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The Jealous JubJub
"It isn't right!" the creature cried
With much dramatic flair.
"That others should be painted bright!
It simply isn't fair!"
The tiny JubJub, blue in tone,
Did heave dramatic sigh.
"Some pets are painted, given wings,
Or fins but no, not I!"
Everywhere the creature glanced,
He found things to resent.
Loudly would he whine and wince,
So bitterly, he'd vent.
"This JubJub I saw by the lake,
Was trained beyond compare!
Yet here I am, just level three,
Tell me, is that fair?"
"The other day in Meridell,
I met a JubJub friend
With beauty trophies in a row
And cash galore to spend."
The tiny JubJub, blue in hue,
Gave bitter, bitter whine.
"I want those trophies, just like him,
It's my turn, only mine!"
Had the creature stopped his cries
And worked on goals instead,
He would have found that action pays
And useless are tears shed.
Had he strived to do his best,
Instead of being sore,
His time would just be better spent,
Than whining, as before.
Long-suffering, his owner sighed,
And saved her cash away,
Training him as best she could,
And painted him one day.
The JubJub, now a faerie tone,
Well-read and well-trained too,
Still complained, for some folks whine,
No matter what you do.
Ode to the Obliteratoe
O speak, my spud, with sneering mouth
On veggie visage, lips twist in scowl.
Speak to your servant, duty bound, devout.
Words to command deeds most foul,
The will is yours, not mine to control.
O'erweening oration doth me impel.
To laud your lordship, to extol
Those vile virtues, in you perfected.
Where you cannot, I accept the role.
To speak your thoughts, our minds connected,
To sow sinister seeds in the wasted weak,
The artless army you have selected.
O would that mouth could only speak
Stirring sermons to the meek!
O see, my spud, with squinting eyes
On frowning face, those eyes do glower,
See your servant, and me apprise.
From under brows fixed firm and dour,
See me low in gentle genuflect,
Submissive to your imposing power.
Use my sight, abominable architect,
Of sinister scheme, duplicitous plan,
Allow me to observe and to connect
My eyes, your eyes, as one we scan
The landscape and the scenery
For proof of the program you began.
O would those eyes could only see
The resultant corrupt calamity!
Thou spiteful spud, my master, chief,
Neither word nor glance escapes you.
One direct decree would bring relief
To the one who anticipates, overdue,
For one signal, concrete, discreet,
That the time has come to follow through.
To mobilise our battalions replete
With the Spudnick and the Blunkabean,
To march on Neopia and to defeat
Kings Skarl and Kelpbeard, the Faerie Queen,
All Neopians who would dare oppose
Your world-domination foolproof scheme.
O would that you vocalised,
my venerable vegetable,
As I sit amidst steadfast space foods,
I was strolling through the Catacombs
When I came across a Draik.
He held a paper out to me:
A quiz for me to take.
Atop the list written in bold
Read "Which Petpet are You?"
Intrigued, I took my precious time
To read the pamphlet through.
After jotting down A, B, and C,
About bands and games and war,
I handed back my paper
For the Draik to find my score.
He scanned the paper left and right;
A moment he did think.
Then with a smile he raised his voice:
"You're a SLORG that's PINK!"
My jaw did drop, my eyes grew wide.
I dumbly shook my head.
"A Slorg?" I asked. "And pink at that?
I'd rather be dead!"
He raised a claw at my complaint.
"My dear, please think this through.
Think closely and you'll see
How a Pink Slorg is quite like you."
I squinted and I racked my brain
To link me with that slug,
But when my mind drew only blanks,
The Draik couldn't help but shrug.
"The Slorg is a great symbol
Of joy and happiness.
Your narrow mind just couldn't see
Beyond its ugliness!"
He turned around and walked away,
Thinking that he had won,
But insulted, I yelled back to him:
"Oh yeah?! You LOOK like one!"
A Trail of Slime
A trail of slime is all that I have left
Reminding me of how you said goodbye.
The greenish, gooey path across the lawn
Is all that I can wave to as I cry.
I didn't really understand at first.
When I saw you outside the house that day,
I only saw a sticky, slimy Slorg.
I only wanted you to go away.
As weeks went by, and you were always there,
Sitting midst the mushrooms on the grass,
I didn't really see you as a Slorg.
I'd only see you smile as I would pass.
At times when I was sad, in need of friends,
You seemed to be the only one I had.
And even if you never said a word,
You cheered me up when I was feeling bad.
The Slorg outside became part of my life.
I came to love you like you were my own.
This morning, though, when I got out of bed,
I didn't see you outside my window.
I guess some things just are not meant to last.
You changed me right through, then went away.
Deep down inside, I hope we meet again.
I hope I see you soon, somewhere, someday.
The trail of slime you left upon the lawn
Is fading as it slowly starts to dry.
And now, I will have nothing left at all
Reminding me of how you said goodbye.
The Undead Cybunnies
They creep through your garden
looking for vegetables and brains.
So if you're riding a Uni close by
you best hold onto the reins!
A long time ago in their city of
Kal Panning an archaic curse fell.
If only they had known perhaps
they could have escaped the wicked spell.
Alas they are now forever monsters
seeking revenge on all that they see.
When you face them you better plead
for you life and fall to your knees.
The undead do not take kindly
to the living so heed this warning.
Or else you might wake up
with a craving for flesh one morning.
You cannot stop running when
the undead Cybunnies are on your tail.
Maybe they are slow and not very bright,
but they never seem to fail.
Always carry a torch if you must
leave your house during the night.
Fire is not their friend,
and they will scurry away with such an eerie fright!
Do stay at home if you can
when you hear groans and moans near by.
For if you open the door, they will get you
before you can even let out a cry.
Zombies, vile demons, foul beasts,
whatever you call them, they are out there.
Please believe these humble words
so you can be fully ready and aware.
Never knowing when these creatures
will beam their crimson eyes down your path.
It's always wise to be cautious
wherever you are instead of feeling their wrath.
Trust this if you trust nothing else --
you do not want to become one of them.
There is no way to cure this immortal doom,
not even with a gypsy's gem.
In the end all you can do is hope
upon all hope that you never behold one.
Nothing can save you when you are unarmed
in the darkness with no sight of the sun.
Total Poetry Pages : 1959
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