Poetry Competition

From MinecraftOnline

Jump to: navigation, search
Games Poetry Competition
Inventor getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115
Location Specific? On the wiki

A poetry competition on the subject of MCO. Contestants are to post their poems on this page.


There is no deadline. Any form is acceptable. The only requirement is that it must be something to do with the server.

Upon completion of the epyllion, all of the contestants will pick the poem they like best. The poem they choose cannot be one of their own. Each contestant can post as many poems as they please.


"Lost dreamers" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

The children through the server pass

Like Alice through the looking glass

And dream of builds in foreign land

The other passers built by hand.

Although their buildings sometimes break

The little kids remain awake

As long ago, I'm sad to say,

They all grew up and moved away.

"As out the glass a mother sees" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

As out the glass a mother sees

The children playing round the trees

And spots a face reflected there,

A face decayed beyond repair,

So may a sad observer

From the ancient server

See their feisty spirit

Lost in new arrivals.

"Block City" by Robert Louis Stevenson and altered by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

What are you able to build with your blocks?

Castles and palaces, temples and docks.

Rain may keep raining, and others go roam,

But I can be happy and building at home.

Let the hill be mountains, the river be sea,

There I’ll establish a city for me:

A kirk and a mill and a palace beside,

And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride.

Great is the palace with pillar and wall,

A sort of a tower on the top of it all,

And steps coming down in an orderly way

To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay.

This one is sailing and that one is moored:

Hark to the song of the players on board!

And see, on the steps of my palace, the noobs

Coming and going with daggers and cubes!

Now I have done with it, off I shall go!

All of a sudden it seems long ago.

Block upon block lying scattered and free

In the halls of my withering memory.

Yet as I saw it, I see it again,

The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men,

And as long as I live and where’er I may be,

I’ll always remember my town by the sea.

"I always used to fish alone at sea" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

I always used to fish alone at sea.

I was compelled to stay away awhile.

(Alone I was the boy I wished to be.)

As night approached I came ashore to see

The kids ignite my bodies in a pile:

I always used to fish alone at sea.

Although they burnt my eyes I felt the glee

From bright insane silhouettes of the trial.

(Alone I was the boy I wished to be.)

Before they drank my soul I had to flee

Towards an inlet of that magic isle:

I always used to fish alone at sea.

In hell-sent storms I won a fishing spree

The sights of which evoked a laugh and smile.

(Alone I was the boy I wished to be.)

The ruler asked me back and most agree

I'm but a shadow of the young exile.

I always used to fish alone at sea.

(Alone I was the boy I wished to be.)

"There once was a girl from the server" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

There once was a girl from the server

Who screamed "he's the being preserver!"

He was not that foxy

To use the old proxy

But couldn't resist to unnerve her.

"Sonnet eyes" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

A couple years ago I laughed to know

That poets worked the night away on shit

That Sid or Shakes or Drummond won't admit

Is full of lies they paint for just the show.

One doubts he saw her skin as white as snow,

And did he really spend his life unfit

To call her name to show her what he writ

Before he felt the hellish fires below?

Yet life's as cruel as cruel can ever be

To gift these eyes the losers used to wear,

The eyes she rolled across the screen to me,

The eyes that know the truth they bravely share

With all the prior fools too blessed to see

Behind their funny lines the deep despair.

"Mad boy's love song" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

Although the sonnets prove their love is true

In almost every line they write themselves

Beside the fire and leave their loves to chew

The coal and wood along the bottom shelves.

I start to question not their love but what

Can be the thing that tells them how to feel:

Is it a simply watered flowerpot,

And are those girls they "know" a thing that's real?

Perhaps I stole the words she said in chat,

And smoothly sprinkled bits of garlic clove

Around their shapes I mangled firmly flat

To make them fully fit my fiery stove.

Perhaps I made her up inside my head,

But still the furnace roars a monstrous red.

"Hinted flesh" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

Suppose the sonnet wretches met with meat

That set the daily dull details ablaze:

Their flesh could lull a bitter liquor sweet,

And blunt a cunt one wants to know for days.

Those guys revealed a lack of skin may bring

Reverse emotions sensed severely well:

The comeback hit becomes a merely Monday thing;

The soulless shit supplies the skies and flies of hell.

Unlike the sonnet authors what I view

Comprises only dots upon the screen

That hint at flesh I wish I never knew

Existed when I played the damned machine.

Yet while I'm blind to flesh precursors saw

Her dots will come and go to sway me more.

"Godless men" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

In ancient times at least there was that God

About to fill the hole that love withdrew

From all the chests of every crying sod

Aware that now they had to be a jew.

Today the proof is seen of godless men

In how she softly steps around the lake

To ban those who begin to grief again

With such a stunning speed I even quake.

If still you cannot glimpse this world then look

Inside my empty soul: it cannot brew

The truth and purpose other people took

From stock approaches either old or new.

Deprived of God and truth I only know

That thoughts about her never fail to go.

"Creepy loiterer" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

It's strange to walk these hallways year on year...

The endless altered players coming through,

And turning old before I think them new.

Of course in time each group will leave, that's clear:

In later life the stuff they held as dear

Is beaten dry of joy they all outgrew.

This cycle hardly seems to be untrue,

And yet, despite its sense, I linger here.

I'm often struck by such a fact. I'm left

To feel unbalanced, like awaking from

A dream, or living truly once again.

Ah, but by now you surely know this theft,

The reason why I glide forever on

And gasp in flesh to sense those absent steps.

"Returners" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

I dreamt a gentle death awaited us.

On some November night a vacant world

Of long departed children whimpered out.

Awake adults forgot this passing dream

Or thought themselves above the childish game.

A few returned to glimpse the offline grave:

Without a sun, the sky was dull as clay,

The pall of lands removed from time and space.

Beneath its fabric idle buildings tried

To win their masters back with figures fit

To meet the comforts of the last to go.

Alas, bereft of men to please, they stood

Untouched, unloved, and all alone in breadths

Of silence.

"A heaven of hell" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115 (Far from finished)

I can't invoke a muse; I stand alone,

Depressed, withered. What a state to write.

I can't conquer and show the great unknown;

I hardly think I'll write myself alright.

And yet there's nothing else except the light:

A single torch that drifts in outer space,

The only thing I find it worth to chase,

That light of bygone summer days and nights,

That light of youthful eyes along the wall

That see the shifting shapes as cheeky sprites

They hold for now at least in total thrall.

Although I'm bad, I have to type of all

These magic things the children viewed before

Forgetting love in things adults ignore.

Indeed, I'm bad, so take your wasted time

As stuff I write subsists on petty lies

That do exist to just achieve my rhyme

(They also make the length and thud arise).

Expect these words that quickly tire your eyes

To have a lot of pointless adverb stuff -

They're very good for when I'm not enough.

Another note you must remember is

Whatever others see in lines I write

Are things they see themselves, and things I miss,

For achieving form produces bits of shite

That through its sweet veneers appears alright

And fair and tells of morals, points, and views

The text endures, but none of which I choose...

But where may doors undo their binding bolts

To open truthful rooms adorned with gold,

And dazzling diamonds, like unplundered vaults?

Perhaps they'd open through the hands of old

That made, in Drury Lane, such sights unfold.

I wish I had the hands of Thomas Kyd,

The hands that wrote of how the father cried.

I wish I were the heroes ancients wrote

In worlds engrossed by monsters who provide

A purpose which today is but a quote.

Perhaps you'd see it scratched along the side

Of lines from poems which you can't abide.

I think you'll mostly see it scrawled upon

The walls those trains will quickly render gone,

That empty nothing, void of meaning, void

Of what it means to be a lively thing

That readers through the golden texts enjoyed -

Imagined bards of old were there to sing

Of deeds they did for some forgotten king.

I wish I were the heroes bards extolled,

And not a background face in tales untold.

And still my heart begins to yearn for gold

Insulting times confined by classic bards

Incanting mighty tales of how he trolled.

Those lands of twenty thirteen lie as shards

In bardic minds the God of dreaming guards.

Their fragments flash upon my lazy eyes

In mornings which contain an absent rise...

They fill my life with dwindling structures which

Are seen in how the stanzas all connect

In broken threads I do my best to stitch

But stop myself to know a poor effect

Arises since my content threads reflect...

Expect to hear a foul ellipsis knock

Whenever reaching what may end a block...

Deprived of zest, my lazy pen excludes

Rebirths, for such a heavy past of bans

Revealing evil running through old feuds

With kids I trolled for being gay or trans

Appears too rich and can't attract my hands.

These weary hands prefer the present truth

Obscured by vast vendettas dotting youth...

On second thoughts forget the lack of link

Between these blocks because the stuff inside

Is riddled through with poor cohesive ink

That blots apart and forms its words beside

The ones I either write or can't provide.

Indeed the larger structure's not at fault

If smaller parts will cause a greater halt.

In fact forget these points I make before

Beginning since I don't believe your mind

Will meet this dreaming dump I can't explore...

Perhaps it seems an odd result to find

These words instead of pages left refined.

Yet what is there to do in empty life

Apart from doing shit amidst our strife?

In fact you might as well forget it all

For such a poorly written poem fails

To yield the social star that lights our small

Uncultured minds with widely cherished tales.

And yet in time this shit shall turn to sales,

As learned eyes in such ubiquity

Will spot a star in dung's antiquity.

In fact forget these points I make in view

Of how the only eyes to read this page

Remain inside a head that thinks a few

Ideas written down will free the cage

Of Time and drop His past replete with rage.

These words appear to warm my future soul

With how another yearns for pasts He stole...

I walk these streets in skies of grey concrete

And know you too, my future self, will take

Their halls and see in air the lovers meet,

Or glimpse along its old polluted lake

A darker side observed before by Blake.

In such a way my Thamesmead sings of how

The things that were are just forgotten now.

For ancient pasts persist to places where

I all alone will see admist these streets

Alisha's self-inflicted pains ensnare

Her knight in black towards her lilac sheets.

I know her when he once again retreats.

To time they went. Their hands on handrails go

Untouched as both belong to long ago.

Or stranger still, the eyes I only use

Will see that mighty Alex leading crooks

Against the waters which he'll much abuse.

Inside the lake that shows disloyal looks

I'll also see my Nathan cast his hooks...

These worlds collide to leave no trace behind.

These sights the fading builds alone defined...

Perhaps in some ensuing stanza I'll

Begin or something. Who can really say?

I can't, I feel a bit lethargic. While

I chat consider going far away

To find a useful way to spend your day.

I urge you find a bed to sleep upon

To live a past you love and thought was gone.

For not a single day is better spent

Than dreaming after some forsaken weep,

As troubled thoughts in tears will all present

Themselves in vast tremendous tunnels deep

In minds they prove with waking pains do sleep.

Aware they dream they fill their lands with men

From bygone days to hear them talk again.

Against their talking also hear the chimes

Of childhood sing its simple rhythmic sound

That brings to older minds the carefree times

Of mining after twilight underground.

Amidst these chimes you also hear profound

Farewells between the friends of long ago,

The type of friend no older soul can know -

The friends you formed without a hand from drink,

Those early souls, the only souls you knew,

It's little wonder why you formed that link.

It never mattered who they were to you,

You'd grab their hand as both of you were new.

In time you grew apart, became depressed

To know you lost this link that was the best.

Before reviewing what you lost with age

Remember life with all its dullness asks

You back to chores and "friends" you must engage

Along with other more despairing tasks

You must perform to earn a decent wage.

Perhaps that's why I seek to write this mess:

It's all one owns in lives of such success...

And now I've laid these small foundations out

My fingers quickly halt, and poorly start

Above the letters which augment my doubt

Of how to tell a tale so dear to heart.

I think it's best to let me please restart:

It starts with some uncanny guy that fell

Beneath the deepest part of Dante's hell.

Although he vanquished such an evil God,

Achieved the goal the others only dreamed,

Despite the fact he took his flaming rod

And slashed at God until he felt redeemed,

The dream he lives is not the thing it seemed.

Whatever Satan wanted, now he had,

And useless, lacking purpose, how he's sad.

But few can hope to fathom what it's like

To cut beyond the heat of one's desire,

Discern the friendless steel, and feel it strike.

And, dayless, how the endless years will tire

The helpless, drive them senseless, douse remaining fire.

Approaching death, removed from care, to live or die

Precedes them since it doesn't matter where they lie.

For nowhere does he lie except July,

A husk of horns for birds to pick apart.

It's hard to tell between their beak and eye,

The one that picks and one that tears his heart.

But who can feel them when one's dreams depart?

He loses tears to know he shall forget

It all in dull distortions, ah, and yet

Throughout pretence we failed to see this beast,

Inventing tales to beat the ones we've heard

Before in church by some inventive priest.

With every passing phrase or single word

Our beast's concluding form became absurd.

For not a thing prepared me for the sight

I saw in such a broken beast that night.

His minions knew not what to do because

This fiery monster who defeated God

Became a shadow of the light he was

For all in God's defying outcast squad

(That now around his shadows lightly trod).

Perturbed by how he fell, they just ignore

His corpse to focus on the spoils of war...

Unsure of what to do he passed his red

Domain to seek the place that spat him out

In hopes of feeling heaven's love instead

Of numbness which is hell's eternal drought.

In fiery falling how he cries throughout.

He sees whatever fills his life as bare

And yearns for lovely lands no longer there.

So through that space of chaos Satan flew

Despite the fact that heaven lost the war

And had its halls a place the demons screw

The bloody angels left along the floor.

It can't return to what it was before.

Above these mounds of bodies Satan screamed

For golden times confined to when he dreamed.

The Fiend thoroughly restless spends his night -

Forever dead, forever lost, forever gone, -

He walks in circles mad and ghostly white,

Without a song or friend, a friend or song,

Without this place, this place that made him strong.

And thoughts repeat in all the dead he views

Of how he wished he could return and lose...

And who can offer solace when he's what

We must detest until the very end?

And who can say in lives they lead he's not

The cause of endless pain, his closest friend?

And who will ever such a fiend attend?

In times of need, alone a mirrored cry

Considers how he must despair and die.

In heaven laughter called from distant halls,

And champing sounds from angels of the feast

Echoed around the red uncaring walls.

They all did live to mock the broken beast,

And savoured how he'd never be released.

But would they really have felt the same

Upon a glimpse of him alone in pain?

Alone, he now retreats towards his hell.

Upon the voyage Satan's empty eyes

Diverged from how the ground above him fell.

Instead, they wandered, till the sound of cries

Absorbed his sight because he knew their sighs.

These sighs he did himself understand since

Their source was all that swayed this saddened Prince.

And hence he's here because I dwelt upon

The past in every other waking hour

And hours between I failed to wander on,

As Numbness met the whole affair as sour

And gloom and mirth it seemed to both devour.

Before my eyes he's here because I'm not:

I'm nothing, yet I cannot be forgot

And not because I'm of important worth

Or made myself to be a petty fool -

Instead, a nothing cannot have a birth,

Without a soul, it's neither saint nor ghoul.

Besides, to be a bright unfading jewel

Is pointless when the players failed to stay

As none can say that nothing went away.

And so he drags no thing along to spawn.

With spits, he pulls it up the red abyss.

I look upon the sights he shows withdrawn,

But the dear location seemed amiss:

The lake immersed the players under bliss.

Across its waters noobs arose alive.

Without receiving help, they learnt to thrive.

I question why he shows me views of things

I play already all around my head.

He sighs - abruptly flings

Me down to see the heads I knew were dead,

And hear their words that once I merely read.

To great surprise their free and ghoulish sound

Described a soaking nothing newly found.

Below their eyes I thought it was a dream;

Deprived of numbness life appeared unreal;

I sat unsettled in its golden gleam.

To check it all I got myself to feel

By pinching skin to force the dream's reveal.

To horror players still encircled me

And knew my pains to be attempts to flee.

With many fists they smashed my face beneath

The golden gleaming lake I still esteemed

Until my blood began to redden teeth,

At which event I think the players deemed

They proved their point of how it wasn't dreamed.

And through the bloody water off I saw

These players go that still inspired my awe.

As others left a single person stayed -

Amongst the crowd she pulled the bullies back.

Despite her best attempts one can't persuade

The many years of hate to not attack.

Although they forced her back with quite the smack,

Despite her fails to pull the pests apart,

Attempts she tried altogether warmed my heart -

My dryness turned to shameful sprouts of sweat

Around my eyes that blocked her face from view;

Resurgent food I gulped renewed its threat,

Contends itself with burps I let on through -

Henceforth without my breath to speak I knew

Enquiries must be met with signs that tell

Suspect reports of why I'm so unwell.

But under growing lies I outward bore,

Beneath the parts the lake concealed from view,

I felt the things I felt those years before,

Without the water here you'd see it too:

The only bloody thing I wield that's true...

Of course in absent years I pined for her,

And wished that things returned to what they were -

But then to see that what I wished came true

And not desiring such a dream to end

This fool recovered what he used to do

In hopes that dreams the length of which extend

Beyond a night of dreaming might upend

His current dreams that barely last a night

And stop, although he holds his eyes so tight.

For if my past offhand demeanour drew

The dreams I never hope to reach today,

Perhaps, I thought, its mask will now renew

The lengthy dreams I used to have - hooray! -

Then joy she brings exists without delay!

So since I felt I must rewind my mind,

I wore an outward strangeness, seemed unkind.

Besides, I took this scheme upon myself

Because it's what I might retreat towards

In moments when the world perceived a self

Too simply slashed apart by silver swords.

Ensuing storms she was my secret fjords,

An inland haven filled with skies of blue,

A nice, secure retreat I only knew.

Thus like the years before I met her sound

With shrugs and other signs that seemed aloof:

For every warmth she showed I dumbly frowned;

Her dulcet tones were met with some moronic spoof

Of both her sound and content which was proof

For all the waking world I don't pursue

In conscious dreaming after such a view.

I guess my antics seem to be a sad

Performance only losers would attempt.

But don't desire to hit me since I'm mad,

And though, unlike the courts, that can't exempt

My actions, rest assured my self-contempt

Will keep me up until the morning's through

Because of things I did and still might do:

Upon approach I warped away then flew

To natural plains with help from /jumpto since

I held a fear behind me she'd pursue.

But if I always warped I would convince

Her how I planned to start these swerving sprints.

Inspiring doubt I turned as still as Drax

At other times to send her off my tracks.

I'm quite afraid to say these things I did

Are what a winner spends his days upon

In view of stuff that Satan must forbid

Amongst the helpless who from hell are gone

As exiles walking now forever on.

I must impart these wicked things to you,

The things that even Satan calls taboo:

Her heart suspending wooing met a fort

The heights of which allowed the clouds on through

But made the other players just resort

To walk outside its walls without a clue.

And, tired, she plainly asked. I had to snort

For other actions fought against routine -

Moreover, scared to live, I acted mean.

Now after all these years one might conclude

I might have learned a thing or two but no,

As soon enough I grew depressed and viewed

Her leave; it felt as hard a bloody blow

As when she first departed long ago...

Deprived of hellfire she alone possessed

I left the lake forlorn and quite distressed.

But how can such a creature bring about

A change so great in very little time?

Her words were sharp, insulting, cause for doubt;

Her nasty actions can't be caught in rhyme -

And yet I love this crook despite their crime.

In truth it might not be despite the bad:

In shit and grace, her song entranced me mad...

Now see my cave against the crash of waves,

That cruel asylum filled with deadened cries

From boys and girls, Despair's abandoned slaves,

Who pick in rags their own decisive prize:

His knife or noose beneath the blackened skies.

To snuff it's better than persisting here.

"My fault, it's all my fault", is all we'll hear.

It's wise to die, and though the rope can break

And rusty knives can fail to slash our skin,

The smallest chance for death is one we'll take.

For joy is gone, and never shall we win.

Forever shall Despair remain our king.

We can't escape the cave, the sea's too strong.

We cannot swim, in here we must belong.

There's not a single moment of release,

No gasp for air or shade from raining fire.

A ceaseless state of war in seeming peace

Does burn behind the warmth of our attire.

And this is why the cave's events are dire:

We know its tortures don't arise from pain;

They rise from how we're here again, again, again.

We shrink away as creatures of the dark,

Forgetting lives we left behind, and things

We see in pools as lightning makes its spark.

In anguished cries of guilt a mother sings:

"My fault, it's all my fault, I killed my darlings."

Enough of this, the past I write is nice,

Until my death I guess it shall suffice.

And so I went to fucking nowhere now.

About the Flippeh statue dazed as shit -

I wondered if his evil did allow

Me back to get me since I failed to quit

This place I saw as some infernal pit -

Indeed this golden past abruptly seemed

So far removed from what I always dreamed.

Atop the statue's head I faced the clouds

And marvelled after how they showed no care

For outcasts lacking love or friends in crowds

That loved to beat them when they're starved of air

Beneath the water which does prove Voltaire

Correct in saying life is endless pain

Us mortals must endure until we're slain...

Extending life is such a petty bore

In times bereft of purpose she inspired.

I've lost the way I saw the world before;

The nothing which exists I now desired -

It lets me live removed, profoundly tired,

Yet keen in nearing time to be destroyed

With others who again rejoin the void...

And dote on how you left Bethesda's cave,

A cave replete with rats and narrow walls -

An affirming space for what reviewers gave

A fifteen rating since the game appals

The player through its hindered bloody brawls.

Recall the way you left that cave and saw,

With magic beats, a world beyond this shore,

Its pier directing eyes across the stream

To fortress ruins which inspire our wit,

And hills beside with trees that softly gleam,

And how the wind did softly through them flit

To make me unto such a world submit.

Remember how the game inspired our dreams,

Return, and see it's been reduced to memes.

Recall the way the roads they drove you down

Contained a splash of yellow light ahead,

And lights from houses all around the town

Appeared to burn away in time for bed -

Behind your mum, you were awake instead.

Remember feelings gained upon backseats,

And, older, see the streets as simply streets;

Remember driving into London now,

Or any other city late at night,

Recollect wondrous heights above your head -

The way the billboards changed to much delight,

Or how the office rooms emitted light.

Perceive an older self arrive and fail

To list these magic things they can't detail.

The things appearing small to most in fact

Convey the depth of what it is to lose

The magic meaning older people lacked,

Or through their years began to just refuse

Exists, for magic's dumb in lives we choose

To live - as how will magic ever pay

The costly needs we must endure today?

I tarry, what I meant to say in lines

Above is how the smallest things reveal

The immense gulfs inside the mind's designs,

The gulfs of nothing where the children's zeal

Forgoes its hold from fleshy walls of steel.

And, if we see this through my tiny find,

It hints that nothing's ice conquers our mind.

Thus all alone the nothing cries for what

It knows is pointless life that's not redeemed

By happy times as mirth will simply rot

In years it thinks it only ever dreamed.

Deprived of mirth and meaning too it seemed,

The doors of sensing sank away without

Observing outward things or sounds about

The walkway hailing onto Flippeh's head,

The cries apart from such a madding crowd,

The cries that cannot see inside its head,

For if they did then none would be so loud

Because their sound is lost behind its shroud.

Attired in wholly black it mourns like Vickie,

Beyond depressed it's lost its stupid rhyme,

And not dissuaded, players landing near

Observed the creature which ignored their cries -

And seeing ears believed it had to hear;

Annoyed they checked for pain and gouged its eyes,

At which event the thing to much surprise

Began to wail and flew across the head

To fall impaled upon a fence ahead.

Their hate became concern to see this thing

In black and now a bit of red below;

In guilt they helped, removed its wooden sting,

Implored it told them all it had to know,

Impart the reason why it felt its woe.

In hopes they'd go it sated such requests,

And lied of carers whom it much detests,

Pretends to all it was recently griefed,

Invents another tale of how it died

And lost its stuff, and more and more it briefed

The willing ears it tried to push aside

With other fibs that made them feel its side.

In time it lost its temper when intent

Reversed in every word it never meant:

Instead of fucking off, they stayed around.

Desired disgust became united cries

Against this evil earth our lives surround -

That tiresome, painful ball so full of lies

For newborns who receive a bad surprise.

Aroused by soothing shrieks my hate became

A loathed respect for players of this game.

From out their number wheeled an outcast king.

His loyal subjects saw beyond the lies

The other players ran around a ring

So much it never came as some surprise

These others saw the truth in falsehood's guise.

Betrayed, and moved by words I gave to him,

He now declared we rip them limb from limb.

To death we march for neither land nor fame;

The lie that pushed the soldiers up to hell

Is one we know from prior wars to blame.

We march to life's corrupted citadel,

And there despair itself we shall expel.

We march so others won't endure our pain,

We march to kill the saints of God's domain.

A prophet knew the fight, foresaw the blood

That would adorn a hill of diamond blocks,

And told of wings and arms alone in mud -

Informed our loss would lead to death by rocks,

Compared our cries to gallows down the docks.

Against these fears we marched to certain doom

To save from hell the growers of the womb.

As night descended, scouts with argent veils

Approached and /jumped in shiny sapphire gear

Throughout the blackness where they etched their trails.

Our king commanded death to scouts that near

And hence behind I /jumped towards one's rear.

I slashed his wings to see defeated eyes

Ascend and wander round impassive skies.

And every slaughtered angel followed suit:

Their doctrine, which existed through affairs

From countless years below His order, mute;

Their common turn towards devoted prayers

Disappeared when they died with vacant stares;

The most profound belief they sang in song

Amongst the kings of Heaven, proven wrong.

Upon the breaking threshold how I saw

Myself in angels who will lose their God -

Their childhood magic which awakened awe.

And must I go and press my fatal prod

Within more kids, begetting every sod?

It must be evil - might it not be best

To stop before the pain consumed the rest?

However, tearing hearts from faith became

A habit which I can't relinquish now.

Besides, it's not my fault - I place the blame

On action since, I often wonder, how

Are people evil when it's acts that plough

The fields of pain? And hence it's what we do

That's bad, and not the 'crooks' we 'must' subdue.

I feel defective when assuming truth,

That thing we tell ourselves to ban despair.

I say it's down to acts, but perhaps it's youth -

I'll claim the first to soothe my every care.

But after all, at least I'm quite aware

That under judgement what I am is vile:

I cause these acts, I know myself, and smile.

At length we chanced to meet upon the way

The gulag where I lived to find my soul.

The others laughed at what the signs did say,

But whilst they laughed I felt so whole,

For round the house's waters shone a troll.

For all the pains the past bestows on me,

I wonder how it makes me feel such glee.

And who can answer such a strange affair?

The men of hellfire born in pain and shame

For what they'd be if cowards showed their care.

And now they are the men they all became,

As through their tortured howls they heard a name.

They welcome pains the past had left behind,

The pains that paved the path towards their mind.

And though I'm not entirely happy nor

Entirely sad, I greet this sober dawn

With keen resolve, requesting even more.

It's living's utmost pleasure - being torn:

To see your single star escape the spawn,

And feel its mighty hell persist in you,

A hell of joy that burns with what is true.

In happy thoughts I wandered off the march.

Whatever war they went to seemed absurd,

For now I knew I lay below my arch,

And shall for always, till my life is blurred -

For what will change up till my final word?

I see my past, myself, and who I'll be,

I thank the past: it shows eternity.

Beside a golden lake I watched them go.

The alpha sounds began, my shoulders brushed

By willows, legs submerged, and hair on show,

The quiet evening passing idly, flushed

By skies of red that waned unrushed.

And all of time did droop its hurried head:

To look behind me was to look ahead.

Instead of longing came these simple sounds

That struck my older self like London's lights

Inspiring younger eyes of magic grounds.

I felt my former love for small delights

As darkling skies transformed to shifting sprites.

The past was here to stay forever more:

It lived beyond the dreams I still explore.

And thus the sounds of many years ago

Rebounded through the years to make me whole,

For through their woe myself I've come to know.

From nothing how they gave me such a soul -

That evil goodness found in freedom's troll!

And, through my change, I knew that under me

A beast rejoiced in toppling tyranny.

"Aimless stop" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

Half-fucked at dawn

I join the server.

I jump around the lake at spawn

Without a goal in sight.

Without a care I read the chat

And don't engage until I need

To ban a brat erasing blocks.

At a loss for what to do

I kill

To have the noobs denounce my name,

The other mods do much the same,

Whilst I jump on blocks

I've seen a thousand times or more,

Log off without a goodbye,

Conclude the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did, in fact I often do,

And always with no aim I bring

Myself to jump at nothing.

Always at a loss like this,

Always when I'm pissed.

Perhaps it's something in the blocks

That causes my routine -

Their images, cries, pleas for what's been,

What's finished.

"Heaven would be hell" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

Without grief,

There's no beef.

Without their crime,

Life's idle time.

"Melancholy" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

I've won my escape,

Yet I've lost myself.

Where do prisoners go

When prison's all they know?

With no God to level,

Is the devil the devil?

Without a why

Who am I?

A face less recognisable each week,

A purpose more obscure.

I have seen my greatness flicker.

I am no one anymore.

"Lover's Cave" by getplayerhead.sh?AlphaAlex115&16.png AlphaAlex115

These shadows are

More true than fire.

They chart my life,

My deepest code.

Don't praise the flame,

It's but the fuel

To cast the shapes

Along the cave.

No, praise the play,

That can't expire:

Its dreams will be

Forever etched

In our desire.

"Banned" by getplayerhead.sh?floorboards&16.png floorboards

All those who are banned

From the use of their hand

Denying the rules, I see.

Breaking a torch is guaranteed.

My, it feels like a test.

All affected did not behest.

Where were staff the night it occured?

I held my laughs for the time it stirred.

For those who tried,

For those who have lied,

Your guile is as slow as the server

You won't last any further.

"Gift" by getplayerhead.sh?floorboards&16.png floorboards

MinecraftOnline, thank you for the gift.

I seem to be fit for the non-existent task at width.

For I, a plank on the floor might implore

The only gifts I shall recieve for evermore.

Hourly, they appear. What a mere flower quenched me.

That of which I gain I shall always adore.

"2B2T" by getplayerhead.sh?floorboards&16.png floorboards

The server is laggier than hell

Even hell has low TPS

If I ever get the chance

I will not dwell

I will visit this shitty cartel.

I say, what is that hellhole named?

2B2T, sounds like an nightmare to behold.

Over-exaggerated stories and a lot more untold.

They think they're the oldest server there is,

What a lie they foolishly believe to exist

I cannot dream to see a great day there

I will never pay for priority queue

Hausemaster is a money hogging jew I cannot compare

"Transport" by getplayerhead.sh?floorboards&16.png floorboards

What could we use to move?

Our feet? I disapprove.

Minecarts, boats and horses will never improve.

All those were viable to use

My caboose sits impatient

Sitting for minutes on end

Moving a single block per five seconds I now comprehend.

As my horse stands vacant

A thief comes adjacent

He rides with a single click

"What a prick", I blurted out.

And he slowly moves across without a doubt.

I come up close and take my sword

I take a swing

and died to his thorns.

"Drunken Haiku" by getplayerhead.sh?Ickyacky&16.png Ickyacky

Creepers very mean,

I hear a sss from behind,

Boom there goes my gear.

"MCO Poem" by getplayerhead.sh?Unkle_Genny&16.png Unkle_Genny

Freedonia, Freedonia,

You give my firstborn pneumonia

You're a frosted piece of shit for which

My love shall never quit

From the early days of crawling out

Of grief holes exploring Spawn

To the day I became blue from loving you

When my rule would 'rouse Genghis Kahn

With a community full of giggles and shits,

Cunts, Nazis, Commies, and men with tits

It's a shock that any newbies have stayed for long

After they've died to a Spawn cunt with his hand on his dong

While it may not be the hood,

The boys are always hard

Our man getplayerhead.sh?6stooges&16.png 6stooges gets excited

Even if they draw the straight card

So while the history is wide,

I've been along for some of the ride,

Something I'd only say with pride

As I swallow a Tide

From the cringe-inducing FIT Raiders,

And getplayerhead.sh?Slapsore&16.png Slapsore the homosex,

To the shitpost-born Crusaders,

And the alts of getplayerhead.sh?dodgemasterflex&16.png dodgemasterflex

I've also set up a Klub,

Which yes I'm bouta plug,

A monster far from just a pub

Where you can die to a bug

If there's anything else to say,

It's "Fuck you Oi, you're gay"

For making me write this little text

Through which my skills hath been thoroughly flexed

Damn right I'm good with words, bitch

But like I said before

I'm better at bringing your sister to pitch

My tent like a whore

"The poem of griefer" by getplayerhead.sh?AndrzejSkowron&16.png AndrzejSkowron

None of us tried to be bad. We were bad because we believed we were good.

We hurting each other, only because we are unable to see it. We trying

to fix our sins but thats not gonna change that who we've becomed.

Every of us will pay not for being bad person, but for our own stupidity.

We were unable to understand what we did wrong, and now is too late...

The hammer is coming first you are afraid, you trying to escape. But you

can not escape from who you are. You are a griefer and now when you

understand that with smile on your face you will get your ban, knowing, that

will make the server a better place. That's sad because you have to left everyone

you love, but also happy because now you're free your since have been paid.

"MCO - The Place Of Pure" by getplayerhead.sh?Rage3does&16.png Rage3does

A Place Of Pure,

That Most Can Endure.

Not All Survive,

Only The True Do Thrive.

In This Place Of Pure.

This Life I Live,

Not Always Active.

This World I Mine,

Where Only Few Shine.

In This Place Of Pure.

I Build And Craft,

On The Now Gone's Behalf.

This Home I Love,

I Will Never Get Rid Of.

In This Place Of Pure.

"A MinecraftOnline Summary" by getplayerhead.sh?1jonah&16.png 1jonah

MinecraftOnline, a server best for thee.

Yet again, we must ask ourselves:

will the TPS reach higher than three?

Though your builds will remain for years to come,

thanks to the dedicated moderator team.

And of course the oldest public server,

being quite the opposite of 2b2t.

As for the community, I am fairly certain,

they are mostly 17.

"The Magical Land of MinecraftOnline" by getplayerhead.sh?44trent3&16.png 44trent3

The magical land of MinecraftOnline

A place where all seems fine

But someday, you'll soon realize

6 years have gone by

"MCO Haiku" by getplayerhead.sh?Nerdman&16.png Nerdman

Minecraft's best server.

Ambition and dreams all over.

My Minecraft Online.

"What’s This?" by getplayerhead.sh?TheGolum&16.png TheGolum

They took the Link from a video

Skipped over the ads on the sidebar

Took the site to Minecraft Servers

Hitched on the button for 1.7

Took the long scroll down

The third server from oldest

A feeling to log in

A feeling to log in

To a place called


"Verican Democracy" by getplayerhead.sh?Beeraeka&16.png Beeraeka

Someone once told me

VC's not democratic

Well, that's a big lie

I love Verico

Birthplace of democracy

of, here, Freedonia

"The This And The That" by getplayerhead.sh?Scampi_&16.png Scampi_

The as of the it, the isn't that doesn't

No of the a it, of does that wasn't

Very the yes, with and a the therefor

Doing with of, except the it before

The neither be wouldn't, nor of never the

Never going for that, how sort of it be

Then it a be this, but how can the do at


No, it is the this and the that

Personal tools