group called the Wrong Way Writers, who held weekly poetry recitals at the Wrong Way Cafe. It was a good while ago though, I went to a couple with a friend, I think because one or two of them had visited us at the blacklibrary.

Teenage turtles twirl
Like springtime blossom blowing.
We pause but I still lag.