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Neopets Poems

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Page 1054

WOCKY DAY SPECIAL

Time Machine Wocky
By Concertogreat_8

Dust blows up like a sandy hound;
Sky of dusky, bloody red,
Ear-splitting cracking sound.

Made of metal, made of steel.
Clockwork, wires, aluminium plates;
Is this thing even real?

Shiny burnished door locked,
Looks so tight as to seal inside,
But now it opens! and we be mocked.

From in the depths climbs out a thing --
Eyes bloodshot and weary mane,
Dust-covered coat expels a funny spring.

With tattered paws and staring eyes,
Forth steps the oddest pet,
Like coloured rings and fancy lies.

From the future comes a stranger;
All must stare and gape in awe,
And wonder at this Time Ranger.

He is a Wocky, but like none ever seen,
There's a look from a different time,
Educated scientist, wiry and lean.

Glasses perched upon his nose,
A scroll held in one paw,
Down the steps of the machine he goes.

He's travelled through the sticky space,
Down through stretched Time,
In and out of the universe's lace.

He'll be here for a while;
The machine he calls LYLE broke,
And we, we will help fix LYLE.

We'll toil and work, carry, hold,
Bring back strange materials,
That the scientist will mould.

And as we do we'll dream,
Dream of this Time Machine Wocky,
And how he made in Time a seam.

The Wocky Strikes Back!
By Anjie

The beastly bugs swarm all around,
Great vile blobs rain to the ground.
A hero's needed, without fear,
Alas! The time runs short right here!
Mechanical the sounding clank,
Approach of Wocky and his tank.

For he alone can face the swarm,
Precise in lines they quickly form.
Few bases stand to shelter tank,
(For this, he has the bugs to thank!)
A cautious breath and then take aim,
He finds his mark; he's in the game.

None manoeuvre tank like he,
He blasts the swarm with vivid glee.
The Wocky's actions bring them rage,
In frantic battle they engage.
Our hero darts near crumbling base,
It's concentration on his face.

One by one the threat doth fade,
Our hero's nerves seem badly frayed.
A final shot, the match complete.
The swarm is gone, lost in defeat.
The realm is safe, we've him to thank,
The Wocky hero, and his tank!

The Velvet Pimpernel
By Larkspurlane

They call him the Velvet Pimpernel --
A savvy sort of gent
Who through lively speech
And remarks well-honed
Oft proves that Wit to him
Her pointed blade has lent.

He frequents the Golden Dubloon,
Well-appareled in his sea-green suit,
His pink cravat,
And the white plume
So tastefully adorning
His rakishly cocked hat.

Wit is not his only weapon;
Charm gives him counsel too:
For the enraptured waitress he describes
A marvellous sea-fight scene
While behind the counter,
Captain Hackett, that
Restaurateur extraordinaire, grins
And counts shiny Pimpernel dubloons unseen.

But in every pause in the chatter
And in conversational lull,
The Velvet Pimpernel's bright eyes leap
From face to scarred pirate face
And interprets each half-glance:
Rare gentleman that he is in this
Pirate-teeming town,
His calling is to detect and ward off
The first hint of a brawl --
For, as he tells the charmed waitress,
When she pours him his favourite drink,
"We must be civilized, pet,
If we are going to live at all."

Wock 'Til You Drop
By Stariell

Crank it up, can't you hear them coming,
The bass kicking and the music thrumming,
The pulsing sound of distant drumming,
Wock 'Til You Drop, Wock 'Til You Drop.

Let them rock you through the night,
Beneath the Tyrannian stadium lights,
Kicking the beat with all their might,
Wock 'Til You Drop, Wock 'Til You Drop.

Shout it out and shout it real loud,
If you follow the rocking Wocky crowd,
Doing heavy metal music proud,
Wock 'Til You Drop, Wock 'Til You Drop.

Making the plateau shake to the beat,
And the stamping of a hundred feet,
No one's staying put in their seat,
Wock 'Til You Drop, Wock 'Til You Drop.

Forget all about your opera or pop,
Once you get rocking, you won't stop,
To the Wocky band who is always on top,
Wock 'Til You Drop, Wock 'Til You Drop.

In Celebration of Three Wocky Games
By Rosabellk

A hero, crouching in his armoured tank,
Defending all Neopia from bugs.
He has no need for medals or for rank:
He does his talking with his AP slugs.
A nameless Wocky, lonely in his fight
Yet never yielding, never giving way;
In Zone 6B, he simply does what's right
And keeps those deadly, fearsome bugs at bay.
Courageous Wocky, you are strong and brave --
No time for praises: there's another wave!

Wallace lives an interesting life:
Collecting junk that falls down from the sky.
Some fruit, a plushie, fishing rods, a knife;
And yet he never stops to question why.
Why does this junk forever tumble down?
And why, exactly must he balance it?
For surely he could lay it on the ground;
But no -- he stacks it. Odd, you must admit.
Dear Wallace, must you always strain and hobble
Back and forth in Wicked Wocky Wobble?

A sewage surfer -- quite a stinky job,
But there is one who braves the awful smells
Called Matt the Wocky, not your common slob,
But rather one who works quickly and well.
He fixes pipes, diverts the water flow,
Forever using his decrepit wrench;
He works alone, so very few now know
That but for him, their plumbing'd be a trench.
So here's to you Matt, champion ere unsung;
If not for you, we'd be covered in dung.



Total Poetry Pages : 1926

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