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SKEITH DAY SPECIAL
The Curse of the Skeith
What is it in the mighty Skeith
-- what empty void of wants and needs --
That hungers for prosperity?
What propels them on with shameless greed?
As a collective they do make
Fearsome keepers of the purse;
Whether Kings or shopkeepers,
Their gift for wealth is yet their curse.
King Skarl is never once amused,
Though his treasury overflows.
King Hagan is wisdom's champion,
Yet trims his scholar's robes with gold.
In the service of his King,
Snargan guards the treasury,
All the while held in the grip
Of a gambler's dire ignominy.
Gordos does collect the tax
For the King in Altador.
His omniscient eyes light up the skies;
No gold hides from The Collector.
Deep beneath Neopia Central,
In dim catacombs within the ground,
A Skeith will sell you golden coins,
But only if he can be found.
As will the manager of the bank
Allow you to withdraw your funds,
But mind you follow his strict rules
Or else your pleas he's wont to shun.
Malkus Vile and Pompadour,
Two Skeiths enslaved by avarice,
Turned to lives of thievery
To fill their craving's dark abyss.
Yes, the Skeiths, the high and low,
They of prodigious height and girth,
Are made small as they are enthralled
To their species' craving, to greed, their curse.
It's All About the Hair
Long ago, a treasure sought,
A Skeith who longed for gold.
The riches of a distant land,
Within the ruins, old.
Pompadour, he called himself,
(Though most just called him vain.)
His pride and joy a shock of hair,
That took much to maintain.
He sought to keep Maraqua's gold,
But didn't think a heap.
For if he had he might have guessed,
They lie beneath the deep.
So Pompadour, that scallywag,
Enlisted Petpet aid.
He trapped small creatures in a net,
And for a time, they stayed.
"To Maraqua!" bellowed he,
"And find my treasures fast!"
Marafins, all giggling,
So quickly paddled past.
Past the coral, bright of hue,
Past seaweed and past sponge.
Beyond where sand doth meet the sea,
Did tiny Petpets plunge!
There they find the treasures bright,
Such gold and silver shells.
Back to Skeith who grabs them up,
And quickly then he sells.
Should you ask why he won't dive,
To find those treasures rare,
Sir Pompadour just gives a smirk,
"It's all about the hair!"
ever been around a
Skeith, a giant of these lands, you
know their immense strength;
you know their lazy
character, and you know
the volumes with
which they snore
during frequent dozes beneath
the warming haze of afternoon. This Skeith's
round silhouette sits attentive; but he, too, is asleep,
typical of his kind. His ears arched back, Petpet-
sized paws clasped; flanks rising
and falling in hypnotic motion. He'd
hoped to catch the sunrise on Skeith
Day, you see, but given in to napping
instead. His wings ripple as the snores
rumble past; while he himself had not
managed to greet the morning rays,
those nearby have long since
lost their sleep. Grumpy
'Twas a bright and sunny morn,
Of the unveiling of the shrine.
Young Vyssa, a princess born,
Was to cut the opening line.
To Coltzan's Shrine she came,
But as it was to be made unhidden,
By the light of the sun's good flame,
Her father's crown was taken!
Who was the perpetrator
Of this serious crime?
No, it was not some city traitor,
To be known for all of time.
Nay, ours was a clever friend,
An insidious little thief.
Although he didn't carry it out,
It was Malkus Vile the Skeith!
The Meerca Brothers did the task
And he almost got away,
Who stopped him, you might ask.
It was we who led him astray!
Quick was Malkus, quick indeed,
Yet we caught up to him on land.
Our angry cries did he heed,
As he dropped his prize upon the sand.
The crown was recovered at last,
Our cheers were laced with joy.
But then in our tracks we stopped fast,
For Malkus Vile vanished...
We the Skeiths - A Petition to Skeith Appreciation
There I sat, forced to wait
'Til the day the Neopians would appreciate.
But since I was born, that was only a dream;
The day they'd sit and appreciate me!
I'm a Skeith, a rare kind.
We laze around and often dine.
This income of food puts a toll on my weight,
But is that any reason to hate?
We Skeiths -- the lovable pets you should adore
Will not stand for this treatment anymore!
We are fluffy, but certainly not fat,
And we will fight for our love; that's that.
You may be thinking, "Why must you yell?"
To answer your question, I'm angry, can't you tell?
I am a Skeith, and I was born that way;
We deserve to be appreciated on our special day!
My Best Friend Is a... Skeith!
He's neither tall nor bright,
Nor fast, or funny,
And he's always smiling
Whether its raining or sunny.
He listens to my problems,
On him, I've come to depend,
He's there whenever I need him,
And so this Skeith I call my best friend.
The other day at school,
Other pets did tease me so,
About the way I catch the ball,
And even more so how I throw.
I raced home and through the door,
He was sitting, waiting there,
And I told him all about
My feelings of despair.
He listened closely,
My tears did slow,
I asked what I should do,
To fix my current woe.
Words of advice I wanted
To console and comfort me,
Then I had to remind myself,
He's only a Skeith plushie.
The Ballad of the Skeith
Basking upon a barren rock
And yawning sleepily,
The harsh sun was beating down,
As it always did, daily.
It awoke with a thunderous roar,
Looking around to find,
Something to do, something to hunt,
Only to pass the time.
Why, you ask? It is unknown,
As if it was a curse,
But take heed for it is known,
Who visits comes back worse.
Equipped with a fearsome temper,
Do avoid the Skeith's roar,
For that means but one thing --
The Skeith wants to eat some more!
Now if you wish for justice,
For the beast to come to its end,
It is a terrifying prospect,
Help, no one would dare to send.
Undertake this journey alone,
But always remain brave,
For if you complete this task,
Unharmed you leave its cave.
More ferocious than a wild Draik,
As sly as Doctor Sloth,
Remember, when you're afraid,
Remember all is not lost.
For now our story must end,
Yet the fate of the world depends,
On the capture of the brutal Skeith,
Take care, I recommend.
Be a Skeith (On Skeith Day)
It only comes but once a year,
Though the decorated species would like two.
So indulge your every selfish urge
The way those Skeiths do.
Get some smaller, weaker creatures,
Make them do everything that you say.
Hoard as many fortunes and treasures as you can,
And don't ever think to give them away.
Give King Skarl and Hagan a visit
(Though don't do it in the same room.)
Seek out Haskol and Mungo with well wishes
(Though you'll probably only receive your doom.)
Flick around some fishy Petpets
With the slick and stylish 'Sir Pompadour.'
Feed that runaway, wild hungry blue Skeith
Who once fed will only want more!
Traverse over to the Pound occupants
And adopt yourself a Skeithy friend,
Who'll eat up all those unwanted items
Like Tombola booby prizes and rusty tin cans.
Remember the Skeiths from the all those stories
Both triumphant and those of woe.
Get familiar with all that Skeith literature;
They'll be the best friends that you ever know.
Now some are tough on the outside
And some tough on the in as well,
But when you brush past their gritty exteriors,
They can all be equally swell.
So be a Skeith on Skeith Day
And get chummy with those winged louts.
Make it the most memorable pet day ever,
With much yelling, screaming, and shouts!
Remember and celebrate Skeith Day
As those big brutes only ever get one.
For even when they gobble up treasured items
They still love you when the day is done...
...And you know you love them too!
Something was indeed amiss
A terrible shake and loud roars
Filled the air as the Skeith snores
Accompanied by dreams of bliss.
We did our very best to get him to wake
We tried every imaginable sound
We couldn't wake the incredible mound
We felt the beast move and the ground shake.
Alas this most difficult task
Finished and many rumours were spoken
As the giant Skeith had indeed awoken
But it was in truth a fat Grarrl in a mask!
King Hagan: Elegance and Intelligence
All in a line they stand,
Stepping forward only to disappoint
Their king, brightest of them all.
He listens close,
And sends them on their way.
Still in search of a worthy mind.
Nearby, within a neighbouring kingdom is his brother.
Rivals from birth they fought.
Eventually separating completely
Into complete and utter ignorance of the other's existence.
Living separate lives, they thrive.
Deep in his palace,
Elegant and precise,
The King sits before his subjects,
His biography in hand.
Around his throne in neat, tidy piles,
Books of all titles are stacked.
Around him they lie,
A surrounding barrier,
His haven of knowledge.
He is content.
His name is Hagan,
Ruler of Brightvale.
Total Poetry Pages : 1955
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