Jager Poetry Slam

For those of you who are familiar with Girl Genius, you'll know that jagers take their poetry slams quite literally. I put on my best Europan-style dress and headed over to the Huts des Jaegers in Winterfell Absinthe to join in on the fun. Let's just say that I could tell someone had just finished reading by the huge amounts of explosions I heard upon arrival...
I grabbed a mug of beer and quickly sat down at the table, not wishing to somehow end up almost two sims away like Frau Lowey...Later many of us put on our habits as befitting Steelhead's infamous Nuns with Guns, as fire, death rays, toilet paper, pies , parrots and other assorted items flew above us. You can see Miss Tanarian Davies and me below in one of her wonderful tiny habits (five versions according to religious order!) If you want a fun, silly time (with poetry mixed in!) , Jager Poetry Slam is held weekly. Contact Miss Annechen Lowey or any member of the Wulfenbach Consulate for more information!

A Winter Evening Poem

A Winter Landscape
by Mathilde Blind (1893)

All night, all day, in dizzy, downward flight,

Fell the wild-whirling, vague, chaotic snow,

Till every landmark of the earth below,

Trees, moorlands, roads, and each familiar sight

Were blotted out by the bewildering white.

And winds, now shrieking loud, now whimpering low,

Seemed lamentations for the world-old woe

That death must swallow life, and darkness light.

But all at once the rack was blown away,

The snowstorm hushing ended in a sigh;

Then like a flame the crescent moon on high

Leaped forth among the planets; pure as they,

Earth vied in whiteness with the Milky Way:

Herself a star beneath the starry sky.

The Moon is Distant from the Sea

For an anonymous gentleman...

THE MOON is distant from the sea,
And yet with amber hands
She leads him, docile as a boy,
Along appointed sands.

He never misses a degree;
Obedient to her eye,
He comes just so far toward the town,
Just so far goes away.

Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,
And mine the distant sea,—
Obedient to the least command
Thine eyes impose on me.
--Emily Dickinson

An Ode to SL

I composed this little poem...

An Ode to Second Life

Oh, SL, what shall we do?
LL what is wrong with you?
When our sims just crash and burn
And we're ruthed at ev'ry turn?
Our items gone,
Our projects lost.
It's a price we pay
But at what cost?
Lagging, glitchy, missing, awry...
Our problems we can not deny
Patience thin
Expletives hurled
Despite it all...
See you in-world!

A Quiet Evening's Reflection

who knows if the moon's
a balloon, coming out of a keen city
in the sky--filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it, if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we'd go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing

away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody's ever visited, where

always
it's
Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves

--ee cummings