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WOCKY DAY SPECIAL
MAGAX: The Dark Hero
Bathed by light of eternal twilight,
The Haunted Woods is a terrible place.
A land where one can have no sight,
To the beasts and ghosts that leave no trace.
There be the castle where fear makes home!
Hubrid Nox's fortress where terror does roam!
The magical Chia need not fear the creatures,
That in the Woods do dwell.
But there is one thing that brings him tortures,
Of nightmares most terribly fell.
MAGAX waits beyond his sight,
Waiting for his chance to fight!
The Wocky was once his dutiful slave,
A servant with more evil than his master.
But one day the bondage he did cleave,
And he escaped to the Woods' deep centre.
Now lies the Wocky's chance,
He begins his sombre advance.
MAGAX tried to purge himself of the lies
That stained him so very deeply.
And in the woods he found his good advice,
From the mouth of an ancient gypsy.
At last the blood he would clean,
From hands whose horror he had seen.
The brave dark hero did not fight Nox,
Instead he helped those in need.
From the graveyards to the swampland stalks,
To those in danger and those he pitied.
Before he entered, the Wocky thought,
There was something wrong with this onslaught.
Yet even though MAGAX tried his best,
The Wocky could never truly himself redeem.
In the eyes of those who were rightly blest,
The faeries who held him in low esteem.
MAGAX growled and turned away,
From the complex so foreboding and grey.
The Wocky still sought to atone for his wrongs,
By helping the weak and those who need aid.
And as he does so the Wocky always longs
To be held in good grace, and no longer be afraid.
Hubrid Nox would not see his end just yet,
Until then he would remain swathed in fear.
The Velvet Pimpernel
Eyes a brilliant cyan blue,
Fur of violet, velvet-smooth,
It seems at times he exists to woo,
His cunning voice to soothe.
Many a maiden has fallen astray,
Aye, many heart has lost its tether,
Thanks to his charmingly bright-eyed way
And his dashing feather.
And if one has a missing ring,
A misplaced purse, some other theft ...?
Why, it can't be that handsome, charming thing.
Besides, he's long since left.
The Velvet Pimpernel is he, and though
He'd never brawl,
Though his silken words calm other rogues --
He's by far the worst of all.
The Wocky Crusader
When you are in mortal danger,
Requiring a fearless saviour,
Look no further than the hero
Known as the fair Wocky Crusader.
There he stands with shining sword
Raised up high for your protection,
Admiring his fine profile
Within the blade's keen reflection.
And when a giant monster threatens --
Your home about to be demolished --
You simply need to briefly await
The Wocky's drying manicure polish.
But when battle calls he will reply
Prepared to face his certain doom,
So long as no hairs will be disturbed
Upon his head from recent grooms.
He feels the heavy weight of duty,
Is the champion of the oppressed,
But thinks it a pity when distress calls come
While he is so finely dressed.
Perhaps the gallant Wocky Crusader
Is hero only in his own dreams,
For he would rather besmirch his name
Than his armour's spotless gleam.
The Wocky Warrior
Crying to him through emerald flames;
Graves call this hero with a flickering soul.
His heart it lays broken, swollen with shame,
Of wounds scarred and aching from long ago.
The weight of the ages burdens his heart,
As redemption he eternally seeks.
Nox only knows in what sins he took part
For which absolution is bleak.
The faeries they say remain bitter still,
Of the evil in which he partook.
The regret in his eyes will not dispel lies
That he told and lives that he shook.
But forgiveness is not what he wishes,
Only to make all amends,
As he balefully wanders the graveyard,
Alone, lacking any close friends.
It is here that he meets a lone child,
A Cybunny with eyes sad and lost,
And to amend some old actions reviled,
Swears to aid her -- no matter the cost.
But the price that he pays is far higher;
Betrayal a currency cold.
The youth burns with power and fire,
A disguise for his master of old.
His enemy laughs, quite disdainful,
Of his old servants kindness too weak.
The look in his eyes is quite painful,
As a spell his foe does start to speak.
From the graves rise spirits so haunted,
Pulled by enchantment and will.
He looks at his old lord undaunted,
Ready to battle uphill.
The fight does flow ever onward,
Eternal and raging with ease.
MAGAX still battles past horrors,
And Nox cannot do what he please.
Wocky in the Foliage
Gentle breezes drift along,
Weary, tranquil sighs.
Strolling, strolling, in the woods,
Beneath the dim-lit sky.
Wandering, I brush the leaves,
That blanket forest trail.
With every step, a new leaf falls,
Through air they gently sail.
Quiet chirping from above,
Cheerful, carefree tunes.
Passing by a sea of green,
This autumn afternoon.
Entranced by forest though I am,
Movement catches my eye.
Prancing in the foliage
Is figure small and spry.
I blink in obvious surprise,
No longer is it there.
A figure hiding in the trees,
Of that I'm now aware.
Bushy tail so subtly sways,
A flicker to my right...
Second glimpse cannot be caught,
It vanishes from sight.
"Come," I murmur, "don't be so shy."
Out steps Wocky within.
Dappled fur with shades of green,
Perfectly blends her in.
No wonder she'd been hard to spot!
To my call she did succumb.
A blink, a frown, she's gone again,
As swift as she had come.
Wock and Roll!
Electric is the atmosphere,
The lights are dimmed down low.
Figures stand on silent stage,
Lit by a blinding glow.
One lifts a paw and strikes a chord,
Strobes flash from red to blue.
It must be said that none can rock
Like these small Wockies do!
The lyrics blast out to the crowd,
They cheer and sing along.
The band is flawless, playing hard,
And not one note is wrong!
Thick plush tails swing in sync,
Here, the rock will rule!
Each Wocky's sunglasses in place,
The pinnacle of cool.
It must be said that tousled manes
Are styled rather strange.
The colours bright beyond belief
Are seen at distant range.
Wocky paws strum music strings,
They stomp, then stamp their feet!
Rock and roll will steer their hearts,
They live to rock the beat!
The Kiosk Wocky
Would you like to buy a scratchcard?
They're really quite a deal;
All you do is scratch off six
And see what they reveal.
You're bound to win, it's sure to come;
The odds are on your side!
You might just be a winner --
You won't know until you've tried!
600 Neopoints isn't much,
You know it's really not,
And you'll know for sure it's worth it
When you win that big jackpot!
All day long I sit here
Waiting just for YOU --
You wouldn't disappoint me, now,
When you know that this is true?
Don't think about those other kiosks,
They're hardly worth your time;
The best and the original
You'll quite soon find is mine!
So if you're ever on Terror Mountain,
Come buy a card from me;
It might be Race to Riches...
Or Icetravaganza! We'll see!
Wallace Wocky Wobble
Unlimited amount of items falling from the sky,
Warf, Drackonack, Petpets alike, watching nearby.
The tree raining junk forever more,
A Neopet's heaven, items galore!
Hidden in the forest away from prying eyes,
Wallace strolling past, suddenly realised,
What a wonder this was, his dreams had come true,
But what to do with all the junk he not yet knew.
All through the woods Wallace tried his best
to keep this tree secret from all the rest.
A hoarder he was, his friends all agreed,
A kind-hearted soul, yet greedy indeed.
A focused mind, he wanted it all,
An ever-growing pile, massively tall.
Objects ranging from all rarities,
Shiny and fair, it was all pretty nifty.
A teetering tower of junk, a balancing act,
Carefully placed, brilliantly stacked.
Plushies, codestones, books, and more,
But now he needed to fit through the door.
Aloft and Still Alive
"Wait, deep, in your graves,
for days when souls can rise.
Wockies, sleep, in your caves,
for days of solemn cries."
MAGAX knows, above most folk,
the fate destined for him.
Still he fights the beasts awoke,
in light of bright or dim.
Wocky warriors, fell from fight,
become that which they destroy.
Wocky warriors, now the blight,
summoned as Nox's toys.
Their souls present in only name,
no emotion to remain,
but puppets in a wretch's game,
aloft of death's terrain.
They strike until their bodies wane,
no longer bound by pain.
They fade until the magic's reign
is felled by evil's bane.
Struck by ax in hand of him,
Hubrid's eternal foe,
released to rest from strings of grim,
with naught defining woe.
MAGAX still fights the macabre tale
fulfilled by many before,
with ears awash in haunting wail
not justified by lore.
Never will his weapon fall,
or he become a ghoul,
so long his will remains yet tall
against the villain's rule.
Jasper Gen, Shadow Wocky
They say the shadow creeps at night;
That whilst the little ones sleep,
And silent rolled up streets --
When the vendors set to bed,
Neopia is still in caliginosity,
Shade in the tenebrosity,
Wocky by no light.
Jasper named by susurrus air,
Asper Gen sometimes, so fair;
And pinprick dots of luminescence,
Dusky tail feathered into dark,
A painting brought to life,
A silhouette on the wall.
If he did an evil deed,
If he were cursed when young,
Then still in the aftermath,
The light gets in,
And hope is never far.
Shady paws on rooftop edge,
Nosing head in window ledge;
Jaunty obscurity walks,
Leaving in his wake dehiscent locks.
Be satisfactorily appeased;
Safe and calm at ease,
Begrudge not the Tchea Fruit,
Nor the simple little book,
For good never withers,
And evil never strays.
The Tactics of a Camouflage Wocky
The sun begins to fade and set,
The moon becomes a threat,
Shaky figures, a drooping shadow,
That hides the world below.
A camouflage Wocky hides beneath,
Coming out of his embroiled wreath,
A silent leap, identity at stake,
Stalking the night, a risk to take.
Upon waiting the darkest hour,
A chance to snipe and even devour,
A tremulous feeling, very tense,
To attack one without defence.
A strong defender shall remain,
For the camouflage Wocky must obtain,
The victim of its truth be told,
The remedy of its faith behold.
A fate not knowing, one hath given,
Must be cautious, for one to live,
State of uncertainty, obstacles to climb,
The fear of not knowing, passing of time.
A camouflage Wocky sneaks up behind,
To seize the victim he doth find;
One must run from his presence,
To keep distant from the violence.
And if one does not run, dread your fright,
Conceal away in the midst of the night,
One must go and never turn back,
For the camouflage Wocky will attack!
Total Poetry Pages : 1962
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