A Ready-Up Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas and all through Ready-Up! house

not a joypad was stirring, not even a mouse.

The M 14’s were hung by the chimney with care,

in hope that Captain Price soon would be there.

Kat, Loz and Laura were all snuggled up in bed,

as visions of zombie slaying danced in their heads.

With Kirsten in her Lara jammies and Dan with his bow and cap,

had just switched off the 360 for a long winters nap,

when out in the Borderlands arose such a clatter,

Walter sho-ryukened from his bed to see what was a matter.

Across to the window he hurricaned like a flame,

dragon punched Danny and leg swept poor James.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

helped me make out John B and Mark in the garden below.

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

but a minature warthog and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver who looked like a spartan,

I knew in a minute it must be old Martin.

More rapid than Sonic his writers they came,

and  he whistled and shouted and called them rude names.

Now, Duncan! Now, Darach! Now Emily and Fran!

On John! On, Jake! On Celeste and Joanne!

To the top of the leaderboards, to the top of the wall,

Now write away, write away, write away all!

–

As dry writers that before wild editors fly,

When they meet with sad writers block, start to cry.

So up to the lap top the writers they flew,

With a warthog full of games, and old Martin too.

And then in a twinkling I heard on my chimes,

A pretty little ditty being played by Simes.

As I drew in my head and was turning around,

Down the chimney came old Martin with a sound.

–

He was dressed all in black from his shoes to his T,

And I laughed when I saw he had the same T-shirt as me.

A bundle of games he held in his hand,

For young Susan and Scott Christmas would be grand.

For new writer Daniella, a game with leather clad women,

A P.C. game for Ben he won’t be fuming.

The community members will get something too,

More likely than not from Shaz and her crew.

–

Old Martin, he smiled as he emptied his sack,

He knew none of these games would be getting handed back.

For Monday night maestro, a ballad of Tony,

Another copy of Bayonetta for the high heeled minx Zoey.

Running short of time a gift voucher for Sara-Lou,

Because he was lazy one for Eleanor too!

That left one more present for the nice gent called Anthony,

Old Martin struggled for a rhyme with Anthony.

Lest we forget the Ready-Up! Juniors,

They’ll all be taking our jobs, soon yeah.

–

Standing up too quickly with a groan and a jerk,

Old Martin had finished another year’s work.

He shut down the laptop, to the team gave a whistle,

Rubbed a hand on his chin that was covered in bristle.

He ran out the door, off into the light,

But I heard him exclaim as he ran out of sight,

“A merry Christmas to all staff, community members, friends and family

of Ready-Up.net.  And to all a good night!”