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GELERT DAY SPECIAL
The Gelert Wizard Seradar
Dressed in robes of green and gold,
Luminous staff within his hold,
The Gelert Wizard, brave and bold,
Scowls with countenance serious.
Gilded belt begirds his waist,
Upon which locks and keys are placed,
His magic tome through loop is laced --
An appearance most mysterious.
Harnessing knowledge quite arcane,
More esoteric than mundane,
Seradar safeguards his domain,
Both Brightvale and his own free will.
For once the Darkest Faerie came
And Seradar fell to her spiteful sway,
Once free he vowed ne'ermore to betray
His position against all evil.
Battle Blade in his left hand,
Opposing the wicked he'll make his stand,
For steadfast Seradar uniquely understands
The fixed demands of loyalty.
Unafraid to let the keen blade swing
Or unleash his magic's frightful sting,
In service to Brightvale's beloved King
This wizard shall e'er shield royalty.
Surfacing (to a Maraquan Gelert)
With an upward glance
From the watery depths of her home
She spies the clouds,
Broken into prisms by the waves
And rippled by the currents.
Between her and the sky
Lies a league of water
And fish flicking their silver fins
And tall fronds of seaweed,
Which grow in slow-moving curls
Toward a sun ever beyond reach.
High noon brings brightness
Even to these gloomy depths,
And something in her blood stirs:
A remembrance of days spent
Running with a Gelert pack
On a vast plain...
The sudden memory is like a pull
To the distant surface-world,
With a twist of her tail she swims upward,
Up to be stroked by the watery sun rays,
Up toward the wave-broken sky,
Up, up until she emerges
Through water and foam
Into the sharp world of wind and of heat --
And she longs, and she longs
To make an ocean of the air.
The Downfall of a Magical Green Gelert Plushie
It seems like a regular toy,
That green Gelert plushie,
But if your pet wanted to play
It'll do more, you see.
For past its intricate stitching
And craftsman quality,
This innocent little plushie
Has magic properties.
Your pet will pick up toy to play
And be met with surprise:
Your blue Shoyru morphed to Gelert
Before your very eyes!
Plushie had started to sparkle
When pet took it in hand,
And now he's traded wings for paws --
On four of them he stands.
His smooth blue skin has been replaced
With thick emerald green fur,
And his ability to fly
Is gone within that blur.
Now he has skinny long ears,
A muzzle, and some paws.
He owns a wispy thin tail
And a nice set of claws.
So be wary when playtime comes
And your pet grabs his toy,
For if he's not open to change,
Then don't expect his joy.
The Hunt for the Red Gelert
A single paw print, trodden deep,
As silently, Gelert did creep.
Amongst the boughs and bushes, green,
A crimson figure, yet unseen.
His senses tingled, so alert,
He slunk in silence, this Gelert.
The hunt was on for fleeing soul,
To prove existence was the goal.
And thus he shuffled through the dirt,
A slinking figure, red Gelert.
The rarest sight that some might seek,
As myth alone, did fable speak.
Mysterious, and rather rare,
And yet, quite real, most did declare.
They trailed him through mountains high,
In sunshine's gleam, in stormy sky.
And yet the only thing they found,
Were massive paw prints, on the ground.
A book was written, in the end,
Of how they sought their crimson friend.
Was red Gelert but fabled lie?
Or hiding out there, scared and shy?
Recall the tome they all had wrote,
If you should witness crimson coat!
Rayn Trueshot, Gelert Archer
Rayn Trueshot the Gelert now readies his bow,
His target far off in the distance.
He tenses his shoulder, and then he lets go.
The bowstring twangs from the resistance.
He squints at the target; it's hard to make out.
It's placed a full field-length away.
He finally sees it, and gives a great shout:
His seventeenth bullseye today.
He treks to the target and pulls out the arrow,
Then holds it in his calloused paw.
Its tip razor-sharp, and its shaft slim and narrow;
The craftsmanship leaves him in awe.
Rayn Trueshot then sits and reflects on his life,
The high points as well as the low.
It strikes him that joy comes along with the strife.
In fact, it's a bit like his bow.
Your life is an arrow that hurtles through time,
Approaching the target of death.
The journey to get there, however, sublime:
Excitement until your last breath.
The shaft is your family, the fletching your friends:
They keep your course steady and true.
The bow is like fate, forces none comprehend.
The point of the arrow is you.
And so, as you near your trajectory's end
And if your aim's not gone awry,
Your life's course determines where you will land.
If you're happy, then it's a bullseye.
Rayn Trueshot, no longer contemplative, rises
And reaches again for his bow.
He shoots not for fame, not for fortune or prizes.
He shoots because he can't let go.
A Sonnet to Gelerts of Mist
Made of fur, or made of air? Who could tell?
With piercing red eyes, they survey and stare
Mysterious Gelerts of Meridell,
Weaving through the forests without a care.
Swift as a cool breeze, like winds howling low
That escalate into storms in danger
Mist Gelerts, harbingers of death and woe,
Great and unpredictable as weather!
In battle they are quite formidable,
Beware their claws, sharper than harshest gales.
If you're not careful, you'll be in trouble --
Remember, Mist Gelerts are tough as nails!
And as they continue on night and day,
Rohane and Mipsy'll learn that the hard way.
A violet dream
Through quiet waters
Fins (and long ears) swish
Embodiment of grace
Cousin to those
Who walk the land
But born to the sea
Swims far, but returns
Always to Maraqua.
Clocks tick, measured by the moments of sound,
Fear creeps, slowly, an ugly head of darkness;
Tears are shed as time's hammers pound.
Curtains on a window; inside a child cries;
A shadow in the doorway, peering in,
A haunting figure, shrouded in so many lies.
Rubies and jade hang at his throat,
Fingered by paws, roughened with work,
A twining golden clasp holds his cloak.
Leery yellow eyes search through the dark,
A mission, sings the dagger at his side,
Around his neck a ring; his mistress's mark.
Still he holds himself with a common air,
The farmer still lives beneath the shine,
Thin glamour alludes now to a darker lair.
Leaves rustle and crack, ghosts chased away;
Young pets are told tales so many times,
Of the Gelert Assassin himself today.
Remnants of a broken heart; too much to ask?
He cannot hide the hurt that flutters,
Struggling out from behind the ruined mask.
He moves on now, following his mistress's wish;
The vengeance burns; he will succeed or perish,
Along with his broken dreams, the one last kiss.
A Royal Gelert Day
Behold what is known as the Royalboy Gelert,
Creatures free from blemish or flaws,
With piercing stares, shining teeth, and
Lean and muscled paws.
Handsome bracelets gleam on their arms,
A crown glitters on the fine head,
Worn too, is a jacket imbued with pink and blue,
And jewels that glimmer red.
The Royalgirl Gelert is equal in perfection,
With her truly regal smile.
A flutter of her lashes can break hearts;
Her pristine coat beguiles.
The satin hat upon the head
Compliments the flowing gown;
A trim of delicate lace upon the sleeves
Flutters when the wind has blown.
While their looks alone reap much attention,
It's their kind traits that others savour:
Cleverness, honesty, and generosity are present,
Along with loyalty that never does waver.
A streak of fun is never lost on these
Handsome, regal pets,
Yet in times of need, they really shine,
Performing any number of monstrous feats.
So, Royalgirl or Royalboy,
It doesn't matter which,
Both are equal in heart and mind,
With looks that can bewitch.
So, feel free to admire these Neopets
When you're off to roam,
But what would be much, much better,
Is if you would bring one home!
Gelert A to Z
Giant tome of binding red,
Its length is just bizarre.
Here in this book you will find
All Gelert facts there are:
What they eat? Famous Gelerts?
Really, just everything.
Alas, I've been charged to read it
By Hagan, Brightvale king.
Supposedly, it'll make me wise,
I'd protest if I was bold.
For by the time I reach book's end,
I'll be all stooped and old.
Diligently, I read on
Of Shaye and Seradar.
Bruno, Elwyn, Prince Tourin,
As well as one named Scar.
It takes me two months 'fore I reach
Last word in section "A."
With twenty-five letters to go,
You do the math, I say.
At last I'm through the final page,
King Hagan smiles at me.
"Now that you know all about Gelerts,
Start on the Ixi A-Z!"
Total Poetry Pages : 1971
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