Dakka Poetry 2025 (Updated Frequently!)

Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you:

No adverts like this in the forums anymore.
Times and dates in your local timezone.
Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance.
Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely.
Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net.

If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

**Lathe Biosas**

A Haiku.

Steel warriors clash,
In urban dusk, fate unfolds—
Fragile hope in war.

**Lathe Biosas**

A Tanka about the
Dakkadakka forums.

DakkaDakka rings,
battle cries of pewter might,
plastic armies clash,
on table fields of conquest,
wargaming souls rise as one.

**Lathe Biosas**

Not so much about gaming, just pushing through horrible moments and trying to make it one more day.

Bitter winds at home,
thorns in each familiar word—
yet I rise each dawn,
holding my inner embers
to light an unfaltering path.

**Lathe Biosas**

Yep. I was going to write an epic poem. Instead you get a Haiku involving procrastination.

Tasks left undone lie
Procrastination's soft voice
Tomorrow's excuse

**Quixote**

In the grim darkness of the far future, mighty Orks

Charging headlong with the zeal of clanky corks

Blasting foes with oversized, spiky forks

Dodging plasma streams like errant, winged storks

Roaring madly like a band of unruly dorks

Crushing armies, even the mighty Rorkes

Onward they storm—glorious, brutal Orks!

**Lathe Biosas**

A Tanka

I can't change the past,
under her shadow I bend,
her world is the only,
every breath is shaped by her,
yet I long for my own voice.

**Lathe Biosas**

A Haiku

Silent room echoes,
Thoughts drift like autumn leaves fall—
Lonely whispers fade.

**Lathe Biosas**

A Haiku about Jared Leto... and no, I'm not serious.

Actor of many faces,
Joker's laughter, Suicide Squad,
Leto's talent shines.

**Lathe Biosas**

Ode to Chocolate Chip Cookies

O sweet and golden orbs of delight,
Baked in the oven's fiery might,
Chocolate chip cookies, you are the star,
In every heart, you leave a mark so far.

From the humble dough, so soft and fine,
Mixed with love, in a bowl divine,
Chocolate chips, like stars in the night,
Sparkle and gleam with pure delight.

The aroma wafts through the air,
A scent so sweet, beyond compare,
It calls to us, with a siren's song,
To taste your warmth, all day long.

Golden brown, with edges crisp,
A texture soft, a perfect trip,
Each bite a journey, a taste so grand,
A symphony of flavors in hand.

In every bite, a memory stirs,
Of childhood joys, of laughter's purest,
A comfort found in your sweet embrace,
A simple joy, a timeless grace.

O chocolate chip cookies, you are the muse,
In every heart, you ignite a fuse,
Of joy and love, of pure delight,
In every bite, a moment bright.

So here's to you, in verse so grand,
A tribute to your sweet command,
May you forever be a part,
Of every heart, of every art.

**Lathe Biosas**

When the World Moves On

I wake. I eat. I walk. I sleep.
I keep the rituals of the weak.
Not brave. Not broken. Just… not dead.
A ghost that eats its daily bread.

The pain? It’s mine. That’s all I’ll say.
It doesn't beg. It doesn’t play.
It sits behind my eyes and waits,
A shadow pacing iron gates.

You wouldn’t understand—and shouldn’t.
You’d try to fix it. But you couldn’t.
This wound was stitched with years, not thread,
And no one mourns what's never said.

I pass you on the street. I smile.
I’ve walked like this for quite a while.
I’m here—but only just, you see.
A rumor in your memory.

And if I last another day,
Don’t see it as some grand display.
It isn’t strength. It isn’t grace.
It’s just inertia in my place.

But still, I hope when all is through—
No names, no plaques, no skies turned blue—
That even you, who read these lines,
Will let me fade between the signs.

**Lathe Biosas**

I wonder how many people actually read my poetry... well it's time to write about BattleTech... and my favorite opponent.

Ode to the Lady Wargamer

O lady of dice and tabletop might,
Whose painted minis gleam just right—
When you deploy, there's deadly grace,
Not just Cheeto dust all over the place.

You read the rules (what sorcery!),
You don't argue *page 143*.
You're not here to flex or preen,
Just bring hellfire with a killer 'Mech queen.

The lads will stall and math forever,
Then boast about their clever clever—
Only to cry, “That’s not fair play!”
When their Lancer burns in turn 1A.

But you? You smile like a cat with a plan,
No tantrums when the rolls hit the fan.
You sip your tea, track your heat,
Then gut my Atlas—so damn discreet.

You don't brag about your win streak,
Or lecture me for being “too sleek.”
You laugh at my failed reserve deploy,
Then nuke my flank like it's child's toy.

And sure, you gloat—but with style and poise,
Not with memes and Discord noise.
You don’t show up half-drunk and late,
Then spend an hour on a rules debate.

So here's my ode to those rarest few
Who game with grace and outmaneuver too—
I’d rather lose to you than win with bros,
Whose tactical plans are all just... “uhhh, I dunno.”

**Lathe Biosas**

Ode to the Monologues of Optimus Prime

O voice of chrome, O bard of burning skies,
Thou titan forged in digital fire and adolescent awe,
When credits near and cities lie in ruin,
Thy solemn tones arise like thunder sung in prose.

O Optimus, Prime of pathos, king of kaboom,
What ancient muse compels thee to declare
Yet again, amidst the flaming wreckage,
That hope survives and freedom is the right of all sentient beings?

Lo, the camera cranes as your noble chassis gleams,
A hymn of justice issuing from your grill,
As if Shakespeare were reincarnate in a semi-truck
Who just impaled a Decepticon through a skyscraper.

Your speeches—
Long as the battle that just demolished six zip codes—
Speak not just to Autobots, but to the very stars,
To satellites trembling in their orbits
And to the humans who gaze upward,
Confused but deeply moved.

Each phrase a thunderbolt,
Each pause a sermon,
Each ending a promise that you’ll rise again—
Even if you’ve died for the fifth time.

So speak, O Prime,
Deliver us your wisdom
As fireballs bloom behind you like tulips of war,
And Linkin Park readies the final note.

Speak, and let the credits roll.