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XWEETOK DAY SPECIAL
A Mutant Xweetok's Lament
My hair runs thickly from my crown
Down to the base of my hunched back,
And yet not one of those around
Offers to comb the matted patch.
My brows are thick and overgrown,
A pair of prickly coal-black shrubs,
But sit I here yet all alone,
Feeling the sting of snobbish snubs.
I suppose if I were striped or spotted,
Even a basic brown or blue,
My hair would not be left so knotted,
But what is a mutant Xweetok to do?
My teeth are not a healthy white,
Rather more a toxic yellow,
And perhaps my eyes do not invite
With their cast of jaundiced yellow.
My tail is not the furry strip
That Xweetoks pride as their best feature.
Mine is more a rodent's whip,
Lumping me with those low creatures.
And yet a Xweetok I still am,
Although I share the mutant's doom.
I sit and wait on a true friend
To give me my first Xweetok groom.
Explorer of the Isle
name, a Xweetok's
name that has skimmed the crests
of mid-gale onyx seas;
of SS Primella's salt-tinged,
solid hull; of unnamed,
and wind from
the shrouded heart
of the Lost Isle. A love
for botany, an equal thirst
for adventure -- two parts of
a whole, of Lilian's character,
that thrust her forward into the
shores of the unknown. Tangerine
eyes glimmering with knowledge;
neat, perching spectacles
peer into the uncharted.
And though this feather-
filled toy is but a plush
of the Explorer of the Isle,
the little pets who treasure her
forever remember her name.
The Mischievous Xweetok
"When better than Xweetok Day,"
"To hold a picnic?" you boldly say.
You've brought (for yourself) a delightful feast
But he thinks it's bound for two, at least.
Behind you shine two sparkling eyes,
A visitor unrealised,
Apparition of total speed and guile,
Where shadow masks a playful smile.
A rustle makes you turn around.
Nervously, you scan the ground,
But you don't see the triumphant grin
And sigh aloud, "It's just the wind."
He scampers off and winks an eye
While clutching his Xweetok Day prize,
And as you turn back to your picnic, alert
You cry aloud, "Hey! Where's my dessert?"
Mostly Like a Cupcake
In a Neohome pantry sits a little cake,
Golden, springy, warm, gloriously baked.
Upon the shelf above the tins,
I reach on tiptoes with an admiring gaze
At its bright cherry icing and
Gorgeous honey-coloured glaze.
Why, you ask, do I stare so?
At an insignificant cupcake?
I'll reply, with a twinkle in my eye
Answering your question thus:
Do we not pursue and venerate all
That which does look like us?
Ah, Cherry Xweetok Cupcake,
When you place us side by side anyone can see,
That every aspect of the cake will
Remind you of me!
You can argue 'gainst me, but
This Xweetok will prove you wrong.
See the gold-brown glow set beneath
The cherry frosting there?
Does it now remind you of my fur,
Burnished brown, how easy to compare.
And what of the cherry, do you see
My glossy red, so lustrous, so fair?
But most of the cupcake's taste
Will surely make it quickly disappear.
Like me, it will vanish in the blink of an eye,
Though it leaves crumbs, not fear.
And like the cake, I bring joy
To all that are near.
The Noisiest Xweetok
Rattle, rattle, shake, and squeak,
A voice for those too young to speak!
So sweet are rattles, baby toys,
But what, alas, makes such a noise?
Jolly giggle shall now sound,
What could it be? You glance around.
Witness grin on tiny face,
Vibrant bow held firm in place.
It sweeps back mane of silken hair,
Provides a sweetness, soft and rare.
Diminutive doth Xweetok seem,
Velvet pelt toned richest cream.
Determined shall she crawl around,
Tail sweeping on the ground.
That merry giggle all can hear,
Confirm first steps do linger near.
Creature miniature in size,
Sudden come her noisy cries.
For nothing's louder it appears,
Than baby Xweetok's sobbing tears.
What, my friends, could bring such woe?
From Xweetok's joy moments ago?
How one so small, we ask once more,
Can cause such noisy, babbling roar?
Infant paw lifts in a plea,
The rattle, issue seems to be.
It's out of reach, so far away,
It's that which brought such tears today!
And rattling, silence not a gift,
And yet her misery doth lift.
Tears or merely louder toys,
This Xweetok makes a massive noise!
The Fire Xweetok
Upon her back of licking flames,
A fire embraces her mane.
Although their strength she tames,
They are the Xweetok's bane.
As she walks the grass does smoulder,
There is a hearth in place of her bed.
And in her paws is a glowing ember,
All that remains of her breakfast's bread.
The Xweetok is most displeased,
Oh, surely can't you tell?
She is almost always teased,
And friends does her fur repel.
Her shiny coat, ebony black,
With an oily sheen to boot.
Sends potential friends running back,
Bodies covered in a veil of soot!
The poor fire Xweetok is upset,
Now what is she to do?
She has a tendency to forget,
So to her favourite things she bids adieu.
We could paint her into something different,
Like speckled, or dark pirate.
Maybe ghost with eyes most lambent,
Or brown with fur oh so russet?
Yet even though she is in this mess,
Through a back that's lit with fire,
Our Xweetok wouldn't care much less,
But why so, I must enquire.
Because every paint brush that she touches...
Turns to smouldering ash. Too bad!
Day Dreamer Xweetok Gnome
All day and night the dreamer ponders,
Forever in the same position he never wanders.
The statue still, his mind off drifting,
A new day, a new hope, his spirits lifting.
The gnome with his cherry hat so bright,
His luscious long beard, he's a lovely sight.
The rock on which he lays looking out all day,
Deciding which dream to follow, looking for a way.
By the rippling waves of a pond he's placed,
A wild imagination, he fantasises with haste.
The wild reeds growing tall, the lilies floating by,
The day dreamer wishes on, ambitions flying high.
His emerald green eyes glimmer with fire,
An everlasting courage tingled with desire.
To have one glance, at life's beauty, one look,
You realise the future is an unfinished book.
As the days come and go, the stars come out,
The day dreamer believes without a doubt,
That as the seasons change, and the years go by,
At any time life can change in the blink of an eye.
The Dawn of Celebration
Crackling of leaves
In the shade, where she waits
As the darkness floods in
The cold, shivers and shakes.
The dawn of winter,
The peak of the fall,
The silent eyes glisten,
As she watches it all.
Washing over Neopia, a light
Pure and sound
Grey as the morning,
The sun beaming 'round.
Neopians shuffle, eyes once closed
To the new day to come.
When the silence becomes a muffled hum,
No face sad or glum.
The dawn of celebration,
The new morning's light,
Does away with the nothing
That once called itself night.
And the city folk emerge,
Fresh from their beds.
The hum grows louder
As the pale light grows red.
Soon that muffled sound breaks
Into a solid, friendly cheer.
The shyness done away with,
And there, all she holds dear.
She steps out of the shadows,
Red covering her face,
All the Neopians wishing her
A happy Xweetok Day!
A Winter Xweetok Journey
The sun fades beneath the sky,
She leaps upon the tree so high,
A burst of energy and she runs far,
She shines upon the brightest star.
She curls up upon the snow,
Giving off a resplendent glow.
Tired and weak, she continues on,
Continues on her journey to early dawn.
Her narrow eyes envision a light.
Cautiously, she stands to fight;
Doth she fear the midnight strike?
Off on her journey, she must hike.
A path she finds and she does take,
Roaming the night, others awake,
Running furiously, away from sight,
Passing of time, deep into the night.
A light she spots; a gleaming spark,
Drifting closer, away from the dark,
A group of Xweetoks, she doth see,
Xweetoks she can call, her family!
Total Poetry Pages : 1961
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