Capt’ Hickman’s Mutiny for the Ages…

A ship, an isle, decipher time with the Sun,

The mirrors of the seas, continually re-run,

Periods change for historical lands,

No map has he, yet the Capt’ commands.

 

An isle beside an isle,

She doth lay,

The Governor’s daughter,

For sale upon the bay,

 

Whilst the moon reflects, the port of gold,

A Pinnace ship, as the manual told,

Put forth its great and lonely flight,

To the ever reflecting ocean night,

 

She fly’s the flag,

Crash into the deck,

Aboard the Dutch,

Salvage the wreck.

*****************************************************

A worthy vagrant,

For a Capt’ thus far,

He signs up every seadog,

In each and any bar.

 

And still, a ship upon her seas,

Went sailing without the winds of ease,

And moved so slowly, the moon so pale,

That Frigate ship, she hardly set sail.

 

The marsh is thick,

The Galleon sails heavy,

The wind blows hard,

Capt’ hold her steady…

 

Attack, attack , via ground via sea,

The Capt’s men are shaken then angry.

The victorious winnings, of the sea faring buccaneer,

Again have vacated the towns food and beer.

 

Oh Sir, Oh Sir,

There is land upon the yonder,

Why not harbor?

Maybe divy upon the plunder?

 

Imagine the wealth?

The riches we could combine?

Then that stingy old Capt’….

Hickman was left behind.

 

 

 

Siegfried’s Ode to 8-Bit Morbidity.

Again, again……old friend for such you have tasted, and your tranquility has grown to be, sitting alone, head in hands, controller on my knee.

Dead though you are, has your skill been that of the sober persistence? does it remind you of my repeated, replayed, my once again non-existence?

Playing against death, old tricks are distinguished, the previous haunting’s are to happen until, antiquated hours of work and will.

Within the hours of contemplative candleshine, it runs true, that my own ghost revisits upon that dawn, it teases and tempts with ceaseless respawn.

This is thy power of what has become, the rich mortality of those history shall write, shall again see death, and will only whisper their last passing breath.

Rewards have you sought, in the living light of day? being conquered from the night, above, beside……

Who then shall dare to say that they have truly died?

 

Residual Light

The race for us, these blinded mice concludes…for now, that impending pendulum keeps tick, tick, tocking, and return I must, but for now the time is mine, mine and mine alone.

No longer must I feign the interest, to care for your obvious forecast of small talk with a hint of cats and dogs, for the sun could have his hat on, yet I no longer give a toss.

Whilst again I refrain, from the modern and mundane…. your popular references always go over my head, immersion in the game, each weekend the same, as I live in my own bobble of amusement.

This outside world no longer holds any relevance or meaning to my soul, for now this weekend is mine, mine and mine again, and I shall do as I see proud.

Pursing the games as much as I can, enjoying the lonely mists of irrelevance that life leads me to, a journey that many people dare not travel I find myself a secluded recluse bound by nothing, yet knowing all..

A lone ranger you may say, I’ve been sitting inside all day, the curtains closed, whilst the NES and I play.

It’s eventually happened, I’ve finally been cast in life as a lonely silhouette, constrained to this earth to live in the shadow of one’s former self.

Residual light glistens the through the slits in my curtains, the street lights beckons like a robin to the spring, the continue music plays and the alarm bell rings.

Monday is here, regrets not to adhere, I shall do as I see proud.

About the author:Baz

Baz hates writing in the 3rd person but has been an avid gamer since that once fateful 4th birthday when a certain Italian plumber fell down many many holes.

Since then it has been onward and downwards failing to leap over many other holes, but with such a persistent nature that shall not be changing anytime soon.

A fan of games old and new Baz’s favourite systems are the Nes & Playstation 1. Other lifelong hobbies would include mostly reading a lot, copious amounts of music and having a good ol‘ giraffe, preferably down the boozer!

Nearly There, Just Not Quite Yet….

It’s taken hours of gruelling practice, sore thumbs and possibly a broken controller, but you’ve made it. Finally there, the quiet before the storm, you take one last deep soothing breath, repeating your faithful mantra that has served you no purpose whatsoever…….Until this faithful moment

“Cummon, I got it this!”

A mysterious sense of tranquility overcomes you, past nerves evaporate from your senses, recollections of previous failures no longer materialize

“This is the one, no more messing about now!”

You feel at one with yourself, the character and the game, no longer a playable alter ego but an extension of your own self. With each jump, you flinch, with each strike, you lunge, you’re feet shuffling on the carpet underneath you can hardly contain yourself, the nervous energy courses through your veins and with each hit taken you writhe back aghast shouting the more than occasional profanity.  For the intensity of this duel has reached fever pitch and doubt once again starts to rear its ugly shadow upon your once ‘guaranteed victory’.

Staring nervously into the abyss of adversity you pull yourself together for one final push towards glory. Almost fraying from the edges of misfortune you finally regain the composure and skill you had acquired up to this point, now is the time to strike down your opponent once and for all, and at last that final hit, that oh so glorious hit, it beckons to you like a mythological siren. HHIIIIYYYYAAAA and with that it’s done….

The battle was arduous, you have triumphed over your long time foe, though only just. You’re final bar of life looms at the top of the screen, lingering as a constant reminder of how perilously close you came to death once more, but worry not, for now is the time to rejoice, to leap from your derriere shaped dent in the sofa, cheering, fist pumping, rapturous applause surrounds you, now is the time to surrender to the passion and joyous rulings of…..wait, what, why no, it can’t be….. What is this? A metamorphosis unbeknownst happening before my very eyes;

“Is this a demon which I see before me,

The controller toward my hand?

Come, let me clutch thee,

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight?

Or art thou but a demon of the mind,

A false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?”

And then death is so sudden, so suddenly sweet, you didn’t even notice the soil falling over your head. And with that you’re perished, banished to the start again, by now your patience has been worn so thin, stripped of all calming emotions, you can’t help but feel enraged, but maybe I’ll have just one more go at the dreaded…..

‘2^nd Form Boss!’

About the author:Baz

Baz hates writing in the 3rd person but has been an avid gamer since that once fateful 4th birthday when a certain Italian plumber fell down many many holes.

Since then it has been onward and downwards failing to leap over many other holes, but with such a persistent nature that shall not be changing anytime soon.

A fan of games old and new Baz’s favourite systems are the Nes & Playstation 1. Other lifelong hobbies would include mostly reading a lot, copious amounts of music and having a good ol‘ giraffe, preferably down the boozer!