"TMP Historical Wargaming Poetry Contest" Topic

My "far from Wordsworth level" offering…

Stuck on a shelf, all covered in dust,
The last bit of impulse, the last "I must…"

A bit of undercoat here, a bit of primer there,
The shirt painted on this one, on this one the hair.

Romans and Gauls from this maker and WW2 as well,
Napoleons legions still on sprues, bags and boxes, too many to tell.

I'm going to have a clean out, get rid of old ideas,
The stuff that I've had sitting there for months or even years.

Its time to purge, its time to cull, its time to thin them out,
The next big thing is coming! I just can't do without!

The Upper Puddle Duck pond war, now I'm getting keen,
I ‘ll have everything painted, and run the game at DreamOn 2013,

100 of this, 20 of that and yes definitely a unit of them,
Need some books, need some paints and then I'll start again.

The package is here, the package is here! The new toys have arrived,
Nice big box, bubble wrap, did the spears/guns/bayonets survive?

But wait what's this on the Marketplace, an X mil army put on there,
Oh the nostalgia, I had them once, I've plenty of shelf space now to spare.

I'll put them here next to the Pond war figures, cleaned and primed and based,
And then I'll just check TMP, see what else may be going to waste….

And now they are stuck on a shelf all covered in dust,
The last bit of impulse, the last "I must…"

I Know I Suck

Some call this hobby an addiction
Others consider it an affliction
But when I roll the die
or to paint I try
One does not have to make a prediction

It is nobler to face death than to fear it
As I move my troops I can hear it
The sound of the guns
But of course I roll ones
So now my Army is in deep s##t

My wife does not understand me at all
She thinks my brain is so small
If she ever knew
The extent of my crew
The divorce lawyer she would call

Fog of War:
Not all on table,
Nor off it.

What a coup d'etat. And such poetry is not a low coup but a high coup!

The Wargamer

A lad not yet in teens
Last picked for every team
Would read late into night
To gain just some insight
Into the men who went before
To the bitter drums of war.

A young man now he hears the cry
Of jocks and others who go by
And taunt him with the words of shame
Just because he plays a game.
They call him nerd and geek and ev'ry epithet
In evening he finds solace as he storms Chapultapec.

A grown man out on his own
He finds those of like mind.
And games until the dawnlight comes
with others of his kind.
By day he's just a student.
At night he gives commands
It brings him peace and comfort
From all of life's demands.

Home and family take their place
And games fall by the side.
'Til one day father takes his boy
And shows to him with pride
The ranks of colored soldiers
His oldest dearest friends
And tells his boy the stories
Of the games that never end.

At last the gamer passed along
To the game room in the sky.
His soldiers go on marching
To refrains of, "roll a die."

Have I won yet?
Make it so!
I need more money
on terrain to blow!

Gawd, that was awful….:)

Update!

Second-place prize in the contest will be a gift certificate worth at least $100 USD from Hasslefree Miniatures.

As the lead gives way to pewter
So my youth gives way to age.

As the student becomes the tutor
So my naiveté turns to sage.

My life turns less from bigger things
As I sculpt and paint and flock,

The miniatures life is everything,
from country farm to city block.

My little men do what they're told
My little women never grow old.

They sit upon my shelf and wonder
When into battle they'll next blunder.

The Typical Games Workshop Employee

He talks to himself in sole confinement, mutters like a recluse,
He's achieved a lot in his life; a full box of spare plastic sprues.
Hoping that some misfortunate lad is next to come in and peer,
So that may begin the pestering, the disposition most queer.
Waiting with beady and hungry eyes, for a customer through the door.
When someone finally walks in to buy, he leaps and bounds in the store.

"Hello there, have you got this issue?"
He froths at the mouth and uses his sleeve as a tissue.
The shopper just ignores him, sits on a chair to rest,
But the staff member continues from behind the hobby desk.

"How about the new version of the Leman Russ?"
No wife for him; Finecast damsels satisfy his lust.
"Have you seen the latest Wood Elves, they're more magical in this edition!"
But the customer's only interested in new Chaos Demon renditions.

"Just a blister pack of Demonettes" the weary man exclaims,
"Demonettes, the Emperor's Foe!" The air guitarist with a boom proclaims.
Swipes a card, rattles the cash, the chirping of a till,
Rammstein crashing in the background, the eardrums' shreek so shrill.

"And would you like a bag with that?" In a happy temperament,
"No thanks" says the customer, to save himself the embarrassment.
For it is frowned upon in society, to carry a purchase from that place,
To be a Games Workshop customer is the world's most damned disgrace.

Do we have a deadline? I'm thinking of throwing something together but am a notorious procrastinator.

I'm thinking of keeping this simple, so why not work this like any other TMP poll – when this topic sinks to the bottom of the board, time's up, and we have the vote. (Or, at least, round one of the vote.)

Warzone, Chronopia, also VOR
of dying games, I can't take any more

Warmachine, Hordes, Malifaux
require new piles of lead, you know

FoW, FoG
she said no more new lead you see

every game in which I play
and one or two playtest

suffers the fate of a dying day
and still I won't protest

so treat me kindly with respect
should you meet me one day

perhaps I should give my touch of death
to Warhammer and Forty-K

Ode to a Gamer

My wife can never understand,
how I carried out my plan so grand.
My cavalry did sweep the hill,
in fact they may just there still.

Artillery did crash and boom!
Death laid waste across the room.
My infantry could show no fear.
My dice are hot, my foes despair.

And when the battle's said and done,
we clean it up – that part's no fun.
Wife doesn't understand you see,
those little men will die for me!

While in the world life can be harsh,
each day goes by as a forced march.
But Saturdays alive with joys,
as I field my happy little toys.

---
Man, I hope that that doesn't suck as bad as I think it does. :)

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as gentle dice roll and humility.
But when the blast of war blows in your ears, stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood and watch it all unfold on SKY.

Rolling heaps of dice,
These dangerous generals
only kill lead men.

Sung to the tune of "My Way"

At last, my time has come,
I must face the final curtain,
My friends, I rolled two "ones",
I will croak, of this, I'm certain,
I've played some crappy games,
I must say- not in a shy way,
But more, much more than this,
I lost in my way!

Oww. Wahat a shame. I only see it now and it is over already.

Can´t you extend it over next weekend?

It is over yet? If not, here's my effort:

While wargamers sleep deep each night
In their games rooms an amazing sight
Little men stir in the bright moonlight
And happy they are not

"Hey Bob, still not undercoated, I see."
"When will he get around to painting me?"
"I was bought in 1993!"
And they feel all forgot

And some minis with critical eye
Cast their gaze on their fellow guy
Look at the paint job and cry "Why?!"
And begin then to plot

"We have siege engines, cannons too."
"We have tanks from World War Two."
"We have spray paint – and lots of glue!"
And revenge will be got

So paint 'em quick and with care
Lest while you slumber unaware
Unpainted armies climb the stair
And murder will be wrought

Celts and Romans going at it like hammers and tongs
Insane postings of obscure songs
The random fact or tidbit that makes your day
Despite the drama I cannot turn away
TMP is a fantastic source
Whether the color of a bricole or how to paint a Horse

I like Dan Wideman II's best so far!

Binky says "OINK"

Here's my drivvel

"Little Metal Men"

Little metal men of mine
Take me back thru the mists of time
Fighting for all that's divine
Most bought at Brookhurst

Little metal men of mine
Some are plastic, and that's fine
On victory soon they all shall dine
Or die in the dirt

Little metal men of mine
History or Fantasy, I just don't mind
"Et tu Brute" say my friends of fine
Virtue on their part

Little metal men of mine
Painting them is so sublime
Doing so keeps my sharpened mind
From drinking Thunderbird

Binky says "OINK"

Poetry? Okay turn in your man card. Come on hand it over. Come back when you grow a pair.

Charge

Ringing in my ear
The staccato beat of our drummer
The distant bugles to our right
Yes Sir, I hear

The oppressive heat
Flashes of cold steel
Waves of smoke ahead
Yes Sir, the beat

Uncle Tom, neighbor Conner
Up ahead
Right behind
Yes Sir, the honor

Free the colors to fly
Follow me boys
I have the flag
Yes Sir, I die

One O'clock A.M. at Historicon

Sweaty hands throw dice,
Stinky mad gamers argue,
Can you say "geek-reek"?

A Hopeless Situation

High on a desert hill,
I am ordered to defend
this lonely outpost.

The British 7th Army
against my poor Italians.

The Empire Strikes Back

At ten fifty-one,
I really have hit the wall,
my Black Orcs have lost.

Live and Let Die

Can this truly be?
The James Bond has been captured
by Doctor Evil.

In that glaring light they stand in line
Their weapons gleaming, their uniforms fine
You´ve brought them there for the world to see
To stand and vanquish, not tun and flee
But at that moment when they stand their last
Bullets spent, the dice being cast
Back-to-back and steely-eyed
The enemy trembling at their sight
Then rings their motto clear and true!
You painted us! We´ll die for you!

We are the Lead
Living Longings

Your bones break like old roof tiles
Your clothes rip like a sail in the stormy sea
We bite your tender flesh with dry old teeth
We smell old and buried – aaahhh – we are the lead.

Your music calls on us – stingy and avid
Your laughs hurt our empty chest plate
You are beverage for us and we are not thirsty or hungry
We wander endlessly – aaahhh – we are the lead.

We are a phalanx of bow and spear and axe
Corroded by time and rust and oblivion and dust
We march towards your house and nothing will stop us
A locked door is an embrace – aaahhh – we are the lead.

We growl low and long a scary and undying sound
We wish for your tender lips in a tight kiss
Our maxilla closes on you like a nutcracker
And your screams are bliss – aaahhh – we are the lead.

Some of us are mourned – but just for a short while
Eternity erases all human strings except one
We say we won't kill you if you love us truly
But we rip the heart from your chest without a thought.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh… We are the lead…

The Envious Song

He stood there so proud and bright
His armies coloured and shiny under the light
I moved my sad under-coated troops around
My tactics were better, my dicing was sound
His painted men layed there scattered on the ground…

Song of the Veteran

When I was new and shiny,
The kettle-drums they beat,
Ranked I was with unprimed lead,
And pushed forward to defeat.
Felled by stone and khopesh,
on the tabletop we lie,
but I never die.

Now primed and based,
the Eagle I did meet,
With gladius and pilum,
We marched upon Rome's street.
Crushed by Punic elephants,
on the tabletop we lie,
but I never die.

Proudly painted now,
Plunder's call was sweet,
Our longships beached on Saxon shores,
and thanes scampered in retreat.
Hewed by huscarl axes,
on the tabletop we lie,
but I never die.

Slightly chipped and battered,
Le Petit Tondu we did greet,
The armies of Europe fled before us,
And until Russia, we mowed them down like wheat.
Sabered by angry Cossacks,
on the tabletop we lie,
but I never die.

Sadly scratched and bent,
I sweated in Tombstone's heat,
We bushwacked the Earp brothers,
but they shot us down like skeet.
Shot by lawmen's bullets,
on the tabletop we lie,
but I never die.

Stripped and painted fresh,
We waited with the fleet,
Breaching Festung Europa,
The sands of Omaha I did eat.
Torn by Wehrmacht mortars,
on the tabletop we lie,
but I never die.

Far from Earth I find myself,
part of an Emperor's elite,
Ultramarine blue armors us,
as we battle alien deceit.
Burned by plasma fire
on the tabletop we lie,
but I never die.

Scorched and cut,
shot and torn,
on the tabletop I lie,
but I never, never die.