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LENNY DAY SPECIAL
Tyrannian Lenny on the Plateau
The Tyrannian Plateau,
Heat-baked and sun-parched,
Stretches under the white-hot sky,
Rugged, scattered with ancient rock piles,
Smaller plateaus, canyons stretching
To the sharp line of the horizon --
A horizon he knows well,
He who sits perched on the tallest rocky height
And watches the place with keen eyes.
A Lenny not like others,
Without the resplendent plumage
Of the faerie, or the iridescence of the rainbow,
Or the purity of the white,
The nobility of the royal,
Or the tropical serenity
Of his Island-painted kin.
A Tyrannian Lenny, not beautiful
In the conventional sense,
Much like Tyrannia itself,
Rough around the edges and
Baked brown by the sun,
He is one with this
Land of bones.
He opens his wings and beats them
Once, twice, and fills his senses
With the heat and the sky.
The end of things.
The very beginning.
The Secret of Lenny Magic
Like a mystery born of light,
The wand aloft and burning bright.
Feathers shimmer, motion quick,
Wand glimmers with this subtle flick.
Like fireworks the magic beams,
A trillion lights in rainbow streams.
A whispered word, a second wave,
Form dancing shapes within dark cave.
A million tiny Lennies fly,
Then fade as spell doth wane and die.
The wizard chants a mantra soft,
Staff glows bright held high aloft.
Again the colours start to flow,
Once more small shapes shall fly and glow.
A bright parade now takes to flight.
Lennies, made from magic bright.
Conducted by the wizard's spell,
And formed by secrets he won't tell.
The greatest tale never told,
The secrets Lenny spells might hold.
The NC Mall Specialty Shopkeeper
If you should happen to hear
Of this place called the NC Mall,
No doubt you'll be running to peer
Into that magnificent hall.
I guarantee you there's something
For everyone, even you, my dear,
A flowered hat, a jewelled ring,
A frightening mask with a ghastly leer.
But there's one section that's kept under lock,
Except for those with certain flair;
I confess it's called the Specialty Shop,
And it's kept by a Lenny with fabulous hair.
There's not much that's known about him,
Except that he's yellow, like a sunny sky,
But don't disturb him on a silly whim,
You'd better be serious, ready to buy.
His eyes are sharp to catch sticky paws,
He wears big round glasses to better see,
What does he sell? Well, it's certainly not saws,
And I'm pretty sure that's enough for me.
I've heard tell of amazing cakes,
Silky dresses, a pink bonbon that sings,
Some folks claim he's got bottled lakes,
Mysterious capsules with glittery wings.
So if you've got a lot of cash,
If you're relaxed, laid-back and mellow,
Go take a look at his secret stash,
He's one amazing Lenny fellow.
To a Faerie Lenny
How light you walk across this mass
Of clouds where you do roam,
Along this bright and dream-like place
That is your faerie home.
Your wings spun fine like coloured silk
Feathers; purple, blue,
With green and cyan, lilac pale,
Such incandescent hues.
And when your tail does form a fan,
So glorious to behold!
Magnificent and beautiful,
With shine like polished gold.
And when you toss your feathered head
And stretch your wings sublime,
You fly with grace, a perfect pace,
A passing dive, a nimble swoop,
A sweet yet haunting cry,
You sweep away and disappear
Unto the sunlit sky.
The Maiden Margoreth
Margoreth sits at her desk,
A befuddled history teacher,
Patiently awaits the fateful date
A hero will come to reach her.
Long ago, or so it's said,
A wizard named Denethrir
Convinced her to tour the Jungle Ruins,
And now she is trapped here.
For when she went to make her exit
Through the upper levels,
Monsters varied revealed themselves,
Leaving her bedevilled.
Doomed to wait beneath the Ruins,
The lovely yellow Lenny
Immerses herself in books and scrolls,
For she is amidst so many.
Lost in study, deep in thought,
Her isolation is oft broken
By the entrance of a Neoquest Hero,
Brave but quite outspoken.
Countless times her pleas for rescue
Have fallen on shut ears.
The Hero yearns only to learn
What the ancients did teach here.
"Biology, the science of life,"
No sooner said than the Hero departs,
His own duties to perform.
Margoreth sighs, no longer surprised,
When the Hero takes his leave
She will not despair, for as history avers,
In rescue a maiden can believe.
The Perch of the Mutant Lenny
Peering from his lofty perch,
Mottled feathers, piercing eyes,
Ragged wings, and weathered look,
World below him, above the skies.
Looking down, the mundane below
While he is above, high and free.
Neopians dash with errands and work
With ardent passion in their valley.
But left single in silent solitude,
Upon his talons he rests alone.
Though his life is without stress,
He still breaths a plaintive moan.
For his peace the price to pay
Is more than his heart can stand.
A mutant banished from society
Is left to a cold and lonely land.
Super Happy Icy Fun
Upon Terror Mountain's peak
There lives a Lenny, most unique.
While the others of his kind
Explore the matters of the mind,
What really excites this one
Is super happy icy fun.
The other Lennies felt dismay
At where this Lenny chose to stay,
Up where the sun never reaches,
Without warm and sandy beaches,
Where the temperature falls below
A degree no Lenny should want to know.
The others didn't understand
How he could live in such a land
And how his studies he could forgo
In order to play in the snow!
It's simply not how things are done...
Lennies don't have icy fun!
But this Lenny did not heed
The criticism of his breed.
However much they disapproved,
This Lenny refused to be moved.
He opened up, right at the top,
The Super Happy Icy Fun Snow Shop.
And oh, what pleasure, oh, what fun!
Giving frozen treats to everyone!
A magical Grape Chia Pop
Flies off the shelves within his shop.
Each day ends in a snowball fight
With his hat and scarf wrapped tight.
Perhaps his life would not suit everyone,
But this Lenny loves super happy icy fun!
My Uncle Finneus
My uncle's name is Finneus,
And of course you know
If you need a Lenny Librarian,
To him you will go.
He's got quite dainty spectacles
And a knowledge to no ends,
But talks only to Meepit plushies,
For he has no friends.
You all have met him at one point,
He helped you through the plot,
But I must say you helped him more
With all that he forgot.
He now resides in Altador
In that little mountain ring,
Alas, after the plot he's the only one there
Who cannot remember a thing!
The Lenny Curator
Turn the page
(Story of a mage?)
Artifacts strange and old
(Do they have mould?)
Lenny Curator's abode
Knowledge's mother lode.
Who went where?
Did it come from there?
What happened here?
Who brought fear?
Ask the Lenny Curator
For history and folklore
He will find an answer
(More often than not, maybe more)
How did it begin?
And who would win?
When did it start?
Who stole from the fruit cart?
Shelves packed tight
Reading by faintest light
Working into the night
Till everything grows bright
(And faerie tales for a niece)
The Curator has them all
Books and scrolls, wall to wall.
The Eye of the Beholder
Once I, a faerie Lenny,
Saw my reflection and despaired.
The beauty that I longed to see
In my mirror wasn't there.
Always one purple feather
Before my eyes would slip,
And my long and foolish tail
Often caused me to trip.
Alas, alack, what could I do?
I was resigned to my fate.
But who should solve dilemma dire
But Sloth, that villain great?
From the shadows, cackling,
He handed me a bottle.
A curved-beaked stopper on the top,
The liquid brown and mottled.
"Drink this," he said, "and you will change.
No more will you be faerie
But something new, and marvellous!"
At first I was quite wary
But soon to curiosity
I finally succumbed.
I drank down every last drop;
The transformation was begun.
Purples and blues faded to brown.
Wing feathers became long and sleek;
Cruel talons grew upon my feet.
To top it off, a sharp curved beak.
And now I need no longer sigh
As I look into my glass,
For thanks to Doctor Sloth
I'm beautiful at last.
Total Poetry Pages : 2009
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